Page 66 of Married to the Bratva

“No need!” I say, a little too brightly. “You know how busy he is. Wouldn’t want to bother him.”

He stares at me for another moment, then nods and steps aside.

I step out the door. I look back, catching a glimpse of Igor pulling out his phone, and my stomach sinks.

I’ll deal with the fallout later. Right now, I need to focus on Grandma.

48

SOPHIE

The drive feels like forever. The closer I get to my old neighborhood, the tighter the knot in my stomach grows. The morning sickness comes and goes in waves, but I fight it. I need to get there as fast as possible.

The streets become familiar—kids playing on the cracked sidewalks, old men yelling at traffic from their stoops, the faint smell of burnt coffee wafting from the corner diner.

I pull up in front of Grandma’s place. It looks the same as ever—chipped paint, creaky fire escapes, and a flickering light over the front door.

I buzz up to the apartment, my finger hesitating over the button for just a second before pressing. Grandma doesn’t answer, which isn’t like her. I dig out my key. My pulse quickens as I push open the door and climb the stairs.

When I reach the door, it’s ajar.

Every instinct in me screams to run, to call Maxim, to do something other than what I’m about to do. I have a very bad feeling about this.

But I push the door open anyway, the hinges groaning like they’re trying to stop me.

“Grandma?” My voice is shaky, tentative.

“In here,” comes her voice, faint and trembling. It’s coming from the living room. “Come through, quick.”

I rush in and stop dead in my tracks. The sight before me sends a cold wave of terror crashing over me. Grandma is sitting on the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

She looks pale, scared, and older somehow. But what freezes me in place are the three men standing around her, their expressions cold and calculating.

The tallest of the three steps forward. His suit is sharp, his smile sharper. “Sophie Hale,” he says, his voice smooth but dripping with malice. “So glad you could make it. Or should I say Sophie Abramov? Grandma was quite shocked to find out you married a Russian mobster.”

“Who the hell are you?” I demand, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound brave. God, why didn’t I bring the gun Maxim gave me? Danger lurks around every corner, that’s what he taught me. I didn’t believe him. I’m a fucking idiot.

I glance at Grandma, who looks down, her hands trembling. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They said they’d?—”

“It’s okay, Grandma,” I say quickly, cutting her off. “It’s going to be okay.”

The man chuckles, pulling a gun from his waistband and inspecting it casually. “It will be,” he says. “If you play nice.”

Before I can say anything else, the bathroom door opens, and my stomach twists.

Evan walks in.

He looks different. Thinner, sharper, his once boyish charm replaced with something harder, crueler. The sight of him sends a mix of rage and betrayal surging through me.

“Sophie,” he says, spreading his arms like he’s welcoming an old friend. “Did Grandma not get an invite to your wedding?”

“You son of a—” I start, but he cuts me off with a laugh.

“Now, now,” he says, wagging a finger. “No need for insults. This is just business.”

“Business?” My voice shakes, my fists clenched at my sides. “You’re holding my grandmother hostage, you piece of?—”

“Careful, Sophie,” he says, his tone darkening. “I’d hate for her to get hurt because you can’t control that sharp tongue of yours. Maybe if you’d told her you married into the Bratva, she’d have been less trusting when we showed up to collect her.”

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