Page 33 of Bratva Baby

“You think you can waltz in here, stab me, and walk away? I’ll have your head.”

I lean forward, letting him see the promise in my eyes. “Try. See how far you get. My men are right behind me.”

He grits his teeth. “Get out.”

I fling the bloodied letter opener aside and back away. He gasps in pain as he presses a piece of cloth to his hand. The sight of his blood does nothing to ease my fury. “Remember this,” I say, stepping toward the door. “You treat her with respect, or you’ll pay worse than this.”

I stride out of the mansion with adrenaline pumping, ignoring the flecks of blood on my coat sleeve. The moment I reach my car, I yank the door open and sink into the seat.

My driver glances in the rearview mirror. “Everything alright, Boss?”

“Drive,” I order. “We’re done here.”

As we pull away, I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. No one hurts my wife. No one. I realize I’m gripping the seat so hard my knuckles ache. For a fleeting moment, I consider telling her exactly what I did to her father, but I have no desire to see her pity for the man who wounded her.

When I arrive home, I step inside and shrug off my coat. As I pass a hallway mirror, I notice spots of blood near my cuff, a dark reminder of my confrontation. I tug the sleeve lower, not wanting the staff to gossip. If Seraphina spots it, I’m not sure how she’ll react.

I find her in the living room and she looks up when I enter, moving her eyes over me like she’s gauging my mood. Herface is so calm, not a hint that anything is amiss. That bruise must be hidden by makeup.

“You’re back,” she notes.

I nod and drop into a chair across from her. “Yes.”

She waits as if expecting me to say something else. When I don’t, she adds, “Busy day?”

I run a hand over my hair. “Something like that.” Part of me wants to demand she tell me about her father, to confirm what Anton reported. But she acts like there’s nothing to discuss. Maybe she’s burying it. Maybe she’s testing whether I already know. Either way, I decide to hold my silence for now.

“How was your father?” I ask carefully, curious if she’ll lie.

She shrugs. “About as fun as usual.”

A surge of frustration tugs at me. She’s not giving details, which means she’s hiding them. “Did he say anything about… your living arrangements? Our marriage?”

She picks at a nonexistent thread on her sleeve. “He asked questions, but I told him nothing of real value.”

I maintain a neutral expression. “Good.”

She exhales and looks at me directly for the first time since I walked in. “What about you? Bratva business, I assume?”

I arch a brow.

“Call it curiosity,” she explains. “You’ve been out a lot, doing who-knows-what. I’m stuck here not knowing if you’re off in some shootout or meeting.”

My suspicion pricks. She’s asking for details about my dealings, is she? Could be harmless concern coming from awife, or something else entirely. I recall my father-in-law’s manipulations and remind myself to stay on guard.

Her lips thin. “You really like to keep things close to the chest, huh?”

“It’s safer for you not to know certain things.”

“I see.”

I wait, but she doesn’t press further. She eventually excuses herself, heading upstairs, maybe to gather her thoughts or hide whatever turmoil she’s experiencing.

When I hear her footsteps fade, I stand and follow quietly. I notice her phone is still on the coffee table. Without a second thought, I pick it up. I know this is a breach of trust, but I don’t trust that man. I’d rather have her furious at me than risk everything for that bastard who calls himself her father.

Upstairs, I duck into my office and place her phone on my desk. With a few quick taps, I install a small tracker program. It’s basic but enough to log calls, keep tabs on messages, and track her location. My gut churns with guilt, but I remind myself it’s necessary. She might resent me for it, but the threat looming over us is too large to ignore. If she’s talking to Evan, I want to know.

I wipe my fingerprints from the screen—unnecessary, maybe, but old habits die hard. Then I slip her phone into my jacket, planning to return it without her noticing. I hate that it’s come to this, but I can’t let her father’s schemes unravel everything. I promised myself I’d keep her safe, even if that means protecting her from her own misguided loyalty.

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