Page 21 of Used Bratva Bride

Sophia.

She was angry. Not just the forced kind of anger people wield when they want to seem in control. Real anger. Controlled, sharp, dangerous.

She’s not a threat—not yet. That doesn’t mean she’s harmless.

I set my glass down and reach for my phone, pressing the call button.

Ivan answers immediately. “Boss?”

“Come to my study,” I say. “Now.”

A brief pause, then, “On my way.”

I hang up, exhaling slowly as I tap my fingers against the desk. I know Ivan won’t question the urgency. He’s been with me long enough to know when I call, it isn’t without reason.

Minutes later, there’s a sharp knock at the door.

“Enter.”

Ivan steps in, his movements precise as always. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “What is it?”

I lean back, studying him. “Call for the doctor again. Julie’s condition is deteriorating.”

Ivan blinks, then scoffs. “You’re worried about her?”

“No,” I say smoothly, “I don’t intend to let her die before she serves her purpose.”

His lip twitches in mild amusement, but he nods. “I’ll call the doctor.”

I swirl my whiskey, watching the way the firelight dances across the glass. “Make sure he keeps it quiet. No fuss. She doesn’t need to think anyone actually cares.”

Ivan rolls his eyes slightly. “Of course.”

I take a slow sip before shifting the conversation. “Sophia Spade called me tonight.”

That gets his full attention. His posture stiffens slightly, his gaze sharpening. “And?”

“She’s exactly what I expected,” I say, setting the glass down. “Arrogant. Confident. Thinks she’s untouchable.”

Ivan tilts his head. “So she’s not a problem?”

“Not yet,” I admit. “She’s capable.”

Ivan crosses his arms. “What do you want to do about it?”

“Keep an eye on her,” I murmur. “She’ll make her move eventually. When she does….” I drain the rest of my whiskey. “I’ll be ready.”

Ivan leans against the desk, arms crossed, his expression thoughtful. “You shouldn’t underestimate her.”

I smirk, swirling the last drops of whiskey in my glass. “You think I would?”

“I think,” Ivan says slowly, “that if she really did have Valeri killed, then she’s capable of hurting us too.”

The amusement lingers on my lips, but something sharp twists in my chest at the mention of my uncle. A reminder. A wound still bleeding beneath my skin.

“Sophia Spade doesn’t scare me,” I say flatly, setting the glass down with a softclink.

“No,” Ivan mutters, “but she should concern you.”

---