Page 22 of Used Bratva Bride

“She’s concerned about me,” I counter. “She called me in a rage because I have her sister. That tells me she’s emotional. Unbalanced.”

Ivan exhales, shaking his head slightly. “You think she called because she cares about Julie?”

I pause for a beat, considering. “I think she called because she doesn’t.”

Ivan watches me carefully. “Go on.”

I tap my fingers against the desk, my mind running through the conversation I had with Sophia, the way she spoke, the little shifts in her tone. “There was no panic in her voice. No desperation. She demanded Julie’s return like she was negotiating a business deal, not begging for her family.” I glance up at him. “That means Julie isn’t important to her—not really.”

Ivan nods slowly. “So if Julie dies, she won’t care.”

“Exactly.”

“If Julie suffers?”

I smile. “That,” I murmur, “might be something different.”

Ivan tilts his head, considering. “You think Julie’s more valuable as leverage than as a corpse?”

“She’s more valuable as something,” I say. “We just have to figure out what.”

Ivan shifts, his gaze darkening slightly. “If Sophia really was behind Valeri’s death, she had to know what that would mean. That the Bratva would come for her.”

“She was prepared for retaliation,” I agree.

“Which means she’ll be prepared for you.”

I let out a low chuckle, standing to pour another drink. “Let her be.”

Ivan doesn’t look convinced. “You sound like you’re enjoying this.”

I glance at him as I take a sip, the whiskey burning smooth down my throat. “Betrayal was my father’s favorite thing, Ivan. Mine?” I glare. “Revenge.”

Ivan exhales, shaking his head. “One day, that’s going to get you killed.”

“Maybe,” I murmur, my gaze flicking toward the dark window. “Not today.”

Ivan watches me for a moment, then exhales sharply, pushing off the desk. “Just don’t get cocky, Mikhail. Revenge is a slow game. You move too fast, and you end up the one bleeding.”

I grin, tilting my head slightly. “Worried about me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Worried about getting caught in your mess.”

I chuckle, finishing the last of my whiskey before setting the glass down. The weight of this conversation should press heavier on my shoulders, but it doesn’t. Maybe Ivan is right to be cautious, but I’ve never been the kind of man to fear the unknown.

Sophia might be dangerous, but so am I. I always get what I want.

Ivan runs a hand down his face before straightening. “I’ll make arrangements,” he says, his tone clipped, resigned. “Extra eyes on Sophia. More people rotating security here. I’ll deal with the doctor’s visit quietly.”

I nod, already dismissing him in my mind as I glance toward the clock. The evening has stretched long, and I’ve allowed too much of my night to be consumed by thoughts of revenge, of strategy.

Julie Spade lingers at the edges of those thoughts. Still waiting. Still suffering. I think it’s finally time I remind her of what she is now.

“Good,” I say, straightening. “You know where to find me.”

Ivan doesn’t need further instruction. He strides toward the door, pulling it open and slipping into the hallway, his steps fading into the distance.

I take my time getting up, rolling my shoulders before adjusting the cuffs of my shirt. Every motion is careful and focused. Because now, I’m ready.

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