Page 76 of Used Bratva Bride

Chapter Twenty - Julie

I press my back against the wall, heart hammering as I strain to catch every word filtering through the heavy office door. The wood muffles the conversation, but I pick up enough to piece things together.

“Tell me what you have, Andrei.”

“You’re looking into Sophia Spade. Can’t say I know much beyond what everyone else does. Cunning woman, dangerous in the right ways. Careful. Meticulous. Which is why I find it strange that you seem to have such easy evidence against her.”

My stomach twists.

I knew it. I knew Sophia wouldn’t have done something that reckless. For all her cold calculation, she wouldn’t resort to something as messy as an outright assassination—especially one that did so little to benefit the Spades. The Bratva thrived whether Valeri was alive or not. Killing him didn’t weaken them. If anything, it gave Mikhail more of a reason to go after my family.

Which means someone else set her up.

I suck in a sharp breath, forcing myself to stay quiet, to think.

Mikhail doesn’t believe the evidence against Sophia is real. Or at least, he’s starting to question it. That could change everything. If Sophia isn’t the real target, if the Spades aren’t behind Valeri’s death, then what the hell does that mean for me? For her? For the war brewing between the families?

I press closer, desperate for more information.

“You think I’d hold out on you? Believe me, I’ve dug. Nothing ties back cleanly. But I’ll keep my ears open. You know I always do.”

The voice is unfamiliar, laced with a cold calculation that makes my stomach flutter.

Mikhail replies, “Do that. Let me know if anything changes.”

“Of course.” There’s a pause. Then, “Careful, Mikhail. You’re looking at shadows. Sometimes, shadows look back.”

He’s getting restless. I can hear it in the way he speaks, in the clipped edge of his words. He’s used to control, used to getting what he wants—when he wants it. Now, with Sophia’s supposed guilt being thrown into question, his certainty is unraveling.

I swallow hard, mind racing. What do I do with this?

Before I can think further, I hear movement. Shit.

I push off the wall and hurry down the hallway, careful not to make a sound.

Behind me, I hear Mikhail’s chair scrape back. The door creaks open.

I turn the corner just in time. I duck into an alcove near one of the grand windows, pressing my back to the cold marble wall. My breath is uneven, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Footsteps. Heavy. Measured. I close my eyes, willing myself to be invisible.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, I hear him exhale sharply. A moment later, the door clicks shut.

I don’t dare move. Not yet.

After what feels like an eternity, I force myself to inch away from the wall, legs weak beneath me. The air is thick with tension, but I know I need to get back before someone notices I’m missing.

I head back to my room, my mind a storm of conflicting emotions.

Sophia. The murder. The evidence that was never meant to be found. Mikhail.

Mikhail, who is starting to see through the cracks. Mikhail, who—despite my best efforts—I can’t stop thinking about.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

I make my way down to the kitchen, my pulse still racing from the close call. The room is empty, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the lingering scent of the morning’s coffee. My hands are shaking as I pull the hidden phone from my pocket, quickly dialing Sophia’s number.

She answers on the first ring. “Julie?”

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