Page 50 of Plus-Size Bratva Bride

The Italians were caught off guard, but they recovered quickly. Bullets whizzed past my ear as I dove behind a stack of crates, my heart pounding with exhilaration.

"Ivan, on your left!" I shouted, squeezing off three rapid shots. An enemy gunman dropped, clutching his chest.

The fight was chaotic, brutal, but we had the upper hand. I moved like a force of nature, my fists and bullets finding their marks with deadly precision. Blood spattered my crisp white shirt, but I barely noticed.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I sawhim.The man Pippa described as the one she saw at the casino. Bald, with a scar on his face. It’s because of him that Tony stabbed her.

I watched as one of my men chased after him, and with a roar, I ran as fast as I could, moving past my man. “He’s mine,” I bellowed, overtaking him.

The man turned to check the status of his chaser and recoiled in terror as I approached, his eyes widening in fear. I caught a glimmer of recognition in them before he turned to run.

My boots crunched on broken glass as I pursued him, adrenaline igniting my body like wildfire. A burst of flame lit up the night sky—a bullet whizzed past me, dangerously close. I didn't falter.

The man turned, a gun pointed at me. He shot while he ran and I turned my head right, letting the bullet pass. All I felt was the soft gush of wind.What a weak shooter.

He reached a dead end and I was now mere feet away. I jumped one foot forward onto a barrel, kicked off, and landed right in front of him.

He raised his gun, but it was too late. I had already closed the gap between us, my fist connecting with his jaw before he could react. His head snapped back and he stumbled to the ground, the gun falling inches away. He reached for the gun but I put one foot on his hand and kicked away the gun with the other.

The sound of his wrist snapping was satisfying, and the scream that adjoined sweet. I pulled out a knife and bent on one knee, taking it to his throat.

“You and Tony should never have put her in danger,” I said, before slicing open his throat and watching every last drop of blood splutter out of the gash until the last of life left his eyes.

***

I stumbled through the front door of my house, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving me feeling like I'd gone ten rounds with a freight train. But beneath the exhaustion, a sense of grim satisfaction burned in my chest.

"We showed those Italian fuckers," I muttered to myself, wincing as I shrugged off my blood-stained jacket.

I made my way to the bar, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey. It burned a path down my throat, momentarily dulling the ache in my bruised knuckles.

I needed rest. I trudged toward my bedroom, my feet heavy on the plush carpet. The thought of a hot shower and my king-sized bed was the only thing keeping me upright at this point.

***

I was just about to collapse onto the bed when I heard the soft click of the door. I caught a whiff of that familiar vanilla and jasmine scent. Pippa.

She padded across the room, her curves silhouetted by the dim light. Without a word, she slipped under the covers and pressed her soft, warm body against mine. I felt the tension in my muscles start to melt away as she wrapped her arms around me.

"Rough night?" she murmured, her breath tickling my ear. “I thought I heard you come back. Wanted to check.”

I grunted in response, burying my face in her light brown curls. Pippa knew better than to push for details, and that's one of the things I loved about her. She was always there, a silent pillar of support, never demanding more than I could give.

With her in my arms, I slept better than I had ever after a battle.

***

As the first rays of sunlight began to creep through the windows, I found myself tracing lazy circles on Pippa's hip. Her bottle-green eyes fluttered open, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily and nestled herself into my chest.

“Morning,” my voice came out hoarse and I pulled her in, giving her a kiss on her forehead. She smiled at me, her eyes still droopy from sleep.

“What happened last night?” she murmured with a hint of worry in her voice. “You look tired… and bruised.”

"We got him," I said with pride. "He belonged to a new Italian mob who wanted to show their power by going head-to-head with the Vadims.”

“What?” she said, suddenly serious as she sat and pulled the covers around her. “You got him? Are you okay? You didn't get hurt bad, did you?"

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