Page 37 of Bratva's Intern

The pause outside my stall sent a fresh wave of panic curling through my stomach.

Bang!

A hard fist slammed against the stall door. I jumped.

“Open the damn door, Wren.” Mr. Morozov’s voice was razor-edged, low, and dangerous.

I swallowed hard. Shit. He was even more pissed than I would have thought. Mr. Morozov didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would chase someone into a restroom. He would have just fired me.

Silence. Then another bang. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

I forced my hands to stop shaking as I twisted the lock open. The door swung inward, and Mr. Morozov filled the space, his imposing frame blocking my escape. His dark eyes burned into mine, and his jaw was set in a way that promised I wouldn’t like what was coming next.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Morozov. I didn’t mean to…”

He cut me off with a raised hand. “Save it,” he growled, his accent thicker than usual. His gaze traveled over my face, seeming to take in each instance of regret etched there. He leaned in close, his warm breath carrying hints of espresso and scorn. “Do you understand what you did wrong?”

I nodded, bobbing my head like I was a bobblehead doll. “Yes, sir.”

“Go ahead, then. Tell me.”

“I shouldn’t have let the police chief into your office.”

“Then why did you?”

I shuffled my feet and lowered my head. My gaze landed on his crotch. He’d stuffed his hands into his pockets, which stretched the material over his groin so tight I could see the imprint of his dick.

Shit.

I snapped my head up, my face burning. Had he noticed what I had been staring at?

“He’s the chief of police. What could I have done to stop him?”

“You keep acting like a reserved guy when I know differently. What happened to the boy who stole my cup of coffee because I cut the line?”

“That’s different. That was just a coffee that cost less than ten bucks. If I mess up here, it could be big.”

“For fuck’s sake, Wren, it’s simple. You answer to only me. You do what I tell you and no one else, regardless of who that person is.”

“But he’s the chief of police.”

“And I’m Maxim fucking Morozov. Your boss. You do what I tell you to do and stop second-guessing yourself. I specifically told you to tell him I wasn’t available.”

Heat crawled up my neck, and I doubled my hands into fists. “I tried. He just—he walked right past me despite my protest.”

“And you let him?” His voice sharpened, slicing through me. “Do you have any idea how that makes me look? I won’t have incompetent people working for me.”

My temper flared, a flash of hot defiance overriding the shame. “I already told you I wasn’t suitable for this job. You hired me anyway, so technically, this is your fault!”

Silence.

Maxim lifted his brows slightly, as if no one had ever dared talk to him like that before. I raised my chin just a little, a strange satisfaction bubbling up in my chest.

His nostrils flared, but instead of firing back, he inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders. “What are you so afraid of?” His voice came out smoother, more measured.

The question caught me off guard. For sure, I’d expected to hear the words “you’re fired.”

I blinked. “What?”

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