Page 57 of Bratva's Intern

Carefully, I slipped the pillow beneath Wren’s head, cradling him like he was breakable. He stirred, blinked once, and stared directly into my eyes. I stilled, my breath trapped in my lungs. His lips curved into a smile. Then his eyelashes fluttered closed, and he fell back under.

Slowly, I let out the breath I was holding, then draped the sheet over his legs and up to his shoulders, smoothing it with a hand, and stepped back.

He sighed in his sleep, curling toward the pillow with something that sounded heartbreakingly content.

I returned to my seat. He was more comfortable. I really needed to start the day’s work.

I didn’t move.

Just watched.

The office remained quiet.

No knocks. No calls. Not even Nik checking in through the door.

I worked from my desk, phone on silent, though work wasn’t holding much of my attention. Not when Wren was still curled up on the couch. He shifted occasionally, small movements beneath the thin linen, like a restless dream was chasing him. The kind that followed you even when you tried to wake.

A soft moan drifted across the room, followed by abroken sound that didn't belong here—a sob, low and sharp. I froze, stilling my fingers over the keyboard.

I checked the computer screen, surprised that it was already past noon.

“Dad…”

The word cracked something in me I hadn’t known was brittle.

I rose from my desk, silent, and approached with slow steps. He stirred again, this time with a jerk, then bolted upright with a gasp, chest heaving, hand clutching the front of his shirt like he couldn’t breathe.

I was at his side in two strides.

“Wren,” I said softly, crouching beside him, placing a firm hand on his back. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Breathe for me. Just breathe.”

He shook his head, eyes wild and unfocused, and I rubbed slow circles into his back.

“That’s it,” I murmured. “Good. You’re okay. Just a bad dream. You’re safe here.”

His breathing slowed. Not steady yet but less ragged. He looked at me then—really looked—and blinked.

“Oh no,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Oh no. Oh my god. Is it morning?”

“Technically, it’s already past noon.”

His eyes went round. “Shit. I-I didn’t mean to—I was just going to take a quick nap, I swear. I must’ve passed out. I?—”

“Wren, calm down. You’re fine.”

He opened his mouth like he might argue again, but then he deflated.

I sat on the edge of the couch beside him. “Why’d you sleep here?”

“The work Archie sent,” he mumbled. “It was a lot. Said it was due today. I just figured… I needed to finish it because I didn’t want you to be unhappy with me. But then I realized how late it was and decided to take a power nap on your couch.”

My jaw twitched. Archie wasn’t authorized to assign work to my PA. His job as Wren’s mentor ended the moment he returned to Chicago.

“When did you speak to him?”

“Yesterday.” Wren rubbed a hand over his face. “You were in your meeting, and he called. I told him you said not to be disturbed, and well… he sent the files I needed to work on. I didn’t want to ignore him in case it was important. Did I do the right thing?”

The way he looked at me—nervous, uncertain, still clearly half-asleep—hit me in the gut. I tucked a knuckle beneath his chin, tilted his face up to mine.

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