Page 10 of Bratva's Intern

He made a frustrated sound, then shoved the money into my pocket.

He also didn’t know personal space.

“Take it. It’s yours.”

Sergei took a menacing step forward, but I shook my head. My coffee thief was harmless. From the look on Sergei’s face, he wanted to toss the young man into incoming traffic for touching me.

The young man moved away, but I grabbed him by the wrist. His eyes flew upward. I applied pressure, feeling the delicate bones stitched over by smooth skin. He tugged his hand, but I tightened my grip. He gasped, and his eyes grew even wider. Those hazel eyes—sharp and unyielding—seemed to pierce right through me. They were unlike anything I’d seen before. Layers of gold and green swirled together,catching the morning light. Long, thick lashes framed them, fanning his cheekbones when he blinked.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Umm… Wren?”

Wren.

The name suited him.

With my hand on his wrist, he was like a little caged bird that couldn’t escape, and he seemed to have noticed for the first time that my identity wasn’t so simple. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

“Can you let go of my wrist now?”

I held on. Just for a second more, then let my hand drop. He caught his hand and cradled it to his chest. “Umm, I-I should go back.”

He ran toward the coffee shop, stopping at the door and glancing back at me. I smiled. He probably felt safe that I only had a first name, but that was all I needed.

“Ready to go now, boss?” Sergei asked.

“Yes, but when we get back, Sergei, there’s something you must take care of for me.”

“Does it have anything to do with that guy?”

Only Sergei could ask me if I was interested in another man. In our world, men didn’t sleep with other men. Not if he wanted to remain the head of the mob. Unless it was done to dare, dominate, and degrade.

But Sergei needed to know everyone who hopped into my bed for security reasons, so I didn’t hide that aspect of my life from him.

“I need footage of him from inside the coffee shop. Find out a name. His full name and where he lives.”

“You want me to stalk him, you mean?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes.”

CHAPTER THREE

WREN

The minute I stepped inside the building of Morozov Property Holdings, it felt like I’d walked into a different world. The air was crisp and faintly scented with something expensive, like fresh citrus and subtle sandalwood. My sneakers squeaked against the polished marble floor, the sound embarrassingly loud in the cavernous lobby. They were the only decent pair of shoes I owned, so I’d felt good when I put them on this morning. Not anymore.

Sunlight poured in through towering glass walls, casting soft reflections across the gleaming surfaces. Everything about the space screamed wealth: the sleek furniture upholstered in muted grays and blacks, the brushed steel accents, and the massive living green wall that stretched up one side of the lobby.

A chandelier hung from the ceiling like a constellation of tiny stars captured midfall. I stared at it for a beat too long, my stomach flipping.

What am I doing here?

The thought hit hard, and I felt an immediate pang of inadequacy.

My reflection in one of the mirrored panels confirmed my worst fears. I had dressed for this as best I could, but it wasn’t enough. My secondhand blazer—worn at the elbows and just a little too snug—looked out of place amid the men in sharp suits and women with designer handbags milling through the lobby. Even the security guards, with their tailored uniforms and sleek earpieces, seemed like they belonged more than I did.

A lump formed in my throat as I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag. How long before they realized they’d made a mistake calling me? I should save myself the trouble and leave. But what was the worst that could happen? I’d already drunk coffee backwash from a stranger just to prove a stupid point. A completely hot guy, but still a stranger.

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