Page 33 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
He arched a brow.
Of course, he’d noticed.
He broke into a smug, devastating half-smile. “Like what you see?”
“Oh, please.” I felt myself blush, and to distract him, rolled my eyes. “It looks like your ego finally outgrew your shirt.”
“Your mother should have washed your mouth with soap,” he dished right back.
I shrugged. “Who said she didn’t?”
His grin widened, the heat in his eyes growing like he was enjoying our little game far too much.
But I hadn’t come here to play.
I let the smile slip from my face. Straightened. “Either way, I’m not here to trade jabs with you, Federico.”
His expression immediately sobered, concern taking over. He motioned to a seat. “What’s up? Did something happen?”
I shook my head. Refused to sit.
“One hundred thousand dollars,” I blurted. “You sent Megan a hundred grand?”
“How do you know that?” he asked, freezing.
My mind scrambled for a lie. There was no way I was going to tell him I had been spying on him.
“She’s my sister?” I looked at him like he’d asked me how to boil an egg. “She told me, of course.”
But she hadn’t noticed. Not yet. If Megan had seen that kind of money land in her account, she would’ve called me in a panic. She didn’t even know who Federico was. To her, that transfer—whenever she did notice it—would look like a bank error or some kind of scam. And when that call came, I’d have to be ready. I needed another lie.
“Oh, right.” He loosened his tie, looking uncomfortable. “What about it?”
“Why?” I asked. “We agreed on twenty-five thousand for her next tuition. Why would you give her one hundred thousand?”
He sighed and walked over to the bar. Poured himself a drink. Motioned at the bottle. I shook my head.
He sipped and turned to face me, casually leaning against the bar. Rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Stuck one hand in his pocket. Picked up the glass with the other.
His eyes burned through mine.
God, he looked good.
Too good.
“You had mentioned your sister had some personal tuition loans in our contract that she intended to repay when she got a job,” he said finally. “I added extra for her to pay those off, with interest.”
I stared at him, stunned. “But why?”
“Tuition loans can bury people,” he shrugged.
“But that’s not your problem. The entire world takes tuition loans,” I protested. “Why give my sister an out?”
“It was part of our arrangement. I take care of your financial problems.” He sipped his drink. “All of them. Your sister’s problems are yours. Yours are mine.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
“Would you have accepted if I had?” He levelled a look daring me to answer with honesty. “Or would your pride have gotten in the way?”
