Page 50 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
“All clear, Boss?” he asked as Federico opened the back door for me. I got in. Quietly. Without argument.
If Federico was dangerous, hanging around here was lethal.
I sank into the seat, and Federico slid in beside me from the other side.
“Go,” he ordered, and the car pulled away from the curb.
I stared straight ahead, my mind replaying the night’s events in horrific detail. The torture. The gun. The blood. The bodies.
“Are you cold?” Federico asked after a few minutes of silence had passed. “I can turn up the heat.”
I shook my head.
“The windows?” he offered. “Fresh air might help.”
Another head shake.
He shifted in his seat. “Water? There should be—”
“Stop,” I whispered as I looked right at him, glaring at him to be silent. “Just... stop.”
He fell silent, but my eyes remained on him, as though they were seeing him for the first time. The streetlights in the darkness highlighted the hard angles of his jaw and the intensity of his eyes.
Who was this man?
My fingers twisted in my lap, still shaking. I tried to steady them, embarrassed by my weakness.
Federico noticed—of course, he did.
He noticed everything.
Probably had to—as an assassin.
“It’s adrenaline,” he said quietly. “It’ll pass.”
I looked at the blood on his shirt, the bruise forming on his jaw. The way he held himself, alert and ready, even now.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
He looked away, out the window at the passing city. “We’ll talk at home.”
“Talk about what? How you torture people? How you kill like it’s nothing? How you’ve been lying to me since the day we met?”
His jaw tightened. “Not here.”
I let out a scornful little laugh, but he didn’t take the bait. He remained quiet. The rest of the ride passed in tense silence. I retreated into my thoughts, trying to make sense of everything.
The pieces were all there—Federico’s mysterious work. The armed guards at his house. The fortune he seemed to have access to. The way those men knew exactly who I was.
All pointing to something I’d been too naive to see.
A god damn assassin.
By the time we reached the mansion, I’d stopped shaking. The fear hadn’t disappeared—it had hardened into something like anger.
He should have told me the truth before embroiling me in his mess of a life. His dangerous,problematicworld. A word he once used to describe the people he knew, but I was too innocent to think much of it.
I got out of the car before Federico could reach around to open my door.
