Page 73 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
But the truth was, I wasn’t thinking about bar setups anymore. I was thinking about dragging her into the storage room, locking the door, and pulling that skirt up just far enough to make her forget her own damn name.
We headed out to the main floor, where the afternoon staff was preparing for the evening rush.
As we walked past the main bar, one of the bartenders was unloading a case of whiskey. I saw it happening before I could call out a warning—the box slipped, sending several bottles crashing to the floor.
Glass shattered across the polished wood, and in panic, the bartender bent down, tried to pick up the pieces with his bare hands.
“Shit!” The young man clutched his bleeding hand, his face draining of color.
Before I could react, Autumn was already moving. She grabbed a clean bar towel and rushed to the bartender’s side, crouching before him, murmuring softly.
The kid was half her size and twice as jumpy, but he was listening to her like she’d hung the damn moon.
“I told you to let broken glass be once before,” she said with a calm smile. “Glass isn’t worth your fingers.”
He nodded, red-faced.
Then he looked at me, panic in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking—he’d just destroyed several thousand dollars’ worth of premium liquor.
In the old days, that might have meant serious consequences.
“It’s fine,” I said, my voice gruffer than intended. “Let her help you.”
He reluctantly extended his bleeding hand. Autumn gently wrapped the towel around it, applying pressure.
“Okay, Alex. This looks deep. We need to clean it properly.” She turned to me. “Is there a first aid kit?”
I nodded to the manager, who hurried to retrieve it.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lebedev,” Alex stammered. “The box was heavier than I thought and—”
“Accidents happen,” Autumn interrupted before I could speak. “What matters is that you’re okay.”
I watched as she carefully cleaned the wound.
When she finished bandaging his hand, she smiled encouragingly. “You should probably get this looked at by a doctor. Those stitches might be needed.”
“I can’t leave my shift,” he said, looking anxiously at me.
“Yes, you can,” Autumn said firmly, then glanced at me. “Right, Federico?”
All eyes turned to me. I could feel the staff watching, waiting to see how I’d respond. They expected me to be harsh.
But looking at Autumn’s determined face, I couldn’t bring myself to be the monster they feared.
“Go get it checked out,” I said. “The shift will be covered.”
The relief on the young man’s face was almost annoying to see. Did my employees seriously think I was that heartless? “Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Mrs. Lebedev.”
After he left, Autumn assisted the remaining bartenders in cleaning up the mess. I stood back, watching her chat easily with them as they swept up glass and mopped spilled liquor.
Something twisted in my chest. This woman—my wife on paper—was changing things.
Changing my people.
Changing me.
Once the floor was clean, I caught Autumn’s arm. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
