Page 89 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
Think, Jennie. Think.
Adrian. He’ll come for me.
He has to.
Even when I’m mad at him. Even when I question every part of who he is—there’s one thing I’ve never doubted: If someone lays a hand on me, Adrian will make them pay.
A harsh breath leaves me.
Will he, though? I questioned his ability to protect me. I told him I didn’t care about him. He told me he loved me, and I threw it back in his face. Will he come for me? I don’t know.
Maybe he’ll use this to teach me a hard lesson. Tears prick eyes.
Footsteps distract me from tears, and I pause. The steps are slow and deliberate. They echo across the concrete floor, each one slicing into the silence like a knife. I lift my head, forcing my eyes to focus, and then I see him.
A tall man steps out from the shadows.
He’s not wearing a mask anymore.
His face is hard—sharp jawline, hollow cheeks, and eyes like stone. Cold. Dead.
He flicks on an overhead light, and I shut my eyes briefly as the harsh light floods the room. When I open them again, the overhead light buzzes above him, casting flickering shadows over his features. He doesn’t look familiar, but something about the way he stares at me is like heknowsme.
He stops just a few feet away from me, arms folded behind his back, head tilted slightly like I’m some science experiment he’s observing.
“So. You’re Adrian’s wife,” he finally says, voice deep, rough around the edges like he chews glass for breakfast. “I thought you’d look more…vicious. More like him.”
I say nothing.
He steps closer.
“You’re prettier than I expected, though,” he continues, and there’s a sick sort of smile tugging at his mouth.
“Who are you?” My voice cracks, but I force strength into it.
He lowers himself to my level, crouching in front of me. “Yegor,” he says simply. “A name your husband has probablyscrubbed from every file he owns. But we’re family. Distant cousins—Rusnak blood runs through my veins just like his.”
He pauses.
“You know your husband is a murderer, right? A bastard!”
I take a deep breath and try to stay calm.
“My brother, Valentin, was loyal to the Bratva. One of the few who stood beside Adrian when shit went south during the internal conflict ten years ago.” His voice turns to ice. “But Adrian turned on him. Killed him. Left his body rotting in a snow ditch like he never mattered.”
I feel my stomach twist. “Why—why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” he says, standing up again, “Adrian never told you, did he? That’s the kind of man you married. The kind who eliminates his own blood without flinching. The kind who builds power on betrayal.”
My mouth is dry. “You don’t know him.”
“I know enough. And I know exactly how to hurt him.” He leans down, whispering coldly near my ear. “Through you.”
I flinch.
“And your brother? Logan? He was never the target. Just bait. Collateral. You’re the real prize. The real wound I plan to slice open.”
His words send chills down my spine. He straightens again and walks away slowly, like he’s already won.
