Page 7 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
She was right. The man was protected by the law, the same law that was supposed to put him and his kind away.
“Word in the street is that he owns half the cops and a quarter of the people in the DA’s office,” Blair said, sipping from her mug.
My blood boiled at the incompetence of the law. “Those dirty assholes.” I furrowed my brows, my grip tightening around the mug. “Because of their greed and corruption, Lev Tarasov is gradually reshaping the city in his own image.”
“The city’s in need of saving,” she said, stealing another glance back at the TV. “We already have a villain. All we need now is a hero.”
“That’s why we haveyou, Soldier Girl,” I teased, a small grin tugging at the corners of my lips.
She reclined in her chair, fingers stroking her jaw. “Soldier Girl. Hmm. The namedoeshave a ring to it.”
Again, we laughed—not so hard—but enough to ease me of this tension, this burden tightening in my chest. We spent the next hour talking about random things that had nothing to do with the city’s Bratva situation or the series of unfortunate events currently happening in my life.
I didn’t want our conversation to end because that would mean that I’d have to face reality. Break time was over—I’d escaped the real world long enough. It was time to come back.
By the end of the evening, we parted ways and bade each other goodbye. She encouraged me to keep holding on and that things would find a way to fix themselves.
Yeah, of course she’d say that—it was easier to give advice than take it. I would do the same thing, say the same words, too, if I were her.
While heading back home at sunset, my shoes clicked against the pavement as I withdrew my phone from my purse. I scrolled through my recently dialed numbers for a particular supplier’s contact.
We’d spoken two days ago about a shipment that I needed for my fashion design project. It was supposed to arrive tomorrow, and I just wanted to check in and be sure we were still in business.
I dialed the number and waited as it rang on the other line.
“Hello?” the supplier answered.
“Hey, Jenny, hi,” I greeted her, looking both ways before crossing the street. “I’m calling regarding the delivery—”
“About that,” she cut me off as politely as she could. “I’m sorry, Miss Jensen, but the delivery’s been canceled.”
I stopped in my tracks, shock flickering through me. “Canceled? Are you kidding me? We had a deal,” I stressed my whisper, frustration creeping into my tone.
“I’m really sorry, Miss Jensen. The order came in this morning, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
At this point, I wasn’t only frustrated; I was confused by the sudden change of plans. Then her words hit me differently.
“Wait a minute, what do you mean the order came in this morning? Did you cancel everybody’s delivery, too, or just mine?” I asked, my voice dripping with curiosity.
Silence.
“Jenny?” I called softly and repeated the question, serious as fuck. “Did you cancel everybody’s delivery, too, or just mine?”
She hesitated on the other line, then quickly added, her words rushed and frantic, “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
The call ended.
I lowered the phone from my ear, my jaw tightening as a million thoughts flooded my mind. Something wasn’t right.
Why the hell would only my delivery be singled out and canceled? She said the order came in this morning, meaning someone above her pay grade was behind this. It was done on purpose.
My eyes narrowed, my suspicion growing by the second. I could understand why every supplier had refused to be associated with my father’s failing business when I reached out. But this wasmysupplier, and this deal had nothing to do with my father or his business.
Why did they refuse to deliver my goods when I was going to pay for them? Why the last-minute change of plans?
Was this happening because of the recent Jensen family situation? Or was there someone behind all of this, pulling the strings from the shadows?
The Bratva.
