Page 83 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
I scowl. “This isn’t about drama. I need answers.”
“Exactly,” he says, standing now and stretching his arms above his head. “Which is why I’m going to do something more useful.” He strolls to the door, then turns back. “Where’s the tote bag?”
“Still in the car.”
He nods, grin tugging at his mouth.
“Perfect. I’ll take the burner we found and trace it properly. If I can match it to any registration pattern or catch residual metadata, we’ll know who the real owner is. That’s better than listening to you bark and throw punches again.”
“You’re not wrong,” I mutter.
He gives me a casual salute and heads for the exit. “I’ll call you the second I find anything,” he says, already walking away. “Try not to kill anyone before I get back.”
I’m already reaching for my coat. No promises. I hurry back to the bedroom and push the door open slowly.
Violet’s curled up under the sheets, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the soft rise and fall of her breath the only sound in the room. The glow from the hallway spills in just enough to kiss her face, and my heart squeezes at the sight.
She’s fast asleep.
Good.
I step inside, quiet as a ghost, and move to her side of the bed. Her lashes flutter slightly but don’t open. I hate that I have to leave her again, even if just for a little while. She’ll be upset when she wakes and doesn’t see me here.
I crouch by the nightstand and place the burner phone down gently beside her lamp. My fingers linger on the edge of it. She can call her friends or call anyone she wants to. I don’t mind. But I know I have to go and return before she wakes up. Or she may never forgive me for breaking my promise.
I kiss her temple softly. Then I whisper against her hair,
“Sleep, baby. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”
I take one last look at her. And then I leave. I drive like a madman.
The engine growls beneath me, the tires screeching against the asphalt as I tear down the dark road. Every second that passes winds my rage tighter, coiling it in my gut like a loaded spring. If I’m right about Arina—if they’ve been the traitor all along—I don’t know how I’ll keep myself from burning everything down.
I reach the estate and slam the brakes just outside the gates. Maxim’s already there, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
He steps forward as I kill the engine.
“Where’s Arina?” I ask, climbing out.
Maxim raises a brow. “Inside. Why? Is something wrong?”
I shut the car door a little harder than necessary. “I’ll see.”
His gaze narrows. He opens his mouth to ask more, but I’m already walking past him.
The foyer lights are dim, casting long shadows over the polished marble. I stop halfway across the space, my boots echoing against the floor.
“Bring Arina to me,” I say without turning back.
Maxim hesitates, just for a second. I feel it. Then he moves, disappearing out of the foyer. Maxim returns with Arina a few minutes later.
They walk in, eyes sharp but posture casual—hands tucked into the pockets of their leather jacket like they’re coming in for a debrief, not an interrogation.
“What’s going on?” Arina asks, cocking their head. “Is everything okay?”
Innocent. Too innocent.
My jaw clenches.
