Page 28 of A Bride for the Bratva Boss
If Liza killed one of theirs…
“They’ve already spread word,” Alexei says. “Someone’s put a price on her.”
“How do they know it’s her,” I ask. “There were no cameras and the cleanup went flawlessly.”
Alexei shrugs. “I don’t know. But she’s definitely named.”
“Under which name, though?” I rub a hand down my face. “Under which last name, I mean?”
“That’s the good news,” Alexei says. “The hit refers to her as Liza Ponti, not Kedrov.”
Rik’s jaw locks. “Doesn’t matter which name they use. She’s family. Are they’re making a move tonight?”
“No signs yet,” Alexei says. “But I don’t like that she’s visible here. And that we’re flaunting that she’s under our protection. That might make the Demon’s more eager.”
Fuck. I scan the room for Liza and my chest tightens when I don’t immediately see her.
Rik claps a hand on my shoulder. “Keep her close. Discreetly. We can’t look rattled. Not here.”
I nod, but my heart is already pounding too fast.
After minutes that feels like hours of fruitless searching, I finally find her, standing beside Monica Gahr. Alone.
My gut twists.
Monica is smiling too brightly, one of those smiles that’s all teeth. “And of course,” she says, “some women never quite fit in at first. It takes a certain, refinement, influence, and a lot of guidance.”
Liza’s pulse flickers visibly at her throat.
I step in. “Everything okay?”
Monica beams. “Just talking fashion with your date.”
“She’s not my date. She’s mine.” I say before my brain catches up. “My wife,” I correct.
Monica’s eyebrows rise. She glances at Liza’s hand. At her bare ring finger.
Liza turns pink.
Damn it. I meant to get her a ring, but I’ve been too busy spending time with her in bed. I should have anticipated she needed a ring for this stupid event. But then I didn’t know we were going to this meaningless party. I shake my head.
Monica excuses herself with a thin smile.
When she’s gone, Liza exhales shakily.
“You look like you want to punch someone,” she says.
“I want to punch her,” I admit. And myself for not protecting my wife from vultures like her.
Her laugh is soft, fleeting. “Please don’t.”
I lower my voice. “You don’t deserve the way they’re talking to you. Any of them.”
She looks down. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t belong?—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I growl.
She blinks up at me.
