Page 11 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, please,” Fedor says, waving a hand and leaning back in his seat. “Don’t do anything on my account. I’ll just rot away in this fucking prison, thank you very much!”

This time, the guard claps his hands at Fedor’s outburst. When we look over, he shakes his head in warning.

“I’ll take care of it,” I say again, afraid of what Fedor will do if I don’t calm down. He’ll get himself put in solitary or whatever the fuck kind of punishments they dole out in prison—whatever might be worse than already being in prison. “Okay? It’s a done deal. Just give me the information, Kent, and I’ll deal with it.”

Fedor is too proud to show gratitude. He slouches further in his seat, his top lip pulled back in a scowl. He maintains the same expression as the guard announces visitation is over and everyone begins saying their goodbyes.

“I’ll talk to you soon.” Fedor shrugs and shuffles back down the hallway, the chains around his ankles dragging on the floor with every step.

When we get outside to the parking lot, Kent pulls a manila envelope out of the glove compartment of his car and hands it to me. “Everything you need to know is inside.”

“You really think I need to kill her?” I ask. “If she’s just being used as a threat, then there doesn’t seem much point.”

“Fedor’s freedom is the point,” Kent says sharply. He has always had a soft spot for Fedor. As a lawyer, Kent likes to control situations and people. Fedor, for all his erratic behavior, relies on the advice of those around him to make the big decisions. Kent likes to be the one to offer that advice.

I open the manila envelope and Kent hisses, “Not here.”

I ignore him and slide the picture partially out of the envelope. Then I sigh and drop it back inside without looking. “This feels unnecessary.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he says, slamming the car door and walking around to the other side. He opens the driver’s side door and looks at me over the roof of his car. “All of her regular haunts are in the folder, but she was last seen at the homeless shelter. I’d start there.”

Before I can say anything, he ducks into the car and slams the door. A few seconds later, he squeals out of the parking lot like he’s the lead in a street-racing movie.

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