Page 9 of Pregnant Bratva Bride

“We were attacked last night.” He paused, and I assumed he clenched his fists. “The shipment we were expecting from Mexican went missing, and we lost five men.”

My own hands curled. “Do we have any idea who was responsible for the attack?”

“No, I don’t.” I heard a voice in the background that sounded like Lilianna’s, my sister-in-law. “I think the Italians had something to do with it.”

Right. Fucking Italians. They hadn’t learned their lesson since the last war three years ago. Those bastards were as relentless as cockroaches.

“Get your ass over here,” he ordered. “We have funerals to attend.”

My chest constricted. It’d been years since our parents died, and I hated the mention of funerals. I hated that more Russian blood had to be spilled by Italians. “And after the funeral?”

There was a brief moment of silence. “You’ll find out whatever you can about this attack.”

“I will.” Even if Sergey hadn’t ordered me to, it was my duty to handle both our legal and illegal businesses, including taking care of traitors in our midst and thieves.

Our territory was well guarded, and the shipment had a secret only a few of our soldiers knew. It was drugs worth millions of dollars, and Sergey kept the circle small when the goods were that expensive. If the Italians had somehow found out about it, it meant there was a rat in our midst.

Sergey hung up, and I stared at the ceiling, boiling with rage. I’d always hated those Italian bastards, but it was hard not to want to wipe them all out from the face of the earth when they just wouldn’t leave my family the hell alone.

After Giovanni’s death, his son, Angelo, became the head of the Cosa Nostra. The fucker had pretended to want peace at first, but he ended up a worse menace than his father.

Giovanni was intelligent and calculated his steps at least, Angelo on the other hand, was like a clown on a throne. He claimed he wanted revenge for his father and sister, but his attacks were driven by the need to spill blood.

“Svoloch,”I muttered and rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Giselle. We’d fucked until five this morning, and I’d imagined she would be exhausted.

I was exhausted too. She’d been so fucking sweet I never wanted to unbury my cock from her. No woman had ever gripped my cock as much as she did.

It seemed I wasn’t careful enough as I got out of bed because she moved, stretched, and opened her eyes, her thick lashes fluttered as she squinted around.

Her eyes met mine. She blinked twice, rubbed her eyes, and craned her head to take a second look at me. I hoped she wasn’t about to say she didn’t remember anything about last night. While I loved to swim in my enemies’ blood, the last thing I wanted was to find out I’d had sex with a woman against her will.

I wasn’t enough of a jerk to dishonor a woman like that.

When she opened her mouth, I expected her to ask me questions like who I was or what happened last night. Instead, she asked, “What time is it?”

I tapped my phone and scanned the screen for the time. “It’s eight a.m.”

She squeaked. “What?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer when she jumped up from the bed, gathered her clothes from the floor, and started to pull them on. “Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.”

I wore my briefs. “Late for something?”

She huffed. “You have no idea.” She hastily pulled on her final piece of clothing—her now rumpled white shirt—then walked to the vanity and tried to smooth her hair. “I’m so fucked.”

I rested on the wall, watching her try to untangle her hair. It was a futile attempt though, one that caused her to furrow her brows.

“Do you need a ride home?” I asked. I needed to get to Sergey quickly, but I didn’t mind sparing a few minutes to get her home first.

She exhaled, exasperated that nothing she did made her hair look less messy. She shook her head. “I can find my own way home. Thanks for asking though.” She walked to the vanity and grabbed her handbag. “Have a great day.”

I opened my mouth, but she was out of the door before I could say a word. I stood in awe for a moment, trying to think of why she was in such a hurry. Perhaps she just had work?

It was strange. I was forty, and not once had a woman rushed out of me after we’d spent a night together. Most of them always tried to get me to spend more time with them, some even offered to have sex with me whenever I wanted, while some others tried to make a one-night stand something more than it was.

Not Giselle though. She hadn’t woken up pretending to be a good girl who never talked to strangers, got drunk, and misbehaved. She didn’t seem to think anything more of last night, which was exactly what I expected from the women I slept with.

So, why did watching her leave my chest to lurch the way it did? If I didn’t know myself any better, I’d say I wanted to know more about her—everything about her.

Giselle was intoxicating in a way I didn’t like. Sergey had said something once about meeting the kind of woman who’d be stuck in your head forever, just like him and Lilianna. Was Giselle that kind of woman?

---