Page 71 of Owned Bratva Bride

It was a relief to be away from the funny feelings and thoughts that Marielle’s presence brought. In a way, it felt good to wake up alone in bed, to not see an angel I was trying so hard to stay away from beside me.

But at the same time, the distance wasn’t enough to make my mind free from memories, all of which included her. I thought of calling her, but I settled for her guards.

My second and last day in Prague was when I got the call.

There had been an attack at the house. Marielle and everyone else were safe.

I couldn’t get back quickly enough.

I headed straight to the warehouse. My top men were already waiting for me there.

“I don’t have more than one question. Why did this attack happen when I was away, when my wife was at home?” I questioned without preamble.

After countless minutes of both meaningless and meaningful rambling, my men reached the same conclusion I had.

There was a mole.

Someone among us was either feeding an enemy information or working for them.

“Whoever it is, I promise to find them. He’ll regret the day he was born. And there won’t be a repeat before it happens,” I had warned before dismissing them.

I found Marielle in bed when I got home. Walking over to her side of the bed, I stood there, resisting the urge to remove the covers and hold her in my arms and check if she was hurt anywhere.

The thought of someone hurting her made my jaw clench in anger.

I won’t allow it.

The next day, I sat on the couch, reading a report while waiting for her to wake up.

“Good morning,” I greeted, making her head whip to the left where the couch was.

She brought her hands down mid-stretch, her sleepy eyes now bright.

“When did you get back?” she inquired, bringing the duvet up to cover her chest.

Like I hadn’t already seen the tank top that she wore nothing under.

“Last night.”

“Okay,” she breathed, stifling a yawn.

“My men told me about the attack.”

She shrugged, her gaze cool like she was expecting what I had to say.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does it matter to you?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her hand.

What?!

She thinks I’m not concerned about her?

“Of course, it matters.”

When she gave no indication of hearing, I told her, “I have a meeting to attend later tonight; you’ll come with me.”

“Why?” she asked, like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.