Page 93 of Owned Bratva Bride

She let out a soft breath, and I smirked in pride.

We eventually had dinner in the bedroom halfway through the movie.

That night, I slept with Marielle’s head on my chest.

I wasn’t sure I even knew how to let someone in anymore, but I would try.

***

This morning’s Bratva meeting was held at my warehouse.

I had so much work on my table that I worried about where to start. It was the middle of the year, the time when Bratva pressure often threatened to choke me.

“Any personal business?” I asked Danil, who stayed behind as the other brothers drove off.

I noticed he now had a brown envelope in his hand.

“Let’s go to your office.”

I nodded once, leading the way back into the warehouse.

I had barely taken a seat behind my desk when he tossed glossy pictures onto my desk.

Marielle’s face stood out.

Alarms sounded in my head.

I picked them up.

“I know we concluded that she isn’t a threat,” he started, his tone clipped. “But I couldn’t bring myself to trust her. I thought to do some digging, just in case. I pulled the CCTV records of the last Bratva event. Found that.”

My eyes scanned each of the photographs, but I held one. The one that zoomed in on the text on her phone that read:

“We need to talk. -L.”

“And you didn’t disclose this at the meeting because…?”

He shrugged.

“You should know I trust your judgment. I’m disclosing it to you so you can look into it.”

I nodded, gathering the pictures.

“Brother,” he called, making me look up at him. “Your wife might be playing you,” he divulged, raising a brow.

Something in me shouted a solid ‘no.’

But I said nothing as Danil walked out of my office.

I hadn’t been with her for the most part of that night; she might have exchanged as many texts with whoever she wanted. And I knew who exactly could send a text signed with an L.

Fucking Lucien Navarro.

Was I wrong all along?

But I knew how happy she looked whenever we were cool. I knew how her hurt radiated whenever we weren’t talking. I knew how my touch made her want more; how she looked at me like she was happy to be mine.

But pictures don’t lie.