Page 11 of Sold to the Bratva

“He’d find us,” I respond glumly.

She looks up, voice thick. “What if we made it impossible?”

I reach across the table and take her hand. “He’d hurt you. And I won’t let that happen.”

I know the truth. Apart from Isaac’s refusal, there’s no way for me to get out of this. And I’m not letting my best friend put herself in danger because of it.

She squeezes my hand back tightly. “Then let me help. Call me. Text me. You don’t have to be strong the whole time.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

I shake my head. “If I let myself fall apart, I won’t come back from it.”

She studies me for a long moment.

Then she nods.

“Okay. Then I’ll hold the pieces until you’re ready.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and look away.

Evie doesn’t say anything else. She just flags down the server, orders another round, and reaches into her purse to pull out a tiny bottle of nail polish.

I blink.

“Are you seriously doing your nails right now?”

She shrugs. “Your wedding’s in nine days. If I’m starring as maid of honor in a hostage situation, the least I can do is sport a decent manicure.”

I start laughing so hard I cry.

For the first time in days, I feel like I’m allowed to. With my arranged marriage to one of the Bratva’s most feared men days away, I down another shot of tequila. It scorches my throat, but it’s not enough to burn away the dread clawing inside me.

I stumble into the bathroom, phone in hand, and scroll to the number my fatherdemandedI save.Isaac Kozlov.My future husband. My future captor.

I’d sworn I wouldn’t text him. That I’d play the perfect daughter until I could find my escape. But the tequila hums in my blood, loosening my restraint and sharpening something reckless. If I was going to sabotage this marriage, why not start now?

You’re old.

The three dots appear immediately.

Is that a problem?

I smirk, my heart pounding with dangerous satisfaction.

I’m sure it is for the women you sleep with.

His reply is sharp, like steel hidden in velvet.

I’ll have you know I have no complaints. Only begging.

Heat pools low in my stomach. Damn him.

I don’t believe you.

This time he makes me wait. Long enough for my pulse to trip over itself.