Page 49 of The Russian's Arranged Pregnant Bride

No. Fuck no.

I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second, forced the thought away. It couldn’t be her. She wouldn’t. She was scared, yes. Hiding things, absolutely. But this?

This was betrayal on a level that would get her killed.

That would getmekilled for not seeing it sooner.

“Drew!” One of the men—Cassiel—shouted my name. “They’re flanking left!”

I snapped back into focus, swung around the container, and put three rounds into the chest of a man trying to circle us. He dropped like a stone.

More gunfire. More shouting. The smell of gunpowder and saltwater thick in the air.

I moved fast, calculated every angle, every shot. Covered Cassiel as he dragged Boris—who’d taken one in the shoulder—behind better cover. Kept Alexei from doing something stupid and heroic that would’ve gotten him killed.

By the time the dust settled, we’d lost the container.

But all three Bratva men were alive.

That was something. Not enough. But something.

I stood there in the wreckage, breathing hard, my Glock still raised, scanning for movement. Bodies littered the dock—none of them ours. Whoever had orchestrated this had pulled back the moment they realized they weren’t going to win.

They’d gotten what they came for. The cargo. The shipment Rafael had been banking on.

And someone had handed it to them on a silver fucking platter.

Viktor limped over, blood streaming from a gash on his temple. “What the hell was that?”

“A setup,” I said flatly.

“By who?”

I didn’t answer. Because if I said her name out loud, it would make it real. And I wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

“Get Lev to the hospital,” I ordered. “Tell Rafael what happened. I’ll handle the rest.”

Viktor frowned. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” I holstered my Glock, my jaw tight. “I’ve got something I need to take care of.”

He didn’t argue. Smart man.

I climbed into my car, slammed the door, and drove. Didn’t call Rafael. Didn’t call Kirill or Damir. Didn’t tell anyone about the ambush, about the missing cargo, about the clusterfuck that had just gone down.

Because I needed to know first.

Needed to look her in the eye and see the truth.

My hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack. Anger burned in my chest like gasoline waiting for a match.

If it was her—if she’d sold us out—I didn’t know what I’d do.

Kill her, maybe. The way I was supposed to. The way Bratva demanded.

Or maybe I’d just break. Shatter into a thousand pieces because I’d let myself care about someone who was always going to destroy me.