Page 66 of The Russian's Arranged Pregnant Bride

Drew was watching me. Waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for the truth to come out.

And my baby—our baby—was caught in the middle of it all.

I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling the slight curve there, and whispered into the darkness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Because I knew what was coming.

The truth always came out.

And when it did, there would be no mercy.

Only blood.

Only endings.

Only the brutal, unforgiving justice of a world I’d tried to destroy and failed.

I closed my eyes and tried to prepare myself for the inevitable.

But deep down, I knew nothing could prepare me for what was coming.

Chapter 19 – Drew

The warehouse reeked of gunpowder, scorched wood, and death. Shattered crates littered the floor like broken bones. Bodies lay scattered around me—Vance’s men, every single one of them, their eyes still open, staring at nothing.

We’d been ready. Thanks to Rafael’s anonymous tip, we’d shown up armed, organized, and lethal. The ambush had turned into a massacre in under ten minutes.

Only one man remained alive.

Barely.

He was slumped against a steel beam, blood pouring from a wound in his side, his breathing shallow and ragged. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and his eyes kept flickering like he was fighting to stay conscious.

I crouched in front of him, my Glock still in my hand, my own clothes soaked in blood that wasn’t mine. My chest heaved with adrenaline, my pulse still hammering from the fight.

“Name,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous.

The man blinked, spat blood onto the concrete, and laughed. It was a broken, wheezing sound that scraped against my nerves like nails on glass.

I slammed my fist into his face.

The scream that ripped out of him echoed through the warehouse like a firecracker, sharp and brutal.

“Name,” I repeated, my knuckles throbbing, blood—his blood—dripping from my fist.

He gasped, his head lolling to the side, his breath coming in wet, rattling bursts. “Fuck…you….”

I raised my fist again.

“Okay! Okay!” He choked on the words, coughing up more blood. “Vance…Vance Donovan.”

I froze, my fist still raised, my mind racing.

Vance Donovan.

Fuck.