Page 40 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

When Sergei called to tell me one of the Mexicans had been behind the attack last night, I’d felt a pang of relief, but I couldn’t let myself relish in it until I knew for sure it was true.

This morning, we traced a second number back to Joaquin’s villa, which confirmed what we already knew: Audrey wasn’t behind the hit on my club or the ambush.

She didn’t betray me like I thought.

If anything, she was as much a target as I was. There’s even a pretty good chance she was the actual target for last night’s ambush. At best, whoever orchestrated it didn’t care whether she lived or died.

The thought makes my jaw tighten.

I glance out the window, remembering the way she curled against me inside the SUV while bullets tore through the glass. I can still feel her trembling beneath me, hear the panic in her breathing as I covered her body with mine.

For the first time since we met again, I realize the woman sleeping under my roof isn’t my enemy.

Not anymore.

Somewhere between our wedding, the bullet she took, and the way she looked at me when I apologized, she’s stopped being someone I need to watch.

She’s become someone I can’t bear to lose.

The realization should terrify me. Men like me don’t survive by becoming vulnerable. Caring for someone is a weakness. It becomes bait enemies could use to strike.

Yet the thought of losing her again scares me far more than anything else ever has.

“Boss?”

Sergei’s voice pulls me back to the present. I look at him through the rearview mirror.

"We’re home.”

I glance at the mansion through the windshield. Guards patrol every corner of the estate, twice as many as before the attack. I ordered the extra security myself, but somehow it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Nothing will ever be enough now that Audrey’s safety has become my greatest priority. I wouldn’t feel at ease even if I stationed a thousand more men here to protect her.

I step out of the car and head straight inside, taking the stairs two at a time.

There’s only one place I want to be, and that’s beside my wife. Now that I know she’s not my enemy, keeping my distance from her won’t work anymore. I have no reason to be wary of her.

When I make it to the master bedroom, I find her standing by the window, holding her phone with her back turned to the door. She doesn’t turn around when I step into the room. I don’t think she’s even noticed my presence.

Whatever she’s staring at on her phone has her full attention, and I’m worried it’s something serious from how tense she looks.

After a moment, she sighs, tosses her phone on the bed, and turns around.

Our bodies collide.

The softness of hers crashes into the hardness of mine, and instinct takes over. My hands close around her waist to steady her, my fingers digging into the curve of her hips as if they’re afraid she’ll disappear the second I let go.

She stumbles back just enough to look up at me.

The color drains from her face.

“Igor...”

The way she whispers my name twists something deep inside my chest.

For one irrational second, every instinct I possess screams that she’s terrified of me. The thought should make me loosen my grip. Instead, it has the opposite effect.

I tighten my hold ever so slightly, needing to reassure myself that she’s here. Alive. Safe. Mine.