Page 21 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

It explains why there was beefed-up security. And it explains why they were ready. We have a fucking mole somewhere… But who? It isn't like I advertised to everyone days in advance, and only a handful of people knew we were going in.

"So they didn't just know a raid was coming," I say slowly. "They knew who was raiding."

"That's a different problem," Mishka says quietly.

"It's a worse problem." I sit back and cover my mouth with a palm. A leak about the timing of a job is the kind of thing a careless soldier does with a loose mouth in the wrong bar. But somebody telling Solano's people it would be the Roshin Bratva coming through that fence, by name, that's not carelessness.

"Who'd we use on the ground for the approach? The locals Mikhail hired for the perimeter, did any of them get a face, a name, anything?" This is going to go sideways for us. I can just feel it coming. And Sebastian is going to have my neck. I promised him no complications at all.

"They got nothing but a wall to watch," Mishka says. "Mikhail kept them blind on purpose."

"Then it isn't them." I pinch the bridge of my nose. The list of people who knew it would be us is short. That makes it cleaner and uglier at the same time. If I have a mole in my inner circle, it means I'm at risk. No one can know that I know. "Keep this between the three of us for now. Not Mikhail, not anyone. If somebody on the inside sold us, the worst thing we can do is let them know we're looking."

"Shit, Boss…" Bart sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You can’t think Mikhail or Draven did this…" There are only a few more names which Bart doesn't bother naming because there's no way in hell my men would betray me. I don't doubt any of them for a second.

"No, I don't… But I can't take chances." My head is throbbing now as a tension headache winds its way up my neck to my brain. I'd trust these two with my life, but I'm taking a risk speaking to even them about it. "Go get rest… In four hours, relieve Mikhail with the old man. Try to force him to at least drink water."

"Yeah, Boss…" Bart and Mishka stand and walk to the door, but Mishka turns back to study me.

"Your side?" he says.

"It’s fine. Go sleep," I grumble, sick of all these idiots trying to coddle me over a fucking flesh wound. There are far worse things at stake than whether I get an ugly scar. I've had worse wounds than this. It'll heal.

When they're gone, I flick the lights off, though the sun rising outside is illuminating things already, and head to my room. I expect Isabela to be sleeping soundly after all that stress, but she lies in bed naked, waiting for me.

"My father," she says immediately. "Is he⁠—"

"Stable." I sit on the edge of the bed to ease the strain off my side. "Dehydrated, banged up, old injuries that healed badly, but nothing that won't mend. He's refusing food and treatment until he sees you. The doctor's working on him."

Her face crumples with relief and worry both at once, and she presses a hand to her mouth. "I have to go to him. If he's refusing care, he'll listen to me, I can⁠—"

"You'll see him tomorrow."

"He needs me now."

"He needs to sleep, and so do you, and so do I." I lean down and pull my boots off slowly. Every movement hurts my damn side so badly. "You're not going down there in your state. You'll see him after we've all rested."

Isabela offers a defiant expression and slinks toward the edge of the bed as I pull my shirt off. The strain makes me wince, but I don't miss the glower on her face.

"Then I'll sleep in my own room," she says. "The one you locked me in. At least let me⁠—"

"You're sleeping here," I growl, unbuckling my pants. "From now on, this is where you sleep."

She turns to look at me, her whole body going stiff as she pulls the sheet up around her body like I haven't just devoured every bit of her flesh. It's attractive, though, only seeing parts of her, especially with that look of shock and embarrassment she's got.

"Here," she repeats. "In your bed?"

"Yes."

"No." She's up off the mattress and on her feet in an instant, reaching for the towel she left draped over the chair across the room "Absolutely not. I'm not—you can't just decide that. I'm not some⁠—"

"Whore?" I snip, cutting her off. She turns on me, glaring, but I continue. "You'll sleep. I'll sleep. That's all that's happening in this room tonight, because I'm in no condition for anything else and you know it." But my God, if she wanted to ride me, I'd let her. She's perfect.

"Then why does it matter where I sleep?"

My dick could tell her why it matters so much, but then I'd be breaking doctor's orders. I tug the slacks down as I turn back to her, letting them and my boxers fall to the ground. I want to feel her skin against mine, even if she won't consent to anything more.

"Because I said so," I tell her instead. "Get in the bed."