Page 107 of Owned By the Bratva

“Yes, sir.” He digs out his phone and calls emergency services, my order unspoken.

“Look at me,” I tell the woman, doing my best to get her attention. She keeps looking off somewhere, staring at the flaming remnants of my car with horror in her eyes. “You’re safe now, miss. What’s your name?”

“Something went wrong,” she murmurs, so quietly I almost miss it.

“What?”

“N-nothing. I…” She brings a hand to her head, huffing in frustration. “I need to go.”

“Go?” I echo. “At least let the paramedics take a look at you.”

“No, no, I have to—”

The woman stands so rapidly she stumbles forward. It’s a good thing I’m close enough to catch her in my arms. I grip her carefully by the elbows, offering support. Poor thing.

“Easy, easy. What’s the rush?”

Her baby blues flit up and lock onto mine. For a moment, I’m hypnotized. Who is this strange woman? And why does she keep looking at me like that—with familiarity? No, that can’t be. I’ve never seen this woman in my life.

I hope I don’t have a concussion.

“You don’t understand,” she insists. “I can’t be here. I shouldn’t…”

I can’t make sense of what she’s saying, but I need to put my foot down. The last thing I want is to see her hurt herself in her confusion. “I’ll give you space, okay? Just promise you’ll let a paramedic take a look at you.”

“O-okay,” she stammers, sitting back down. Her body slumps like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Very slowly, I step away and turn to Boris.

“Call Mikhail,” I instruct. “We need to warn my brother. If this was an attack by one of our enemies, we need to get to the bottom of it ASAP. Cancel the rest of my meetings today as well. If whoever’s responsible for this attack discovers I’m still alive, they’ll likely try to come after me again.”

Boris nods. “Yes, sir, absolutely. Are you sure you’re uninjured?”

“As right as rain.”

“And the woman?”

“She’s—” I turn and stop short.

My jacket is crumpled up on the bench, but she is nowhere to be found.

Chapter 2

Natalya

What the hell happened?

I keep running the events leading up to the explosion over and over again in my head, a track on never-ending repeat. I followed Edvard’s instructions to the letter…

So why the hell did the car bomb I planted go off early?

I stumble into my hotel room with a muffled whimper. My muscles are sore and my joints ache. There’s an annoying, high-pitched hum in my ears I can’t seem to get rid of.

Dammit all! All those months of careful preparation are literally up in smoke.

The room is more of a command center than a place of rest. Maps, schematics, dossiers, and printed images are everywhere, scattered over the bed while other documents are pinned to the cheap drywall. It’s unsightly, but I’m not exactly focused on keeping my space neat and tidy. I’ve got bigger problems than day-old takeout containers, my unmade bed, and all the clutter in my way.

All I care about is killing Dimitri Antonov.

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