Page 14 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
My brother sits behind his desk like a judge passing sentence, all ice and calculation. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries.
“You’ve been careless.”
“No, I haven’t. I’m the same as always.”
“Not to me.” Damien’s fingers drum once against the desk. “You’ve been seen with a young woman. Oleg says she’s been asking questions about our projects. Felix says you’ve been manufacturing opportunities to see her.”
“I haven’t.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to. “I don’t care if you want to fuck her, Dimitri. I care that you’re doing it in ways that draw attention. In ways that make you predictable. In ways that give our enemies leverage.”
My hands curl into fists beneath the desk. “No one knows about her.”
“Everyone knows about her. The only question is whether they’ll use her against you or simply eliminate the distraction themselves.” Damien leans forward. “End it today. Cleanly. Or I will end it for you, and you won’t like my methods.”
The threat is clear. Absolute.
I stand. “Consider it done.”
“See that it is.”
I make it three blocks from Damien’s office before I have to stop, bracing against the side of a building, forcing air into lungs that don’t want to expand. Panic claws at my throat—not fear for myself, but for her.
If the Bratva sees Janice as leverage, they won’t hesitate. They’ll take her, use her, break her down into component partsdesigned to make me comply. And when they’re done, when I’ve given them everything they want, they’ll kill her anyway.
Just to prove they can.
The only way to protect her is to cut her loose completely. Make her irrelevant. Make her invisible.
Make her hate me enough that she never looks back.
I call my secretary from the car.
“I need you to make a call to Carmichael Consulting. The intern they placed at our new site—Janice Woods. I want her internship terminated. Effective immediately.”
“Sir?” Marina’s voice carries surprise. She’s worked for me long enough to know I don’t involve myself in personnel decisions at that level. “May I ask the reason?”
“Performance issues and lack of professionalism. Use whatever language keeps it clean and doesn’t open us to liability.”
“Of course. Should I—”
“Handle it today. No delays.”
“Understood.”
I end the call and stare out at the city sliding past. Somewhere out there, Janice is probably still in my bed, or maybe in the car on her way home, replaying last night and trying to make sense of the note I left.
By tonight, she’ll have her answer.
The decision feels final the moment the words leave my mouth. Irrevocable.
It doesn’t feel like mercy. It feels like amputation—necessary, brutal, leaving phantom pain in places that shouldn’t exist.
I tell myself this is protection. That I’m saving her from a world that would destroy her. That cutting her loose now, before she’s in too deep, is the kindest thing I can do.
I almost believe it.
***
