Page 68 of Forced into a Bratva Marriage
The next few files. Same thing.
“These materials don’t look abstract.” I glanced up at him.
“They’re not.” A pause. “You said you wanted real cases. Well, here they are.”
I swallowed hard, unsure how to feel about this. Why did he go out of his way to get me what I wanted? What changed?
Real cases meant real people were involved. What did he want me to do with these files? Would my involvement in thesecases affect people’s lives? Was I even ready for the burden that would come with this new role?
I noticed he was staring at me, watching me closely as if waiting to see if I’d fold or push through. I pretended not to be fazed by the intensity of his gaze, especially after he lit a cigarette.
He took a long drag, then released a puff of smoke into the air around his face.
I picked up the file and kept reading despite my discomfort.
These documents were directly linked to him—drugs, money laundering, assassinations, arms dealing, and a host of other crimes.
Fuck.
Karik Tarasov was deeper in this shit than I thought, and that made him even more dangerous. In the wrong hands, these files could be used to bury him. For good.
Yet he just handed them over to me. That’s when I realized I was in too deep. He let me feast my eyes on sensitive information about his work because he never intended to let me go.
He wanted me to know too much so that he’d use that as an excuse to keep me with him. By giving me this information, he’d indirectly made me an accomplice.
Motherfucker!
Chapter 22 – Karik
I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window in my study, cradling a half-empty glass of whiskey in my hand. My eyes were fixed on the beautiful garden outside with one hand in my pocket.
The door behind me opened, and someone walked in, their footsteps slow and confident. “The car’s ready, Boss.”
It was Sergei.
I lifted the glass to my lips and took another sip. “And my wife?” I asked without turning to look at him.
“She’s downstairs,” he answered. “All dressed up.”
“Good.”
A pause.
I sensed he had something else to add, and I knew exactly what it was about. As the silence stretched between us, he finally spoke.
“Boss…about the other night—”
“What you do with your private life is none of my business, Sergei,” I cut him off, then sipped from my glass.
Silence.
I glanced over my shoulder. “As long as it doesn’t affect your work…or hers.”
He remained stoic as ever.
I turned around, facing him squarely. “Tell me, do I have to worry about your efficiency?”
“No, Boss.”
