Page 52 of The Bratva Sinner

“You’re pissed.”

“You think?” She rounds on me. “You actually married her.”

“It had to be done.”

She laughs. “Maksim, you just painted the biggest target on her back. On all our backs. You think marrying her makes her safer? It makes her a prize. A trophy. Something Arlind will kill to take from you, just to prove he can.”

“She has my name now. My protection.”

“Your name means nothing if she’s dead!” Cinder’s voice rises. “And what about the rest of us? The women who work for you? We’re all at risk now because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“This isn’t about sex.”

“Then what is it about? From where I’m standing, you just started a war over a girl you barely know. She’s young. Naive. She’ll leave you the first chance she gets.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“You didn’t save anyone.” Cinder steps closer, her eyes blazing. She’s honoring her name with that fiery personality. “You made everything worse. Arlind won’t stop now. He’ll come at you with everything he has. When he does, it won’t just be Lila who dies. It’ll be all of us.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t promise that.” Her voice cracks. “Mara is dead, Maksim. She’s dead because you pulled Lila out of the club that night. How many more of us have to die before you realize this isn’t worth it?”

I have no answer.

But I can’t undo it now. I’m counting on my name to shield all of us.

“Get out,” I say quietly.

Her eyes widen, and her nostrils flare, and then she turns and leaves, slamming the door behind her.

I finally leave the club well past three in the morning. Only the night guards are awake, patrolling the grounds.

I should go to my room and get some sleep. Instead, I find myself walking down the hall toward Lila’s room.

I knock softly. No answer.

I knock again. “Lila.”

“Go away.”

I open the door anyway.

She’s sitting up in bed with her hair down around her shoulders. She looks young and vulnerable. Nothing like the spitfire I see most of the time.

She is so young. What the hell was I thinking?

“You are not going to get in my bed.”

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t. We’re married. That’s what you wanted. Now leave me alone.”

I step into the room and close the door behind me.

“Go find one of your other women. I can’t compete with their experience, anyway.”

The words are bitter, maybe even jealous.