Page 56 of Bratva Menace

“Just focus on the plan. Nothing else. Get the information we need. Don’t let yourself get distracted. Understand?” My eyes swept to Lukyan again. Too late.

“Is that it? I’m about to sit down for dinner.”

Lev blew out what I could only guess was a relieved sigh, thinking he’d won. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes.”

“You know I would do anything for you, right?”

No. “Yes.” If it came down to me or his revenge, I knew what he would pick…and it wouldn’t be me.

Lukyan stirred, a groan falling from his lips. My heart leaped in my chest.

“Alright, I really have to go.”

“Fine. Next check-in is in twelve hours. Answer my call. We’re so close to the finish line, Lyla. Only a little more to go, and we’ll finally have our vengeance.”

I rolled my eyes. Lev was so focused on getting revenge, he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. That I didn’t give a shit about it. I only cared because he did. He was my brother. I loved him. When shit hit the fan, he was there for me. Sheltered me. Protected me. Kept me safe. I owed him so much more than my life. I owed him my loyalty, which was the only reason I had agreed to help him. Why I went along with his insane plan.

“Okay. Talk later.” I hung up before he could say anything else.

Cedric watched me, concern in his dark brown eyes. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“You’ve been with me every step of the way. Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do, but”—his gaze flicked to Lukyan and back—“I worry you cannot think rationally around him. He clouds your mind.”

I smiled, and for once in my life, it was genuine. “No. He clears it.” I jerked my head to the side, and Cedric took it as the cue it was to leave.

I loved Cedric—not in that way. He was more of an overprotective uncle, even though we didn’t share any blood. He was only a few years older, and had been there for Lev and me when we lost our home, helping us navigate the new world that had been thrust upon us. When Lev turned eighteen, he assumed control, and the dynamic changed between us. Cedric got pushed back, going from leader to glorified bodyguard. He always said he didn’t care, but I thought a part of him secretly did, which was why he chose to stick by my side instead of Lev’s.

Tucking the phone back away, I quickly set the table, placing all of the food I’d cooked in a perfect display, finishing just as Lukyan’s head rose, half mast, disoriented eyes landing on me.

Showtime.

“Finally, you’re awake.” I offered a warm, kind smile so he would know he was in the presence of a friend, not an enemy.

Didn’t do much good. Once awareness snaked back into his bones, he jolted and immediately started pulling at the restraints.

“What the fuck?” Lukyan hissed, yanking hard with his arms. He wouldn’t be able to break free. I’d had metal cuffs five inches thick installed into the armrests.

“Who are you? What’s going on? Where the fuck am I?”

I kept the smile on my face as I adjusted one of the oven dishes, moving it an inch to the left, then the right. “I’m your wife, silly.”

“My—what?” He was still dazed, the effects of the drug still lingering in his system. He licked his dry lips and looked around the room slowly, taking everything in.

I’d purchased the house months before, when I first started putting in place the pieces for my plan. It was a beautiful place. Sequestered. Far away from anyone else in case things got a little…loud. Three stories. Stunning, dark antique features. Real hardwood floors. Chandeliers on the fucking ceiling. The whole nine yards.

It was my dream home. Something I could see myself settling down and building a family in. It had everything I could ever want, including that warm, homey feeling I was never able to experience during my childhood.

After doing a lap of the room with his eyes, most likely looking for some form of escape—I know I would have been if I were in his position—he finally focused on the table in front of him. Hunger flashed in his startling blue eyes at all the food. My Lukyan loved food.

I’d been watching him closely for over a year. Keeping track of his habits. Routines. What he liked. What he disliked. His favorite foods. His style of clothing. I had dozens upon dozens upon dozens of journals filled with every movement he made so that when the moment came—the moment where I finally had him in my grasp—I would know everything there was to know about him.

“You’re her, aren’t you? The woman who’s been stalking me.” He attempted to get free of his restraints again. “Let me go. Now.”

I internally shivered. Oh, that hard, dominating voice. How I would love to turn it around and have it laced with submission.