Page 27 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

“Sounds like a Rusnak,” I tease.

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “Don’t put that on him. He’s innocent.”

“Sure,” I say, still smiling. “Completely innocent.”

She laughs again, but I can hear her shifting focus, already distracted by the baby.

“Give me two seconds,” she says. “I’ll call you back if he settles.”

“Take your time,” I reply softly.

There’s a pause.

Then her voice drops, warmer now. “You really are coming this weekend, right?”

“Yes,” I say. “I told you I am.”

“Good,” she repeats. “I’ll text you the details.” Another faint rustle. “Bye, Sof.”

“Bye, Val.”

The call ends.

Silence returns to my apartment almost instantly.

I lower the phone slowly, letting it rest on my lap.

For a moment, I just sit there. Still. Thinking about nothing in particular. Or maybe thinking about everything at once.

The apartment is dim now. Evening has fully settled in, wrapping the corners of my space in soft shadows. The only light comes from the street outside—thin strips of yellow and white slipping through the blinds, cutting across the floor like something unfinished.

I should get up. Lock the balcony door. Check the stove. Do something normal.

Instead, I sink a little deeper into the couch.

My eyelids feel heavy. I should go to my room and sleep, but for some reason, I’m extra comfortable on the couch and don’t want to move. Okay, maybe for a minute. Or two.

I don’t know how long I close my eyes, but I’m woken up by a metallic sound cutting through the quiet. My eyes snap open.

A soft, deliberate shake at my front door.

I go still.

No.

That’s not normal.

I don’t move at first. I just listen, forcing my breathing to slow as my brain tries to assign meaning to the sound.

Maybe Ashley.

She has a key.

She comes over sometimes without warning, always insisting it’s “friend privilege” and not intrusion.

But even as the thought forms, I reject it.

Ashley doesn’t arrive like this. Ashley knocks. She calls out. She makes noise before she enters a space.