Page 54 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

The word still feels strange. Because I never expected to make it. Marriage was never part of my plans. Neither were relationships. They complicated things. People became vulnerabilities when you cared about them.

I learned that lesson a long time ago.

So far, Sofia and I coexist more than anything else. She has her wing. I have mine. She has her bedroom. I have mine. I never asked her to move into my room, and she has never shown the slightest interest in doing so.

Frankly, the arrangement suits both of us.

The few interactions we have are polite and brief.

Good morning. Good night. How was your day? Fine. And yours?

Productive interactions, and then silence.

The strangest part is that the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Sofia seems perfectly capable of entertaining herself for hours.

Most evenings, I find her exactly where I left her.

Curled into a chair somewhere with a book. Sometimes in the library. Sometimes in the sitting room. Sometimes by the window overlooking the grounds. Always reading.

I have never met someone so devoted to books.

She reads while eating. Reads while walking. Reads while waiting for tea. Yesterday, I found her reading on the floor because she apparently became distracted while organizing a shelf and forgot chairs existed.

I stood there for almost thirty seconds, watching her, before she noticed me.

She looked up.

Blinking.

Confused.

As though she genuinely couldn’t understand why another human being would interrupt a perfectly good chapter.

Then she returned to reading.

I walked away.

Marriage, apparently.

Most of my attention remains focused elsewhere.

Karl Jonathan.

For the past week, every lead has ended the same way. Too late. A warehouse abandoned hours before our arrival. A safe house already emptied. A financial trail that disappears into shell companies and false identities.

Karl stays exactly one step ahead.

I dislike people who are difficult to find. I dislike them even more when they owe me information. The code remains frustratingly out of reach. The dormant accounts are still inaccessible. And every day that passes increases the possibility that someone else discovers what we’re searching for.

I am in my office when Ben walks in, carrying another file.

One look at his expression tells me I’m not going to enjoy whatever comes next.

“No luck?”

“No luck.” He drops into the chair across from my desk. “We found another intermediary.”

“And?”