Page 63 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

That part matters more than I want it to. I can hear it in my own voice. Not everything. Not clothes or furniture or anything that would make this place feel more like mine. Just my books.

A pause stretches between us.

His eyes stay on mine for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s deciding something I’m not part of.

Then he nods once. “Ben will handle it.”

That’s all.

No questions. No resistance. No interrogation about why it matters.

I blink, slightly thrown by how easy it was. “…That’s it?”

His gaze shifts back to my hand for a second.

“If that’s what you want,” he says simply.

I don’t know why that unsettles me more than if he had refused.

I nod slowly anyway, because I don’t trust myself to say anything else. “Okay.”

Silence settles again, filling the space between us.

But this time it feels different. Softer.

I stay where I am for a moment, still standing near the bathroom counter, watching him as he adjusts the bandage I just wrapped. He tests his hand again, flexing his fingers slowly, like he’s checking whether I actually did it right.

“You end up like this often?” I ask before I can overthink it.

His eyes lift again. “What?”

“Do you get injured like this often?” I clarify, folding my arms loosely. “Or is this just a hobby of yours?”

That earns the faintest shift in his expression. Not quite amusement. Not irritation either. Something in between.

“Occasionally,” he says.

I tilt my head slightly. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“It’s not meant to be, Sofia.”

Of course it isn’t. I let out a small breath through my nose, then glance down at the first aid kit still open on the floor.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said sullenly.

“You can thank me by doing me a favor.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I’m already doing you a favor by getting your books.”

I scoff. “I have a question.” He sighs, but before he can tell me to shove my question, I spit it out. “Is this marriage truly about protection?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer.

And in that pause, I notice something I don’t want to notice.

The distance between us isn’t as wide as it was when I started speaking.

It makes my throat tighten, so I look away first, focusing instead on the sink behind him.