Page 58 of The Russian's Bought Bride

They aren’t moving with the vicious intent a group would need to wipe us out, or to claim the warehouse for themselves. It’s obvious enough that they’re not here for a massacre.

Instead of a proper hit, it’s a classic intimidation stunt.

It’s Malenkov letting us know he’s aware of who interfered with his operation, and now he’s testing boundaries.

“Left side!” someone shouts.

Pivoting just in time to catch movement near the secondary loading entrance, one of Malenkov’s men ducks behind a forklift before firing wildly in our direction, and I return fire twice. The second shot drops him, then it’s on to the next.

Nearby glass explodes outward from another impact, causing us to duck while tires screech nearby. It’s already collapsing.

Within minutes, the remaining vehicles peel away, and silence crashes down afterward, but not completely. Instead, groans, shouting, and engines idling fill the space. At the very least, the immediate violence is over as the dust slowly starts to settle.

I lower my gun slowly, chest heaving before I force myself to calm again.

“You hit?” Ivan asks, walking toward me with a smear of blood on his jaw, but looks otherwise untouched.

“No,” I murmur, focusing more on the reality of my situation than any potential damage. “You?”

“Fine.”

We both survey the damage around us grimly, taking note of anything that looks out of place.

From what we gather, a handful are injured, and only one is dead. Several crates were busted open and pulled from, clearly done during the chaos, but they didn’t manage to get the bulk.

They took enough to sting but not enough to start an outright war. Regardless, I know what this means for me, and it burns beneath my skin to even think about it.

My gaze sweeps over the warehouse slowly, anger simmering hotter with every passing second. This is because of me. Not entirely, but enough to warrant concern.

If Malenkov hadn’t discovered who I was, this never would’ve crossed into Lukov territory. It’s not unheard of for these things to happen, but my family is now involved directly in something meant to be completely separate. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid from the beginning.

My phone starts vibrating before I can think, and, as expected, it’s Roman right on time.

I answer immediately. “What?”

“Do you want to explain why I’m getting calls about gunfire at our warehouse?” Roman snaps, definitely pissed. “The truck hadn’t even arrived for loading yet.”

Stepping away from the others slightly, I rub blood from my knuckles with my thumb and deduce that it isn’t mine, at least. That doesn’t mean I’m out of the woods yet.

“Malenkov made contact,” I say evenly. “They sent a group in to ambush us before the trade-off could go down.”

“I gathered that. Were you hit?”

“No. Ivan’s fine too. We had one casualty.”

“Good,” he murmurs, allowing a hint of brotherly concern to show its face before immediately vanishing. “So why exactly is Grigori Malenkov suddenly interested in us, Nikolai?”

That’s the real question, and it’s entirely rhetorical. He already knows, but he wants me to say it.

Glancing toward the damaged crates, my jaw tightens automatically. “He knows I’m the one who interfered with the organ operation. Somehow, he must’ve made the connection of who I really am.”

“Jesus Christ,” Roman utters with a slow, deliberate sigh. “How much does he know?”

“Enough.”

“That’s not helpful. You told me you had it handled. This looks like the opposite.”

“I do have it handled.”