Page 35 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

My fingers froze on the page. He wasn't joking. And that made these numbers suddenly feel heavy. They might determine whether someone saw tomorrow's sunrise.

"So, Briony. Don't wonder where the money goes. Don't try to memorize those symbols."

"What if someone asks me?"

"No one will."

"How can you be sure?"

He stood, steel-gray eyes devoid of warmth.

"Because everyone who knows these ledgers exist understands when to keep their mouth shut."

A chill ran down my spine. I was getting a full taste of how terrible this job really was.

I stared at the open ledger. Those numbers and symbols were like a black web, and Varlam had just placed one of its threads directly in my hand.

"So you're warning me?"

"I'm teaching you how to do your job safely." He said it like it was obvious.

I wanted to push the ledger back, but then my doubled salary and Rory's face flashed through my mind.

This job was dangerous, complicated, and would probably expose me to things I had no business knowing. But bills didn't care about danger. Danger didn't pay rent. I stared at that pen for several seconds before picking it up.

"Yes, Mr. Petrov."

Varlam's gaze dropped to my hand. His lips might've twitched.

"Smart choice."

It wasn't. If he wasn't paying me so much, I'd never touch work that could exhaust me and possibly get me killed.

After that, I copied ledgers until the early morning hours almost every day.

It was 2:18 AM. My eyelids were fighting gravity, my wrist ached, and three ledgers still sat untouched beside me.

I should march these to Varlam and demand a raise.

I rubbed my wrist and kept copying those incomprehensible symbols and numbers. The pen had just scratched across the last line when the office door suddenly opened.

Varlam walked in. His steps were heavier than usual, sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows, black ink disappearing into fabric along his muscled forearms. He pulled out the chair across from me and sat. The scent of whiskey overwhelmed the paper and ink as he leaned closer.

"Are you checking the accounts?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Just watched me quietly.

I'd never seen Varlam like this. The harsh lines that usually defined his face had softened. Those all-seeing eyes now held something unfamiliar—exhaustion, and maybe tenderness. The ice that kept everyone at a distance had melted, just a little.

"Brin." He spoke suddenly, his voice roughened by alcohol into something low and warm. "You've been working hard."

The pen dragged a long mark across the page. I froze like I'd been struck by lightning.

The last time anyone called me that was when my parents were alive. It was a family nickname—intimate, soft.

These past few days, he'd been my boss, a dangerous Pakhan. Power, age, and an entire world I'd never understand stood between us. Even though our bodies had been intimate beyond secrets, I still felt like I was standing somewhere far away from him.

But now, that impossible distance had shrunk. Just a little. Just enough to make my heart race out of control.