Page 33 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

“I don’t give a shit. Only the Mexicans knew I was heading to Port Montero. If someone gave out that information, it has to be one of them.”

I start to make my way out of the guestroom, but my brother steps in front of me. “I’ll go. I’ll find out who was behind the hit.”

“No.” But he’s right. Despite our alliance, the Mexicans can’t be trusted, and I’d never risk sending him there alone tonight. “I’ll handle it.”

Seeing he can’t convince me, my brother gives in with a sigh. “Fine, but I’ll come with you.”

I don’t argue.

Ruslan might be my younger brother, but he’s stubborn as fuck. Once he makes up his mind there’s no changing it, and he’s fierce when it comes to protecting his own.

All our lives, we’ve had each other’s backs more than anyone else ever has.

***

It’s almost midnight by the time we make it to Joaquin’s casino.

It’s a Friday night so the whole place is crowded, fogged with smoke and stinking of cigars and weed.

The music blaring through the speakers irritates my already sensitive ears, but I ignore it as one of Joaquin’s men escorts me and Ruslan to his office.

I left Sergei at home to make sure Audrey’s safe in my absence.

After what happened tonight, I imagine she’ll be terrified if she wakes up to no familiar faces around her.

Joaquin’s sitting behind the large black desk in his office when we enter. On one of the chairs across from him, his second-in-command Emiliano glances up at me.

The cocky bastard might look like he’s just staring, but I can tell from the way his eyes slowly move all over me that he’s scanning me for weapons.

It’s a waste of time. There’s no way I’d walk into the Mexicans’ den without ensuring our safety.

“Look who we have here,” Joaquin drawls, leaning back in his chair with a glass of whiskey dangling lazily between his fingers. A grin spreads across his face, but it never reaches his eyes. “The great Igor Nazarov and his—”

“Cut the crap,” I say dryly.

The smile slips from Joaquin’s face.

I don’t bother sitting. Neither does Ruslan. We remain standing across from the desk, forcing Joaquin and Emiliano to crane their necks slightly to look at us. A small advantage, but I’ll take every one I can get.

“Five men. That’s how many there were, and they weren’t ordinary assassins. It seemed like they were trained in the armed forces.”

Joaquin’s brows pull together. “I heard.”

“Did you?”

“News travels fast, and I told you I’d do my own investigation. Sadly, I’m not a magician.”

Emiliano shifts in his seat, his gaze flicking briefly toward Joaquin before settling back on me. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but I don’t miss it.

“You think we had something to do with it,” Joaquin says at last.

“Does it matter what I think?” My voice remains even. “You called me out to the port, so I think you owe me a fucking explanation.”

“Look, Nazarov.” Joaquin slowly sets his glass on the desk. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it out of your driveway.”

Ruslan lets out a quiet scoff beside me. “Interesting,” he mutters.

Joaquin ignores him. “We’re negotiating an alliance worth hundreds of millions. Why would I start a war the day before we profit from each other?”