Page 38 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

His expression doesn’t change. “You can’t get the bandages wet, Audrey.”

“I’ll manage.”

“I won’t let you do that,” he says, more authoritatively this time. “You’re my wife and you’re hurt. The least I can do is help you take a shower.”

I sigh and lean against the vanity. “Do you have any idea how awkward this is?”

“You tell me.”

“I’ve known you for all of...” I pause. “Well, for a year, but less than a week as your wife, and you’re offering to help me shower?”

“I offered because you’re hurt.”

I look at him in the mirror again. There isn’t a trace of amusement on his face. Just concern.

“I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t need help,” he says quietly. “If at any point you want me to stop, I stop.”

Something inside me softens.

The old Igor would never have said that.

Or maybe I’d simply never looked close enough to see this side of him.

I lower my gaze, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Okay.”

Without another word, he walks over to the shower and turns on the water before grabbing a clean towel from the cabinet.

My heart twists painfully as a realization dawns on me.

Every single day I spend with Igor chips away at the image I’ve built of him over the last year. The ruthlessness is still there inside him; I saw that with my own eyes yesterday.

But he’s so gentle with me.

He cares, and he doesn’t even bother to hide that he does.

I hate this realization. I hate how complicated things are getting between us.

How am I supposed to destroy someone who’s slowly making me question everything I ever believed about him?

***

How long will it take?

I stare at my phone for a moment too long, my heart thrashing violently against my ribcage as adrenaline courses through me like molten fire.

It’s been two days since the attack. Igor went out to a meeting this afternoon, but before then, he spent the entire day taking care of me. Just like the day before, he made me lunch, helped me wash my hair, and assigned one of his men to take care of whatever I need.

He’s been so painfully kind to me. And now I’m staring at a message about destroying him.

I’m not sure how to reply, and I feel panic creeping up my chest, twisting my lungs until I can barely breathe.

Not certain what answer to give, I reply with a question of my own, one that’s been lurking in the back of my mind.

Me: Were you behind the attack?

He starts typing, and I hold my breath as I wait for his response. I don’t want to think too deeply about what happened, but getting attacked on my first outing with Igor doesn’t make any sense.

If someone wanted to get Igor—one of his rivals—they could’ve attacked before now. Why wait until I was with him? Something’s definitely not adding up.