Page 51 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

The mansion is quiet by the time I arrive.

I’ve grown used to hearing Audrey before I see her each time I get home. She’s usually somewhere in the house bossing the maids around like she owns the place, arguing with the chef over something ridiculous, or trying to assemble a piece of furniture herself despite having a dozen men willing to do it for her.

But today, there’s nothing.

The silence sits heavily over the mansion, making the place feel unfamiliar.

I loosen my tie as I walk through the foyer, my thoughts drifting back over the last few days.

Ever since Audrey came to the club, things between us have been...different. I’ve kept my distance.

At the time, it seemed like the logical thing to do, considering the situation. Every piece of evidence pointed toward her, and I couldn’t allow my feelings to cloud my judgment. Not when my empire was at stake.

Still, every time I looked into her eyes while she insisted she knew nothing about the raid or the attack, a part of me wanted to believe her.

I simply wasn’t sure if I could trust her completely, but I was wrong for creating the gap for doubt to creep through.

It’s all his doing.

Emiliano.

The bastard manipulated everything from the shadows, carefully planting evidence that pointed straight at Audrey while he positioned himself to seize Joaquin’s empire. Every suspicious phone call. Every conveniently timed security breach. Every anonymous tip. The assassination attempt.

He’d wanted me to doubt my own wife.

And I’d done exactly what he expected.

The realization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

On the drive home, I stopped at a florist.

The young woman behind the counter asked what occasion the flowers were for. I froze, not knowing what to answer.

It’s not our anniversary. I didn’t get a promotion at work, and we aren’t expecting a baby. And I’m apologizing to the woman I accused of destroying my empire wasn’t exactly something I could say out loud.

So I simply pointed at the bouquet of deep red roses she recommended and paid without another word.

The flowers feel oddly foreign in my hand now.

I’ve bought Audrey jewelry worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

A mansion.

Designer clothes.

None of those things made me half as nervous as carrying a bouquet of roses through my own front door.

Noticing she isn’t downstairs, I head straight for our bedroom. Just like I expected, she’s laying on the bed, scrolling through her phone.

Our eyes lock, but she doesn’t say a word to me. She only holds my gaze for a moment, then returns to whatever it is she was doing on her phone before I came in. Somehow, her ignoring my presence cuts deeper than words ever could.

The distance between us is unbearable, so I walk over to her and hold out the flowers. “These are for you.”

Her fingers pause on the screen. She glances up at me. “You’ve never given me flowers. What’s the special occasion?”

My jaw locks. She’s right; I’ve never given her flowers. And for the first time since we got married, I realized I haven’t even been doing the bare minimum for my wife.

I could afford a thousand gardens filled with roses, lilies, sunflowers, and whatever other beautiful plants exist. But I’d never thought of this simple gesture until now.