Page 9 of Married to the Bratva

“When?”

“A year ago.”

“It’s not love,” he replies. He clicks his fingers. “I get it. He offered to pay for something you wanted. What was it? A house? A car? A Cliff Richard LP?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were cheated on. That means he never loved you. No real man would cheat on the woman he loves. Your dress says you couldn’t afford better. That makes it likely you wanted his money. If not a house or a car, then what?”

He clicks his fingers again. “Something work related. Did he say he’d fund some bullshit dream of yours? What was it? An orphanage for abandoned waifs and strays?”

I wince. “He said he’d get my firm up and running once we were married. Happy now?”

“You agreed to marry him in return for him funding your business,” he says, arching a brow. “How romantic. Did youmake him think you believed in love, marriage, all that bullshit? Is that how you got him to agree to pump cash into your business?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something darker. “The sooner you accept the truth, the better off you’ll be. Love is a delusion. There is only power. Those who wield it and those who break under it. He used you to steal from me. Or maybe you in on it from the beginning?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He crouches in front of me, close enough for me to see just how ocean blue his eyes are. “While you remain useful to me, Sophie, you remain alive. You’re going to have to work hard to survive the next few hours. How do I decrypt the file?”

“I told you. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

The room falls silent, the fire crackling softly in the background. I look at him, at the monster who just ripped apart everything I thought I knew, and I hate that a small part of me sees something familiar in his cynicism. Something I recognize in myself.

He steps back, his movements deliberate as if he’s giving me space. Not because I need it, but because he’s decided I deserve it. Everything about him screams control. The room, the fire, even the way he looks at me like I’m just another piece on his chessboard—it’s all his.

I hate it.

I hate him.

And yet, there’s something about the way his dark eyes pin me in place, something about the way his voice curves around my name that I can’t push aside.

He picks up a glass of clear liquid from the table beside him, swirling it absently. It catches the firelight, throwing sparkling flecks across his sharp features.

He downs his drink before pulling a tablet from a drawer and places it in my hands. The screen lights up, revealing a network of encrypted files, numbers, and patterns that I recognize instantly.

My heart sinks as I start to recognize snatches of code.

“You know what this is,” Maxim says, watching me carefully. “Don’t you?”

I shake my head, but it’s a lie. “No.”

His smirk sharpens, and he steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “Don’t waste my time, Sophie. What’s Evan’s connection to Federico Bernardi?”

He looks at me expectantly. “Federico who?” I ask.

He studies my face, searching for any hint of deception, but all he sees is frustration and fear. “Look at the screen and tell me what you see.”

The words blur as I try to focus, but my thoughts are a mess. I scan to the bottom, my heart sinking. “That’s seven level apha-numeric random encoding, triple protected. You’re not getting in anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

He taps the screen. “Evan stole from the New York Bratva. Placed a lot of money in this file in an encrypted format. Planning to unlock it whenever he’s good and ready. You wrote this code, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me, I can tell.”

He pulls out a gun, placing it on the fireplace. “Talk, and it better be the truth.”

“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “He just said it was to help his work.”

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