Page 55 of Scarred Bratva King

“The what?”

“Doesn’t matter. After that you’ll be free.”

“What about Marco?”

“Don’t worry about him. Plans are in motion.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You should startplanning too. Order the books. Finalize the inventory. If there’s anything else you need, just tell me.”

“Thanks,” I say softly, fiddling with the edge of the catalog. The excitement I felt earlier about the bookstore feels distant now, overshadowed by the reminder that our time together has an expiration date.

He stands, towering over me for a moment before heading for the door. “Don’t stay up too late.”

I nod, watching as he leaves, the firelight casting shadows across the room. The catalog sits forgotten in my lap, and I can’t shake the hollow feeling in my chest.

One more week.

Why do I want so much more?

26

VERONICA

The kitchen is dim and quiet this late at night, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as I pad across the cool tile floor.

The air smells faintly of chamomile, and I spot Elena at the counter, a steaming mug in her hands. She’s wearing a silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders, looking every bit like the elegant queen of the Bratva world.

“Elena,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her.

She glances up and smiles, waving me over. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I shake my head, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “Too much on my mind.”

She sets her mug down and moves to the stove, pouring hot water into a second cup. A tea bag dangles from the rim as she slides it over to me. “Chamomile. Works wonders for me.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. For a moment, we sit in silence.

“You know,” Elena says, breaking the quiet, “I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head. Want to share?”

I hesitate, staring into the swirling tea. “It’s Maxim,” I admit finally.

She raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I had a feeling. Victor told us he’s retiring soon.”

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I knew what I was signing up for—sixty days, fake marriage, no strings attached. But now…”

“Now you wish it wasn’t fake,” she finishes gently. “Been there, done that, got the tee-shirt.”

I nod, my throat tightening. “It’s stupid, right? He’s made it crystal clear this is temporary. I’d be an idiot to hope for more.”

Elena leans forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studies me. “What makes you so sure he doesn’t feel the same?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Because he’s Maxim Stepanov. He’s controlled, calculated, and emotionally unavailable. He doesn’t believe in love.”

“That’s what he wants people to think,” Elena counters. “He’s not as closed off as he pretends to be. And he wouldn’t be this protective of you if he didn’t care.”

I shake my head, my fingers tightening around the mug. “Caring isn’t enough. He’s doing this because he has to, not because he wants to.”

Her eyes soften, and she reaches out, placing a hand over mine. “Maybe you should tell him how you feel. You’d be surprised what happens when you take a chance. Just look at me.”

My heart twists at the thought. “And what if I’m wrong? What if I tell him and he shuts me down? I don’t think I could handle that.”

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