Page 80 of Obsessed Bratva King

And me?

I’m furious.

Cora scans the room, her eyes flicking over the maps, the scattered intel, the weapons laid out in preparation for war. “Darren doesn’t operate like you think he does,” she continues. “If you charge in, you’re playing into his hands. He’ll have a dozen escape plans in place. Or worse—he’ll have traps waiting for you.”

Maxim tilts his head. “And what do you suggest?”

“Same as before. We leak some more portions of the flash drive files.” She steps closer to the table, resting her hands against the edge. “We force him on the defensive. Make him panic. You choose the battleground, but let me be the bait.”

The words send a violent pulse of anger through me.

Enough.

In one quick motion, I grab her wrist and yank her against me.

The room tenses, but I don’t care.

I lean down, my voice dropping into something dark, controlled, barely restrained. “I changed my mind for a reason. It’s too dangerous. You stay here.”

“Then why teach me to shoot?”

“For emergencies, not for you to act like you’re running this operation. What if the morning sickness hits at a crucial moment?”

Her eyes flash. She wrenches free, the fire in her gaze meeting the storm in mine.

“You don’t own me, Ivan.”

The words hit harder than they should.

The room is silent again, but this time, it’s different. Charged.

Dmitri watches with interest. Maxim remains still, studying me like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

One step forward, then another, until Cora’s back meets the cold stone wall. She gasps softly, but she doesn’t try to escape.

Not yet.

I plant my hands on either side of her, caging her in. I’m close enough to feel the heat rolling off her body, close enough that her scent—something soft and warm, something hers—seeps into my skin, tempering the fury boiling in my blood.

She should be afraid.

She should know that she’s pushing me too far.

But she isn’t afraid.

Her chin lifts. Her brown eyes, dark and defiant, refuse to waver.

She doesn’t fucking understand what she’s asking for.

“You’re carrying my child.” My voice is low steel, laced with barely restrained rage. “You stay here.”

Her fingers clench into fists at her sides. I see the slight tremble in them. Not fear. Frustration. Anger.

And then she speaks. “No.”

I could order her to stay out of this. I could force her to stay out of it. But the truth is, I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t know this was coming. If I didn’t see it in her from the start.

Cora was never going to sit back and let someone else fight her battles.

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