Page 145 of Sexting the Boss

“My father worked for the Bratva. Eventually, he ran one of their largest operations in the States. Drugs, guns, fake shipping manifests, all of it.”

My throat tightens. “Jesus.”

“I was brought back to Russia. Spent a year with my uncle. They trained me. Groomed me. Taught me how to lead.”

“Like…Bratva training?”

“Like how to survive in a world that doesn’t have rules.”

My fingers toy with the sheet, heart pounding. “And the man who tried to—who sent people after me…?”

“Lev.” His voice is clipped. “He used to be my father’s second. He wanted the power for himself. When I came back and inherited the name, the fortune, and the influence…it didn’t sit well with him.”

I shift, propping myself on an elbow. “What…I mean, what actually happened? And why drag me into it?”

A flicker of pain clouds his eyes. “I didn’t mean to drag you in. You got under my skin before I realized how dangerous that was. By the time I saw the threat, it was too late.”

He pauses, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Lev’s father crossed mine, back in Russia. A betrayal. My father demanded I step up, prove loyalty. I hesitated. Lev ran. Everyone said he died…but he didn’t. Now he’s here, planning to make me pay. And anyone close to me.”

“Damien…” I say softly, leaning in closer.

“The Bratva is bigger than either of us,” he finishes grimly. “I didn’t choose it, but I was born to it. And if Lev sees you as leverage…I can’t let that happen.”

My heart twists. Because in spite of it all, there’s a raw sincerity in his voice that makes me believe he does want to protect me, not just control me.

I rest my palm on his bare chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my touch. “So now what?” I whisper.

He turns his head to look at me, eyes softening. “Now I keep you alive,” he says. “And I find Lev before he finds us.”

I run my fingers absentmindedly across his chest, tracing the faint scar that cuts through the muscle near his shoulder. It’s old. Faded. But real. Just like everything I’ve learned about him in the last twenty minutes.

And suddenly, a memory pushes to the front of my mind—the night at his apartment, when I woke up thirsty and saw someone in the hallway.

I shift, leaning into his side. “Damien…that night. At your apartment. When I thought I saw someone—” I pause. “Was that him?”

His jaw tenses beneath my fingers. His throat works before he nods. “We believe it was.”

My mouth dries. “And when I was walking home and ambushed…”

“Yes,” he says simply.

“He knows too much,” I say slowly, thinking aloud. “About your movements. Mine. My schedule at work. My apartment. That’s not the kind of thing you find by digging around online. That’s someone withaccess.”

Damien’s gaze hardens. “I know.”

“Then…” I hesitate, because I don’t want to be the one to say it. But someone has to. “What if someone close to you is feeding him information?”

His expression darkens, jaw locked. “I’m going to find out,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Soon.”

I swallow, unsure if I feel reassured or terrified.

My mind flashes to the woman in the garden—the smug little smiles, the way she touched him like she still had claim to him.

“Nina,” I say, testing the waters. “Do you trust her?”

His eyes flick to mine, brows drawing together. “She would never betray me.”

And just like that, my skin prickles with annoyance.

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