Page 29 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

I glanced over my shoulder to see Elena frantically waving me over. She looked worried, and her hair was a mess. The worried look on her face was my fault. The hair part? Definitely had someone else’s fingerprint.

However, her timing couldn’t be more perfect.

“Lena, I’m right here. Give me a sec, and I’ll be with you.”

Curling my fingers, I shot Miron a glare. “If there’s one thing you’re having from me tonight, it’s not an apology. Next time, don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

And with that, I turned on my heels and walked away.

Chapter 11 – Miron

The last light of day bled through the windows, glazing my office in a hue of deep purple and smoldering oranges. The glow stretched across the stacks of paperwork as I flipped through the latest shipment logs.

The numbers were off. Again.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. “Ruslan, tell me why the St. Petersburg shipment is short by five crates.”

The five men standing across my desk shuffled their feet and looked everywhere else but me when one of them opened his mouth to speak.

Ruslan shifted on his feet. “We had some…complications at the port, Boss. Customs was on high alert. Had to divert two crates to a safe house. The others are held up with a contact.”

My jaw tightened. I glanced up from the ledger. “And the contact?”

“Reliable. He’ll move them by tomorrow night.”

“Make sure he does.” I flicked my pen against the desk, narrowing my eyes at each of them. “And the product that already landed. Where is it now?”

“In our warehouses. Inventory checks out. No discrepancies on our end.”

Good. The warehouse on the west side needed tighter security— two shipments had been delayed, and I wasn’t about to let that become a habit.

I turned my attention to the next set of documents: cryptic business contracts, coded in a way only we understood. Weapons shipments, distribution routes, payment schedules. Every detail had to be airtight.

But my mind drifted from paperwork and business to a fiery fox in a little black dress. A dress I’d had a manic urge to rip off the moment we were alone.

Last night had been a battle. Hazel’s expression haunted me to my dreams, and even now, it slammed into me like a fist to the ribs.

It wasn’t the first time I dealt with an angry woman. Hell, Alina was angry about something almost all the time. But the picture of blazing hazel eyes and her locked jaw just…stuck. And knowing I was the reason for her anger rubbed on me the wrong way.

I gritted my teeth, recalling the words the wind carried in her voice.

Next time, don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.

My hands went down on the table, and from the corner of my eye, I caught one of my men jump.

“Where’s Damir?” I asked none of them in particular.

“Boss, you asked him to go figure out what delayed the Swiss-Moscow transfer.”

“Hm.” That, I did. Barely an hour ago, after I almost blew his head off for allowing a man to sleep on duty, which led to some of our crates being stolen. “Whenever he returns, tell him I want him to double security at the docks. If Customs is tightening their grip, someone’s been talking.”

I signed off on a payment order and looked up. “And if I find out who, they won’t be talking again,” I said.

Ruslan gave a sharp nod. “Understood.”

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming against the mahogany surface.

“One more thing, Ruslan,” I said as the men reached for the door. “Have the Bucharest buyer wire the funds by midnight. If he delays again, we’ll collect in person.”

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