Page 24 of Bratva's Intern

“Sergei is on it. Why did you report it to the police when you know you’re going to deal with that man on your own as soon as you find him?”

“Because he attacked me in public. If I hadn’t reported it, the police would only be suspicious.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re the boss. You think of everything.”

Wren shifted in his chair as the cop ended their conversation. The door to the conference room opened, and the two officers stepped out, their faces impassive. Higgins nodded at me.

“Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Morozov. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions. If you could send over the surveillance tapes when you get a chance, we’d appreciate it.”

I inclined my head slightly, schooling my features into a small smile. “I’ll have them sent by morning. Archie, can you escort the officers out?”

“Certainly.” Archie unfolded his arms and gestured for the cops to follow him.

In the conference room, Wren remained seated, his hands clasped on top of the table as though waiting for more interrogation. He looked drained, the tension in his shoulders only now starting to unravel.

I stepped inside.

Wren stiffened and snapped his head up. He looked at me like a student awaiting judgment. I took my time, letting my gaze roam over him—his posture, the way he exhaled softly as if bracing himself, the way his fingers flexed slightly before going still again.

“You did good,” I said finally.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He gave a quick, jerky nod and pushed his chair back. He stood, his movements careful, as if unsure how to act around me. “Thanks, Mr. Morozov. So… can I go now? Bradley said he’d take me home.”

My scowl was immediate. I clenched my teeth to prevent myself from growling at him. What was so fucking special about Bradley anyway?

“I mean, I can stay. If you need me to work, I don’t mind staying. It’s a minor wound. Though the doctor—Bradley’s husband—said not to lift anything heavy.”

He’d met Bradley’s husband too? How convenient. How long before they would invite him to share their bed?

I let the silence stretch long enough to make him squirm. “I’ll take you home.”

He furrowed his brows, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “That’s really not necessary, Mr. Morozov. Bradley offered?—”

“Your bag is already in my car,” I cut in smoothly. “Let’s go.”

He hesitated.

I could see his mind working, calculating whether he could refuse me, but there was no way out of this. The decision wasn’t his to make. He would learn soon enough the way I ran things around the office.

“All right,” he whispered, dropping his gaze for a brief second, but then he straightened, his shoulders stiff again.

I turned, expecting him to follow. He did.

Outside, my bodyguards flanked us as we made our way to the waiting car, a sleek, black Mercedes idling at the curb. The streets outside the building were quiet now, the chaos from earlier long dissipated. Still, my men remained watchful, scanning our surroundings as they fell into step behind us.

When we reached the car, one of them opened the back door for us.

“Sir,” Darius said.

Ignoring him, I stepped aside and allowed Wren to enter first.

“Thank you,” he said quietly and climbed onto the luxurious leather seat. I followed him into the vehicle. The door closed behind us with a sturdy thud, muffling the sounds of the city outside.

The driver pulled away from the curb smoothly, the low hum of the engine filling the silence between us.

Wren sat rigid beside me, his hands resting on his bag, which he’d placed on his lap. His gaze flickered toward the tinted window, then slid back to the seat in front of him.

“Relax,” I said. “I don’t think anyone’s stupid enough to make a second attempt on my life so soon.”

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