Page 25 of Bratva's Intern

He gasped as though the thought had never even crossed his mind. “You mean someone really wanted to kill you? It wasn’t some random attack?”

“Maybe. Don’t worry about it.”

“Does this sort of thing happen often? I guess it might be because you’re rich.”

“Hmm,” I grunted.

What else could I say? That being wealthy was bad enough, but being the face behind one of the most notorious Bratva families complicated everything? He would run for the hills if he ever knew what I was… who I was.

He could never know.

“How’s your arm?”

He touched his arm briefly. “Not too bad. It’s really a minor wound.”

“Was the doctor who looked after you any good?”

“I think so. He gave me a lollipop.”

I bet he did.

Antarctica was looking mighty fine for Bradley and his husband.

As we drove, I let the silence stretch, watching the city lights blur past us through the tinted windows, but in my peripheral vision, I kept an eye on Wren, who finally let his shoulders relax.

“What did you tell the cops?” I tapped my fingers against my knees. If he could identify that man and the police got to him before I did, he would be harder to kill. Not impossible, but harder. Money would have to exchange hands and people would need to look the other way. If no one else was involved, the situation would be much better for everyone.

“What do you mean?”

Poor naïve Wren.

“Tell me everything you told them.”

“There wasn’t much to tell.” Tiny frown lines appeared on his forehead. “They wanted me to recall what the man looked like and what he was wearing, but it all happened so fast I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Are you certain?”

“I really wish I could help, but I don’t recall any specific detail.”

“Good.”

“Why would that be good?” He sounded genuinely upset. “If I’d been paying attention, maybe the police would have a better chance of catching him.”

“It’s not for you to worry about. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time that someone tried to kill me this year.”

Wren sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes turning as wide as saucers. For the first time since we entered the car, he truly looked at me. “But why?”

“When you’re a successful businessman, you tend to piss off many people.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Why would I be scared? Aren’t we all going to die anyway?”

“Well, that’s a grim way to look at the world.” He stared out the window, gifting me with the view of his side profile. The curve of his jawline, the slight upturn of his nose, the pout of his lips—everything about him was soft, unspoiled. It made me want to corrupt him but I knew I could never touch him. “I’d rather believe I’ll live forever.” He chuckled softly. “Maybe in ten years, they’ll find a way to make us immortals. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

He turned back to me and smiled as though the prospect was the most delightful thing he’d ever imagined. His hazel eyes sparkled in the dim light, a playful undercurrent seeping into his hushed tone. On their own volition, my lips curled up a touch at his childish enthusiasm.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said softly.

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