Page 73 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
I cry into his shirt, gripping him like I’ll fall apart if I let go. I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling. I don’t even know what it is, exactly.
All I know is that he’s here.
That he didn’t leave.
That he didn’t lie—not really.
He just kept everything inside. For me. For Logan.
And suddenly, it’s too much.
He doesn’t say a word, just holds me. One of his hands slides up into my hair, cradling my head, the other firm around my back.
I pull back just enough to look at him. My face is still damp with tears. My voice shakes as I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me? About Logan. About everything you’ve been doing to protect him?”
His jaw tightens. For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, his voice drops low and steady. “Because you weren’t supposed to know.”
My chest squeezes. “Why? It could have made me hate you a little less.”
He exhales, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “Because it doesn’t matter if you hate me,” he says quietly. “Aslong as you’re alive. As long as you’re safe. That’s all I care about.”
His words punch through my heart like a blade. I blink at him.
“You think keeping me in the dark keeps me safe?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Keeping you close—keeping you right where I can see you—is the only way I know you’re not in someone else’s sights. That you won’t vanish like a ghost the second I turn my back.”
His gaze hardens, but there’s something raw in his eyes. Something I’ve never seen before. “I’d rather have your hatred than your funeral, Jennie.”
I stare at him, breath caught in my throat. He means it. Every word. He would burn the world down, shoulder every ounce of my rage, just to make sure I keep breathing.
And that terrifies me.
But it also moves something deep inside me. Something I don’t have a name for yet.
“Adrian….” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Please. Just let it go. All of it. Don’t go down that road again. Don’t…don’t become a killer again.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
Instead, he stares down at me with those dark eyes—so full of storm and steel. “Jennie,” he says, voice low. “I never stopped being a killer.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to keep doing this. You don’t have to—”
“I do.” His hands come up to cup my face, and his tone hardens—not cruel, but final. “To protect what’s mine, I have to be exactly what I am. I don’t get to walk away from this world. Not anymore.”
I search his face, looking for some crack, some softness that might change his mind. But it’s not there.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” I whisper.
“You’re supposed to trust me,” he says.
His thumb brushes my cheek, and something about the way he says it—so sure, so ruthless—makes my stomach twist. I hate this life. But I can’t deny that with him, even in the fire, I feel protected.
“There’s something else….”
He sighs and tries to pull away. “What is it,kroshka?”
I look up at him, my voice shaky. “Was Logan…framed?”
