Page 48 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

I force myself to pick up the folder and skim through the documents, files, and pictures in it.

Every piece of evidence has timestamps and surveillance stills that I couldn’t lie my way out of even if I wanted to.

No one would believe a word I said after looking at all of this, especially Igor. If he believes I did this, I have no idea what he’ll do to me.

My pulse pounds so loudly it drowns out everything else as I flip to the next page, then the next. Whoever put this together didn’t leave anything to chance. Every trail leads back to me.

I know that bastard is behind this, and I should have taken his threats a little more seriously. Instead, I acted like I had all the time in the world, and look where that’s landed me. Igor is so furious that the truth won’t help me anymore.

Shit.

I need to convince Igor this is all a setup, so I have to give him evidence he can’t simply dismiss.

My eyes catch something on one of the photos, and I freeze with my fingers tightening around the paper. “Fuck.”

Igor tilts his head, his eyes narrowing on me suspiciously. “What?”

Glancing back at the document, I read the timestamp on it again just to make sure what I saw the first time isn’t just a figment of my imagination.

The date of the login into his encrypted files doesn’t match the date on the photo, or the time. My head snaps up immediately, and I press the tip of my finger beside the timestamp on the photo. “This. Look at the timestamp.”

Igor straightens, takes the photo from me, and sits on the edge of his desk. His eyes narrow, but he says nothing.

Swallowing hard and hoping this is enough to convince him, I continue, “This says someone accessed your files at 8:43 p.m. on Friday night.”

He turns to face me now, his interest piqued. “And?”

“It’s fake, because at 8:43 on Friday night...” My voice shakes despite my efforts to steady it. “I was in the SUV with you.”

The memory from that night crashes into me all over again—the motorcycles, the gunshots.

His body covering mine protectively in his attempt to make sure I was unscathed. And then the mind-shattering pain I felt when the bullet pierced my arm.

My throat tightens and becomes so dry that even swallowing doesn’t help. “You were holding me down while bullets were flying through the windows.” I meet his gaze, desperation bleeding into every word as I hope he sees the sincerity in my eyes and believes me. Because it’s true: I didn’t access his files that night. “How could I have been hacking your files while I was with you?”

Igor remains quiet for a moment, probably thinking. The silence is deafening, and the void it creates is filled with the anxiety burning in my stomach and the pounding of my heart against my ribcage.

I watch his expression change almost imperceptibly, and an emotion that seems very similar to realization flickers over his face.

Rising to my feet, I move closer to him and grab another photo from the pile, scrutinizing it carefully. “And this one...” I point at the timestamp. “You said I was in a restricted corridor.”

His gaze locks onto mine. “Is that fake, too?”

I came here to be honest with him, so I answer truthfully, though I’m not certain how much I can tell him until I see his reaction.

Shaking my head, I answer, “No, it’s not. I was in the restricted corridor.” I pause and suck in a deep breath, then lower my voice until it’s barely above a whisper. “But what happened afterward? Did anyone actually see me access anything? Or are you assuming I did because I was standing there that night?”

He stares at me intently. “And the bratva files? They were accessed with your work I.D.”

“I didn’t do that.” Igor was my target from the start. I know how deadly the bratva are and what they do to anyone who crosses them. I’m not stupid enough to hack into their data, and that was never my goal.

But someone else was, and he used my I.D, setting me up as a sacrificial lamb if things went wrong, which they now have. From the start, I was never a player in this game, but a pawn.

He planned to use and discard me from the start.

I want to tell Igor everything, but that would make me seem like a mouse caught in a trap, saying anything to escape.

He’s mad as fuck right now, and I don’t think upsetting him more would do me any good. It’ll make him even angrier, and probably cause him to turn his back on me.