Page 31 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

“They keep coming in,” he said. “I kept the same bartenders and servers, so everybody’s happy for the most part. I’m rarely in here, but it was close.”

The rest of the crew stormed in, and we crowded into the back. Those who’d been part of the fight tended their minor wounds, while Aleks bemoaned not being able to grab anyone to interrogate. The guy I’d caught during the warehouse attack was only some thug getting paid to do a job, and was useless in helping us pinpoint this current enemy.

We went over what we already knew, which was so little that we ended up catching up on our personal lives instead. Just hardened criminals talking about their kids’ most recent recital or employee drama at their various businesses.

That was something I knew a little too much about lately, but didn’t share, or announce my nuptials. With the way I’d left Laurel, there might not be a reason to.

As if she knew I was thinking about her, she called, and I hurried out back so she wouldn’t accidentally overhear one of my cousins talking about the last guy he had to shoot.

“Hi,” she said sweetly, and I relaxed. Of course, she was going to be reasonable. “Can we talk?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I’ll be back at the restaurant in less than an hour.”

“How about you meet me at my apartment,” she said, not sounding so sweet anymore. “I’ve got some questions, and I sincerely hope you have answers.”

Well, shit. I didn’t expect her to go running back to her apartment after a tiny disagreement. The movers had already been and gone, so if she was there now, she knew she no longer had a place of her own.

“I’m heading that way now,” I said, ending the call.

Fuck. I didn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone. There was nothing important left to discuss, and this was more pressing to me right now. What a pain in the ass.

I got stuck in a knot of traffic and was irritated by the time I found a parking place in front of Laurel’s old complex. However, it was nothing compared to her quiet fury when I found her sitting in the courtyard.

“Why are you here?” I asked, not sitting down, when she waved for me to take the chair on the other side of the small patch of cacti and scraggly flowers.

“I’m here because there’s nowhere to sit in my place,” she said, looking at me with a smile on her face but ice in her eyes. “Apparently, it’s not my place anymore.”

With a sigh, I sat down. She wanted answers. “We’re married. You don’t need your apartment anymore. This has to look real, remember?”

“Your father’s such a hardass. He’d look up my rental history?” she asked incredulously.

It wasn’t out of bounds of anything someone in my family might do, but no, my father wouldn’t go that far. Because the whole premise of him demanding I marry a traditional Russian Bratva bride was ridiculous.

I stood up again, not about to get into another argument out in public. “This is real, Laurel. We’re married. We live together. And if you want to sleep in a bed tonight, I suggest you get in the car and come home with me. To our home.”

With that, I turned and left, not completely certain she’d follow. She might seem like a scared mouse sometimes, but she had a stubborn streak. It took about ten long strides toward the gate when I finally heard her jump up and scamper after me.

The drive home was tense and silent. Every time I glanced over at her, she was resolutely staring out the side window, her hands clenched together in her lap. Fine, she was mad. So was I, for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She just brought it out. Until I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.

What the hell was that? She swiped it away, and there were no more, and when we were in the house, I expected her to lock herself in her room, but instead, she pulled herself up to her full height and let me have it.

“You had no right to do that,” she said, eyes flashing. “If you didn’t want to pay the rest of the lease, all you had to do was say so. You had no right to steal my things and put me out on the street.”

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. She caught it anyway. “Don’t you dare try to make it seem like I’m being hysterical.”

“Everything is safe in storage,” I told her. “If you want something, we can go there right now. I’ll hire a damn truck and bring it all over tonight. And you’re not on the street. You’re in a very nice house.”

“Don’t flaunt your wealth at me. You can’t buy everything. You really can’t buy a single clue about wine, by the way.”

“Is this about the fucking glasses?”

“Don’t swear at me,” she said, her voice breaking as she took a step back.

No way she was afraid of me. “I’m sorry,” I said, lowering my voice back to normal. “But if you’re freaking out so much about the glasses, then—”

“Stop acting like I’m being unreasonable,” she cut in, clearly fighting demons that had nothing to do with me.

I reached out and took her by the shoulders, not gripping, just holding on. “Laurel,” I said.