Page 123 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Twice.

Faster. Desperate.

Don't come closer.

It's a trap.

She couldn't speak. The ropes bit into her. Her face was bruised and bloodied—and she'd still been worried about me.

Something meaner than anger slammed into my chest.

I wanted to rip the ropes off, haul her up, hold her—make sure she and the baby were safe.

I didn't move.

If you lived long enough, you learned one rule first: never let an enemy see what you wanted to touch most.

But Elena saw anyway.

Our eyes locked.

Her breath hitched.

My gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, then to her belly—only a flicker, barely a heartbeat.

She understood.

The color drained from her face.

She knew I knew.

Her shoulder, the one pressed against the chair back, twitched.

I forced my eyes away.

"Right on time."

Isabella stepped out from behind Elena.

She wore a black dress, hair smooth and perfect. In her hand, she held a gun.

The muzzle aimed at Elena.

I stared at her.

She'd once hidden venom behind the sweetest smile at a party. Now the mask was gone. All that was left was warped obsession.

"Take the gun off her," I said.

Isabella laughed. "You just walked in, and your first words are about her."

"I'm not here for a reunion tour."

Her smile stiffened.

A voice came from deeper inside the warehouse.

"He isn't here to fight with you, either."