Page 29 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"You didn't have to protect me like that."

"I did."

"Because I am Mrs. Morozova?"

"Because you are my wife."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

From the front, Feodor cleared his throat, not exactly sincere. "I hate to interrupt, but we need to switch cars. Backup handled the rest. Any survivors are getting delivered for questioning."

Kiryan finally let me go, his face snapping back into that hard mask.

"Figure out the cars, the guns, the route, the money. Lock this down. No leaks."

"Understood," Feodor said. "The banquet called twice already. Vasily got there."

"I'm going as planned."

I stared at Kiryan. "Someone just tried to kill you."

"Exactly why I have to show up." He wiped the blood at his ear with a handkerchief. "The deal with Vasily tonight decides Morozov's shipping lanes for the next year. If I don't walk in, everyone at that table will start recalculating. And whoever hid behind this will learn that a few bullets can change my mind."

That kind of calm should've scared me.

But the image of him covering me—taking the danger first—turned fear into something else. Something sharper. Worse.

A new armored car rolled up fast.

Before the door opened, Kiryan checked my face, then the dress. Both were untouched.

"Can you still do this?" His hand paused on my shoulder.

It was the first time he'd asked what I could handle instead of ordering me to.

"I can."

"Don't be tough for no reason."

"I'm not." I hesitated. "You're going to protect me, right?"

His gaze darkened. He didn't deny it.

He opened the door, his palm settling at my lower back again, guiding me into the other armored car.

And I hated myself for wishing his hand would stay there a little longer.

Chapter 9

Kiryan

I shouldn't have brought her.

The thought had lodged in my skull the second Elena stepped into the ballroom.

The top floor of the hotel had blazed with light. Crystal chandeliers had turned the dark green of her dress into something deep and liquid, like water you could drown in. The fabric had hugged her slim waist and left her pale shoulders and throat bare. Her makeup had stayed light, the freckles still dusting both sides of her nose. And her hazel eyes—under those lights—had looked brighter than they ever did.

Too many hungry looks had tracked her.