Page 75 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I called her. No answer. Once. Twice. Same result.

It felt like a hand closed around my lungs.

I tried Olga. Still nothing.

I grabbed my keys and moved.

Feodor blocked the door. "We haven't found the sniper. If you go downstairs now, you're walking into a second kill zone."

"Get the armored car into the underground tunnel."

"I go with you."

"You stay." I shoved past him. "Check the slug. Keep digging into Isabella. And find out who knew my schedule today."

Every minute I wasted meant one more minute Elena could be in trouble.

The car shot out of the underground passage, two escort vehicles boxing us in, front and back.

The driver pushed it to the limit. I sat in the back seat and called Elena again and again. Every time—no answer.

Last night she'd been warm against me. This morning I'd left without waking her, without a single word. I'd told myself I had to handle the mess first. Now I would've given anything to shove that bedroom door open again and force the version of me who'd walked away to stay.

The moment we stopped at the manor, I threw the door open and got out.

No gunfire. No blood. But the hollow quiet inside hit harder than a body on the floor.

I cut through the hall and took the stairs two at a time. "Elena!"

My voice hit the high ceiling and fell back, empty.

On the bedroom desk sat a stack of papers, and on top of it—her wedding ring, the one that never fit right.

My feet locked.

I'd taken her ring off and tossed it into a drawer. I'd promised I'd replace it with one that fit. I'd kept putting it off. Now it lay there, still and cold, like she'd finally returned everything that had never been hers.

My fingertips touched the band. The metal was ice.

Then the words on the page punched straight through me—

Divorce agreement.

I sucked in air and flipped through it. On the last page, the wife's signature line held Elena's name. The husband's line held mine.

The letters, the slant, the final stroke—almost identical to how I wrote. But it wasn't my signature. I hadn't signed it. I'd never even thought about divorcing Elena.

"Olga!"

I needed to know what the hell had happened. The manor hadn't been attacked like I'd feared, but my home had still been gutted.

Olga appeared in the doorway fast. Her gray hair was a mess, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Where's Elena?"

"She left."

"Where did she go?"