Sinful Bride (Belaya Bratva 3)

“It was my idea, actually,” Naomi replied, her cheeks pink. “I’m fluent in Russian, and I spent some time with Sveta before her death. I knew her mannerisms well enough to pass as her until they could get her out of the country.”

“Then all hell broke loose,” Roman finished, clenching his jaw. “Guzman got involved, and Sveta ended up dead.”

I rubbed a hand over my face, not fucking believing any of it. I had believed that Naomi was Sveta until our wedding night, and little did I know that she had played the woman prior to me taking her captive.

Now I looked at my wife in a whole new light. “Remind me to never underestimate you again.” I had thought her weak at one point during our relationship together, but after hearing this, I knew she was stronger than I had given her credit for.

Hell, she had gone up against a stalker, my mother, and me. Naomi was fucking amazing, and I would spend some time reminding her later.

Turning back to Marchetti, I gave him a single nod. “That was pretty brilliant of you, actually. Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look.”

His expression sobered. “I got Sveta killed anyway. It was never my intent.”

I believed him. We were monsters, but someone who was as innocent as Orlov’s daughter didn’t deserve what had happened to her in the end.

“After I escaped Jon,” Naomi replied. “The only phone number I knew was Ilsa’s.” She looked over at me. “I wanted to call you, but—”

“It’s fine,” I told her. “I’m glad that you had someone to call.” I nodded to Marchetti. “Thank you for taking my wife in.”

He grinned, throwing me off. “You don’t know my wife. She would have gutted me if I hadn’t.”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Naomi argued, her tone teasing. “She loves you too much.”

Marchetti didn’t even bother to wipe the grin off his face, and I realized that the rumors were true.

He was fucking in love with his wife. It was written all over his face, the fucker. Now I couldn’t kill him or hate him. Instead, I could sympathize with him because I was in the same sinking boat he was.

Clearing my throat, I looked over at Naomi. “How did you escape?”

Her smile faded, and fear flashed in her eyes. “I would rather tell you that in private.”

I tamped down my sudden rush of fear and rage, wondering what the hell that fucker had done to her and how she had gotten away. “All right.”

Marchetti stood and walked to the doorway. “I will give you two a few minutes then. I know that Ilsa is dying to come down and meet you, Kirilenko.”

He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving me and Naomi alone for the first time since I had stepped across the threshold of this mansion. There were so many things I needed to say to her, so many things that she needed to hear, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, I just stared at her. She had been part of a major game already and then I had scooped her up, thrusting her into a deeper, more dangerous one that, in the end, was far from over. If she was smart, she would tell us all to fuck off and go somewhere warm and tropical.

Not that I could ever let her go again. Even now she was too far away from me.

“I have to tell you something,” she started, swallowing. “About how I got away.”

I was out of my chair and pulling her to her feet in an instant, wrapping my arms around her. “Anything you say,” I told her softly, my lips brushing over her temple. “Isn’t going to make me feel any differently about you. Because now, you’re safe.”

She shuddered in my arms and I rubbed her back lightly, bracing myself for whatever she was going to tell me.