Page 23 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

He stands and offers me his hand.

I look at it for a moment. His palm is broad and his fingers are long. I remember how those fingers felt on my skin, inside me.

I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. When I’m standing, he doesn’t let go right away. His thumb brushes across my knuckles and my breath catches.

“We should figure out what it opens,” I say. My voice comes out rougher than I intended.

“Yes.” But he still doesn’t release my hand.

“Roman.”

“What?”

“Let go.”

“Why?”

“We agreed this can’t happen again.”

“You agreed to that.” His thumb is still moving in small circles on my hand. “I never said I’d cooperate.”

I pull my hand free and put distance between us. My back hits the bookcase and books shift on the shelves above me.

“Where would Dmitri keep something that needs this kind of key?” I ask. It’s a shallow redirect, but all I can think of in the moment.

Roman lets me do it. He pulls the key from his pocket and studies it again. “A safe or lockbox. Something like that.”

“There’s a safe in the master bedroom.”

“I already checked it. Empty.”

“What about his study? The real one, not the main office.”

Roman looks at me. “He had a private study?”

“Down the hall from our bedroom. He kept it locked. I was never allowed in.”

“Show me.”

We leave the library and I lead him upstairs. The hallway is long and carpeted in deep burgundy. Oil paintings of people I don’t recognize line the walls. Dmitri’s ancestors, probably. Men with hard faces and women with sad eyes.

The study is at the end of the hall. The door is heavy wood with an old-fashioned keyhole. I try the handle even though I know it won’t turn.

Obviously, it’s locked.

Roman examines the lock. “This isn’t original to the house. Dmitri had it installed.”

“How can you tell?”

“The wood around it is newer. See?” He runs his finger along the edge where the lock plate meets the door. “This was done maybe five, six years ago.”

“So he didn’t want anyone getting in.”

“Or he wanted to make sure he knew if someone tried.” Roman pulls out his wallet and extracts a thin piece of metal on a small hook. “Stand back.”

I realize after a second it’s a lockpick. The lock clicks after maybe thirty seconds.

The study is smaller than I expected. There’s a desk positioned under the window, a single bookshelf, and a filing cabinet in the corner. Everything is obsessively neat. No papers left out, no books lying open.