Page 92 of The Bratva Betrayal

I will have my cock so deep in that woman that it will destroy all the relationships I have.

And knowing that won’t stop me.

21

Cady

The penthouse is quiet when I get home.

I kick off my heels at the door and walk to the kitchen on autopilot.

My feet are sore, and my head is loud, and somewhere between the storage closet and the car ride home, I made the mistake of letting myself think, which means I’ve been stuck on a loop for forty minutes.

Three million dollars.

Misha wants to marry me to pay off three million dollars in gambling debt to a man who was already threatening to dismantle everything my father has spent thirty years building.

I’ve been used before. This life doesn’t come without that. I know what it looks like when a man sees a last name before he sees a person, and I’ve made my peace with most of it.

But this is different.

This isn’t about access, alliance, or even two families deciding their interests align. This is Misha Makarov drowning in a debt he created, looking for the nearest exit, and finding my name attached to five million dollars and a father desperate enough to hand it over.

I am a solution to a problem I didn’t cause.

The worst part is that telling my father won’t change anything.

Colin Gallagher must already know about the debt and not care, because it isn’t his problem. The more Misha needs the money, the more compliant he’ll be, which works in my father’s favor.

I pour myself a glass of water because I don’t trust myself with anything stronger tonight.

I’m still standing at the counter when the front door opens, and Misha comes through sideways.

His shoulder catches the frame, and he overcorrects. The laugh that follows is too loud for midnight and too loose for someone allegedly planning to marry me. His suit jacket is gone, his shirt is untucked, and his tie is hanging loosely around his neck.

He’s drunk.

Very, very drunk.

And he is not alone.

The woman on his arm is brunette, pretty, and still laughing when they come through the door. Her hand curled into his shirt in a way that tells me they’ve already been very friendly with each other tonight.

This is someone he’s probably fucked before, too.

I set down my glass when Misha sees me, and his face is exactly what I’d expected. Surprise first, then a glassy warmth that only exists when someone is too drunk to manage their expressions.

“There she is,” he announces. “My future wife.”

My eyes narrow. “Go home, Misha.”

He crosses the kitchen toward me, hands finding my waist like it’s automatic. Like he hasn’t just walked through my door at midnight with another woman giggling behind him.

The brunette is still smiling vaguely, probably far too drunk to understand or care that she’s walked into the middle of something.

“Come on.” He pulls me toward him. “I came to see you, baby.”

I step back but don’t get far. “No, you came here drunk with someone else.”