Page 35 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
“I just got married,” I say, my voice controlled but firm. “There’s an adjustment period. That doesn’t mean I’ve lost control of my operations.”
Sergei says nothing.
“I’m still running everything,” I continue. “Every deal is moving forward. Every security layer is in place. Nothing in my business has stopped.”
I lean back slightly, watching him.
“So no, Sergei. I don’t see how this has any long-term implications.”
Sergei studies me for a moment before speaking again.
“The question isn’t whether the business is still running,” he says carefully. “The question is whether allowing emotional influence into your decisions is wise.”
My jaw tightens.
“In our world,” he continues, “enemies don’t attack strength directly. They look for leverage.”
His voice remains respectful, but the meaning is clear.
“And wives,” he says quietly, “have historically been leverage.”
The room goes silent.
I understand what he’s implying.
He isn’t criticizing Ellie.
He’s warning me about weakness.
I listen, but I don’t agree with the direction he’s taking.
“That’s enough,” I say.
Sergei stops speaking immediately.
“Don’t bring this up again.”
For a moment, he holds my gaze, then bows his head slightly.
“Of course, Boss.”
He turns and walks out of the dining room, leaving me alone again with the cold remains of breakfast and the echo of his warning.
For the rest of the week, I try to focus on business, pushing Ellie out of my mind, but it’s impossible. She’s been ignoring me all week, every glance, every word carefully measured to avoid me. Still, her presence in the house unsettles me more than any rival ever could.
By the end of the week, I finally get a break from the tension when my brother Timofey arrives from Athens. He wasn’t at my wedding due to mission obligations, but today, he comes straight from the airport.
Timofey, like all Rusnak brothers, works for the family.
He’s an enforcer and a tactical operations commander.
We’re very close, but he and I always clash when it comes to business. He loved it when I was an assassin; we moved together like a well-oiled machine, hunting, eliminating, crushing. He thrives on dominance and intimidation. I left that life behind, became a negotiator, and he balked, but eventually he respected the path I chose. Still, he never misses an opportunity to remind me of the “good old days.”
He arrives just before breakfast, towering, muscles larger than the last time I saw him, curly hair loose around his face. A familiar grin stretches across his face as he slaps my shoulders.
“Happy married life, eh? Back from your honeymoon so quickly.”
I roll my eyes, brushing him off. “Quit playing, Timofey. You know why I had to marry her.”
