Page 130 of The Bratva Sinner

I’m feeling bold. Comfortable in my relationship. I got the idea to leave him a note and then spent an hour trying to decide what to write. I’ve never read spicy romance, so I don’t quite know what to write to get him excited.

I decided to keep it simple. That’s our love language. We don’t do a lot of words. It works for us.

I’m waiting. Come find me.

I’ve been feeling very new for the past few days, like a foal learning to trust its legs.

I leave the note in the center of his desk. I know he comes in here first when he gets home. Usually, he has a drink and catches up on paperwork.

I’m about to walk out when something catches my eye. Just the last two letters—LA, my name.

I have to look. I pull it and see my name written on the manila envelope. I shouldn’t look. It’s none of my business. He’s entitled to his privacy.

But it has my name on it.

I stand there for several seconds just looking at it.

It’s not sealed; the flap is just tucked in. The decision is made. I slide out the contents and stare at them.

A passport. My photograph, which I don’t remember. It’s from a couple of days ago. I’m standing at the railing of the paddock, watching Ember. Maksim had taken the picture.

It’s not my name on the passport, but it’s my face. It looks official.

There’s a thick stack of cash. American dollars and Euros. More than I’ve ever held in my hands at one time. A handwritten address on a card in Portugal, with a phone number underneath it.

I reach into the envelope and pull out another letter-size envelope. This one is sealed. My name is written on it. I recognize his handwriting.

Instinctively, I know that’s not a letter I’m ever supposed to read. It’s a death letter. The kind of thing that gets written when a man isn’t sure he’ll be around to say it out loud.

I sit on the floor.

He built me an exit. That’s the fallout plan. Break in case of emergency.

I thought he was confident that we would be fine. He made me believe we could make it through this. And then I see he’s preparing for the worst.

Another person I love is willing to put themselves on the line to make sure I get away safely. I don’t know what to think of that.

Damn him.

I turn over the sealed envelope in my hands. I don’t want to read the words he couldn’t say to my face.

I put it back.

I stack everything the way I found it, sliding it all back into the outer envelope, and tucking the flap in the way I found it.

I leave my note on his desk and walk out of his office.

I’m sitting at the kitchen island. The house is quiet like it always is after about three o’clock. Everyone has a job except me.

I hear footsteps and look up to find him walking in with a smile on his face.

“What are you doing home?” I ask.

He smiles and leans down to kiss me. “I thought we could have dinner together.”

“Oh.”

He tilts his head and looks at me. “What’s wrong?”