Page 70 of Baby for the Bratva

She lies back down. “I won’t be able to sleep, just so you know.”

“I guess I’ve ruined it for you,” I reply with a small laugh. “Just relax. I’ll be back soon.”

“You promise?”

“I swear.”

I leave the room before she can continue trying to distract me. It’s not that I don’t want to hear her sweet voice and calm her fears, but I can’t leave Chekhov waiting when there’s still so much at stake. I need to know his side of the story. The sooner we figure this mess out, the sooner we can move on from it.

And moving on means having the time to spend with Stella, convincing her that being my bride isn’t only about the business side of things. She wants to believe we can only have one side of the coin or the other, but I want to choose. I want both, and I’m not the type to give up until I succeed in getting what I set out for.

Dima is outside, standing like the statue he is as I leave. “Nobody goes in or out of my room. Got it?”

He nods, and I hurry along down the red carpeted hallway, eager to get off this damn boat. I never thought I’d be so tired of the way the ocean feels under my feet, but I am. More and more, I think about having a normal life that doesn’t demand I go to sea every few months and risk getting thrown in prison.

Chekhov’s sudden brush with death was a wake-up call for me. What does any of this money, power, or success mean if I don’t live long enough to enjoy it?

And what’s to enjoy if I’m alone?

I’m convinced that things have to change, but the bounty is the number one thing preventing that from happening. I must get on the phone with someone from the Brazilian government and put a stop to this before it’s too late.

Unfortunately, that’s not going to be easy. Chekhov was already trying to do that before he was pushed overboard, and even Akim’s recent attempts have failed. I suspect that there’s nothing I can do to get them to lift the bounty aside from marrying Stella.

And for what it’s worth, even if it is lifted, I’m going to marry her. I’ve already made up my mind about that.

An unassuming black sedan is waiting for me at the dock, taking me down to the nearest private hospital where they have Chekhov under close observation. It pains me that he’s had to go through this, but I’m also relieved he’s alive. I thought for sure he wouldn’t make it, but there was something inside of me that wasn’t ready to mourn him yet.

I guess I know why now.

The drive is short, but it feels long as I ride with the window down in the backseat. The air is hot, even at night, but it still feels good against the sweat that’s formed on my face. It feels like I run a solid five degrees warmer than the average person, especially when I haven’t slept enough.

Physically, I’m still waking up, but my mind is already racing like it’s midday. Will Chekhov’s story line up with Clara’s, or will they turn out to be completely different from what we believe happened? We already left her in the ocean, and I doubt she’d be able to survive those waters like Chekhov did.

She was an amateur bounty hunter who met her end early in her career. Chekhov is a seasoned member of one of the most powerful Bratva organizations in the world. We’re not getting that woman back even if we tried.

But Stella made the right choice with Clara. One thing that must be understood when you join the Bratva is that gender has nothing to do with someone’s willingness to kill you. If you treat people differently based on whether they have a pussy, you’re going to end up dead before you have the chance to taste success.

The only person I’ve ever made an exception to that rule for is Stella. She’s… different. Obviously, I have feelings for her, but it’s not just that. She’s pure in a way other people aren’t, disconnected from the Bratva to the point of ignorance.

I prefer it that way, but she’s already starting to be corrupted. I just hope she’s able to retain that little hint of innocence in the way she acts, so I can have a reminder that good people still exist in this wretched, greedy world.

She’s on my mind again as I arrive at the hospital, but I’m able to focus back on Chekhov when I reach his room. He’s lying in a white bed, draped in several layers of wool to keep his body warm. He’s pale, but there’s a little pinkness that’s coming back into his cheeks, and his heart rate is beeping at a steady pace on the monitor.

“You’re one lucky motherfucker,” I say as I walk up to him.

His eyes, closed when I arrived, flutter open immediately. “Yuri, I didn’t think you’d be here so quickly. Akim said you were probably asleep.”

“I was, so thanks for waking me,” I say with a cheeky grin.

“I can be a pest, I know.”

“True, but I’m just glad you’re alright. How are you feeling?” I ask, placing my hand on his bed.

“Better than I should be, considering how long I was out in the water. Luckily for me, the sharks weren’t hungry enough to pick on me.”

I laugh. “You probably don’t taste good. I hear they prefer lean meat.”

“You’d be pretty safe, then, you fat fuck,” he growls, attempting to throw a punch from his bed.

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