Page 13 of Sinful Bride

If I thought I was proud of her before, I’m bursting with it now.

I knew I saw something in her that night the light of the flames danced along her skin.

“Anything good?” Mak asks.

I nod. “Everything checks out. The only thing she hid was her birth name.”

“Hardly a crime worth punishment.”

“Not a crime at all.” I flick open the text messages from her mother out of morbid curiosity. “The more I’m reading here, the more I understand it.”

MOM: I did NOT raise my daughters to be such sluts!

DAPHNE: Actually, you did

DAPHNE: Good thing we decided to ignore you

From what little information Mel has shared, it sounds like both sisters were raised to look and act a certain way so they’d snare the best match. “All to further the family,” she’d sighed over her tea.

I raise my eyes to Mak. “New rule: from now on, no one under my command or within reach of my influence will arrange for their children to be married. We won’t take any offers, and we won’t be making any. I’m not putting my daughter through that. And I’ll kill the man who tries.”

“I’ll paint the target on his head for ya, brother.” Mak grins. “It’s a new era for the Chekhov fam. Long overdue, if you ask me.”

We sit together in the lobby for a while longer, sipping our concealed vodka and watching other new and expecting families weave in and out of the various doors. It’s rare to have this kind of time with him; we’re usually tackling business for the corporation or business for the Bratva. I don’t remember the last time we hung out as just… brothers.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you.” I chug the last of my drink.

“For what?”

“For being there. For her. For both of them.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and give him the closest thing to a hug I’m comfortable giving. “And for keeping me in line.”

His lopsided smile is a hug in and of itself. “Hey. We’re family. I love my family. And you’re not so terrible.”

I laugh and shove him aside. “I’m going to go check on the rest of my family now. You go do your thing. Work your magic.”

“Yeah?” He glances over at the blond nurse behind the desk, who is definitely checking him out.

“Yeah.”

I know most new fathers hand out cigars as gifts to the men in their lives when a new baby is born. I couldn’t buy my cigars in time, so granting my younger brother a favor feels like something close enough. Better, even.

Freedom. That’s the gift.

Freedom to do what he wants when it comes to love. To pursue whoever he wants, no strings attached. As long as our family is safe, I don’t really fucking care anymore.

I just want him to be happy.

I stay as quiet as possible when I enter the recovery room. This one is more like a home than the birthing ward, with a wraparound couch and queen-sized bed, electric fireplace, flat screen television, the works.

Daphne is sound asleep in the bed. Next to her, in the bassinet, is our beautiful Tatyanna. I tiptoe over just to check on them, although I don’t really know what to check for. As long as they’re both breathing and peaceful, I’m happy.

I’m happy. It’s a new feeling. A new experience. It weirds me out at times and downright scares me in others, because how the hell have I lived this long without it? Can I even call that “living”?

Daphne softly murmurs in her sleep. I can’t hear it clearly, but it sounds very close to my name.

Her name… well, that’s inconsequential. Now, anyway. A rose by any name smells just as sweet. How could I have let some pathetic attempt to ruin her life threaten to ruin ours? Over a name?

Fuck that.

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