Page 41 of Reign of Four

Ezra notices the shift in my demeanor immediately, carefully lying back down beside me and lacing our fingers together. He brushes my knuckles with gentle sweeps of his thumb, flicking his eyes to mine. “What is on mind, Valentina?”

How do I tell the man who just came so deep inside me that I don’t want kids?

I swallow thickly and sit up. Ezra’s release follows gravity and seeps out onto the sheets. Normally, that would be hot as fuck. But while on the verge of a very untimely panic attack, it sucks. “I’ve gotta pee.” I slip out of the bed and rush for the bathroom.

Before I make it halfway across the room, the bedroom door swings wide open and Mikhail bursts into the room with a plate of fried eggs. “Breakfast for the lazy couple—” He sees me first, his amber eyes sparkling above his signature Monrovia smile, until he senses that although I’m naked and thoroughly fucked, I’m not a shining beacon of warmth and happiness right now. Something’s wrong. He knows it. Ezra knows it. It’s only a matter of time before Andrei’s husband senses start to tingle, and he rushes into the room to witness my breakdown.

I hate how well they can see through me.

“Be right back!”

As I lock the bathroom door, I can hear Mikhail hissing through his teeth. “What did you do?”

I automatically move to the shower and turn it on full blast. While the water heats, I clean up down there as much as I can and give myself a cursory glance in the mirror. Not only is my hair a rat’s nest of knots and frizzed curls, but my body has remnants of bruises—whether hickeys or otherwise, I can’t tell—but it looks like a war zone. Like a map of the past few weeks, seeping out of my body. I trace invisible lines from one bruise to the next, going through the events in my head as I touch each purple mark.

It’s crazy, what I’ve been through lately.

Impossible, I would have said a year ago.

As steam fogs the mirror and blurs my reflection, I find myself laughing at the absurdity of everything.

I killed a man.

I step into the blistering hot shower and scrub my body from head to toe, trying to scourge the memory of Liam from my mind. The past week was filled with lies upon lies upon lies, from the words leaving my lips to the touches of my fingertips. Despite the heat, I shiver. I’m grateful to be back with my men, and I can already feel some of the stress ease from my muscles, but it’s like one pain point disappears for another to take its place.

We haven’t been using protection. I’ve known this in some capacity—it’s impossible not to notice—but it hadn’t really sunk in until Liam proudly declared that he would be the one to breed me.

My period arriving was a fucking blessing.

But I’m not sure a child would be. Not now, with a war brewing. And maybe not . . . ever. I grab a loofah and scrub beneath my fingernails, chipping away at dried flecks of blood and dirt. That’s the problem, isn’t it? The blood. My blood. Everyone’s obsessed with the Baranova family—if I have a child, I’ll just be bringing them into the same mess I was born into. The expectations and the power and the danger.

I don’t want my child to be used as a bargaining chip for power. I don’t want them to be abused because of their name and family line. And I can’t guarantee that people won’t come after them, like how Liam and Katya not only controlled my life for years but followed me once I’d left the city, just so that I would come back into the fold and play the part of perfect little princess.

When the water runs cold, I turn it off and stand shivering for as long as I can stand it. I’m not sure how Andrei will react when I tell him I don’t want children. In the past, we were on the same page about having a family. I never had siblings, and Andrei never had a stable household. We’d intended to create an experience that neither of us had growing up. One full of love and laughter and warmth.

But after seeing the lengths people will go to claim the Bratva for themselves . . . I don’t wish that upon anyone.

Maybe the Baranova line needs to end with me.

When I push open the shower door, I find Andrei leaning against the vanity, a small frown on his lips. I should have known that simple door locks are no match for these men. His eyes follow me as I grab a towel and wrap it around my body. I’ve never been able to tie a towel, so it’s a surprise when it wraps neatly over my chest and I can tuck in the corner to hold it in place. I take another towel and wrap my hair.

Neither of us speaks until we’re standing face to face, and there’s nowhere for me to run.

“I don’t think I want kids, Andrei.”

If Andrei weren’t breathing, I’d imagine he turned to stone. “We need an heir, zhena.” He takes a deep breath, and I realize that he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. I’ve never seen him in either of those before. I’ve never imagined him in anything less than button ups and vests and expensive clothing. He looks more man than pakhan. Like flesh and blood and a desire for comfort at home, not like a ruthless leader ruling over a massive underground organization.

He looks like . . . Andrei.

I twist my fingers together as I try to detangle my thoughts. “I was given the Bratva by birth, but you, Andrei—you were chosen. You’re not a Baranova. And you were chosen, anyway. You got the Bratva without me.”

Andrei lifts a brow. “Someone had to marry you so that Tolkotsky could pass on the title. Bratvas are traditionally led by men. I was chosen, yes, but I was chosen to stand beside you.”

I shake my head. “You don’t understand. My father chose you, a man without a fortune, or a title, or a family name. You don’t come from a well-known family. You don’t have another Bratva waiting back home. You aren’t trying to sow your seeds for political or social gain. And my father still chose you, because of how capable you had proven yourself. That has nothing to do with bloodline, and everything to do with ability.” I close the short distance between us and cup Andrei’s stubbled cheek in my palm. The dark circles under his eyes have lightened, but it will take much more R&R for them to disappear altogether. “Why can’t we choose our successor without relying on my body to provide one? There’s no guarantee I’d get pregnant, anyway, or that we wouldn’t lose the baby?—”

Andrei wraps his hand tight around mine, a sharpness to his gaze as he rises to his full height. “We wouldn’t lose the baby, Valentina, despite how much you might wish to.” His grip tightens, sending pain shooting into my wrist. But more painful than that are his words.

“I would never wish to lose?—”

---