Page 13 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“Well, when you knock out one of my staff, I’m not sure you deserve to have your clothes back. Besides, she had to wear them home since she had nothing else to put on.”

“Tell her I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that if she ever comes back to work.”

I laugh a little at that, feeling triumphant when my laugh makes him smile.

“Anyway,” I say, “I need shampoo, conditioner, good body wash, exfoliator—”

“Just tell Ivan what you need,” Boris says, crossing the room and grabbing his jacket. I feel ridiculous, chatting away with the man who kidnapped me like it’s nothing, but if I’m honest, this is the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time. Lounging around, meals brought to me, napping, watching television—since starting business school and this internship, I haven’t had a lazy Sunday in weeks. During the weekdays, I just work and work, hustling my ass off to try and get ahead. During the weekends, I spend my time catching up on laundry, trying to make appointments, cleaning my apartment, and meal-prepping before I fall into bed. I am exhausted on Sunday and ready for the week, but still highly strung.

“Where are you going?” I ask, following him, still in just my towel. I watch his throat bob in his neck when he turns back to me, looking like he’s struggling to keep his eyes on my face.

“That’s none of your business,” he says, right when a voice calls from outside the door, “Brother, are you ready to stake out the Allards, or what?”

“Allard?” I ask, searching Boris’s face. It’s a stone wall, but one that I can read. I laugh. “You’re wasting your time with that. Maybe Mr. Allard is caught up in some shady stuff—he never lets me near the books, and that’s probably for a reason—but he’s not an evil person. He’s certainly not involved in the mafia, okay? I would have noticed, working for the guy for months and months.”

Boris stares at me, his mouth slightly open.

“You really didn’t know?”

“You have the wrong guy, Bor-y,” I say, stepping toward him. Over the past few months, I’ve been working for Mr. Allard; he’s taken me under his wing. Like the father I wished I always had—one who cared for me instead of preparing me for the next apocalypse. Mr. Allard had groceries delivered to our apartment once a week—organic produce, prepared meals, and healthy ingredients. Obviously, Olive was his priority, but he liked how driven I was.

I think about a time he’d pulled me to the side, his voice low so the other interns wouldn’t hear.

“I see you, Fiona,” he’d said, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. “I see all the late nights you’ve been putting in. I just want you to know that your efforts aren’t in vain. My daughter isn’t interested in this company, and I’ll need someone to take over my enterprise. Perhaps, if you keep heading in this direction, that someone can be you.”

Even thinking about that, the way he had talked to me, like I was so full of potential, fills my heart with something warm. Mr. Allard showed me he was proud of me—something my father never did.

“If you’re so sure,” he says, “then why don’t you come along for this one, Fiona? Since you seem to have such a good handle on the Allards.”

“Mr. Allard would never kidnap someone and force them to get married,” I counter, to which Boris lets out a menacing laugh. For the first time since I first saw him in the office, a shot of fear ran through my chest at the sound.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Boris says, stepping close to me, his voice low and uncompromising. “And don’t you ever, ever compare me to that fucking sleazeball of a man again. Got it?”

I swallow but don’t answer. He stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, Ivan appears, diverting his eyes when he sees I’m in just a towel.

“Here,” he says, holding out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s much too big for me. Then, to my surprise, he produces a tablet. “Mr. Milov has instructed me to let you order what you wish from this. It won’t allow communication, and I’ll be watching you the entire time, so don’t think about trying to message anyone or call for help.”

“Oh, Ivan,” I say, running a hand down his arm and watching as he flinches away from the touch, his eyes darting to the door. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I take the tablet and click around, ordering a bunch of stuff. Why shouldn't I get what I want if it’s going on Bor-y’s credit card? Reparations for kidnapping me, I think. First, I head to a beauty site and order everything I need to take a good shower—the best shampoo and conditioner, body scrub, body wash, razors, and plenty of creams and serums. I get a full line-up of skincare I never would have been able to afford on my own. Perfumes.

I glance at Ivan, who looks bored and unbothered about the cart's total.

“Is that all?” he asks when I hand him the tablet so he can pay.

“No,” I say, pulling it back and adding more—makeup, treatments, an expensive hair dryer, everything I can think of that I’ve ever wanted. When I hand the tablet back to him, he processes the transaction without blinking an eye.

How much money has Boris cleared for me to use?

We repeat that process as I buy myself clothes—luxury loungewear, exercise clothing, and even a few sparkly dresses. Ivan raises an eyebrow at me, but I just shrug.

“I’m stuck here,” I say, “I might as well have some fun. What do you want, Ivan? I’ll throw something on here for you.”

He doesn’t answer, so I throw some extra candy on my order of snacks and drinks. Surely, there will be something Ivan likes. He looks like a Red Vine kind of guy, I think, so I throw those in the cart, too.

Halfway through the shopping extravaganza, a server arrives with lunch—Monte Crisco sandwiches and fresh coleslaw. I’ve never eaten this good in my life. After finishing lunch, I get back to shopping.

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