Page 17 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“Dad,” I’d wheezed, smiling at him. “Help.”

But he did not smile as he stared down at me. He kneeled, his face close to mine, watching as the sweat formed on my brow, and I struggled not to let the weight crush me.

“I don’t go through these scenarios for shits and giggles,” he’d said. “One day, someone is going to come at you, and you’re either going to have a plan, or you’re going to go down. A plan you can’t use isn’t a plan, Fi. It’s just wishful fucking thinking.”

Then, he reached over, unclipping the weight on my right so I could dump it. Using the strength I had left, I turned, sliding the weight off and utilizing the imbalance to let the other side of the bar fall to the side. My dad stood, moving to the other side of the gym as I sat there, chest heaving, face tomato-red with embarrassment. The loud noise meant everyone stared at me, including the meaty man my dad and I had been discussing.

Now, there’s a knock at the door, and I jump, realizing I’ve been turning the pages of my book but haven’t been paying attention to the words. I shut it and stood up to open the door.

It’s more than likely not Boris. I haven’t seen him since the kiss. It’s almost like he’s avoiding me.

“Oh, Ivan,” I say, rolling my eyes as he enters with a tall stack of boxes. He sets it down on the ground with a huff.

“Don’t put any of these on the bed,” he says, leaning back and popping his back. “Mary-Anne will have a fit.”

“How is she? Did she come back?”

“Tomorrow,” Ivan says, eyeing me carefully. “Though I can’t say she’s going to be too thrilled that you’re still here. She says she’s been having nightmares.

“If it’s any consolation, this entire thing is a nightmare for me,” I mutter, eyes tracking to the boxes. I realize it’s all the stuff I ordered before, but the spark of fun from spending a bunch of money is gone, and now I just feel tired.

“Come on, then,” Ivan says, kneeling and opening a box. “You’re going to need something other than those sweatpants.”

“Oh, am I?” I ask, falling back onto the bed. “I don’t think the man in that portrait—” I point at a picture across the room, “—cares about what I’m wearing.”

“You’ll need other clothes if you plan to walk around the property, is what I mean.”

“Walk around the property?” I ask, sitting up, my eyebrows nearly hitting my hairline. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh,” he says, looking up at me and pausing his slice through one of the boxes. “Well, Mr. Milov has been fortifying the grounds lately. And I’m to personally escort you, but he says you’re to have free range of the Milov property.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” I laugh. “He feels bad for locking me in here?”

“Well,” Ivan says, swallowing and glancing at the door. “He’s not the worst—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I say, raising my hand. “Now, let’s get through these clothes.”

I launch into a fashion show for Ivan, who hates every single second, saying every outfit looks “fine” and just wanting to be done with the whole thing. Finally, we have all the clothes sorted into the pile I’m going to keep and the pile that should be returned. I put on one of the outfits, and Ivan helps me hang the rest.

I don’t usually choose to dress particularly femininely, but for some reason, the yellow sundress with the sunflowers is calling my name. I pair it with yellow sneakers and a wide-brimmed sun hat, turning and admiring myself in the mirror. It’s a far cry from my typical outfit of shorts and a T-shirt.

“Shall we go?” I ask Ivan, who makes me pause at the entrance to the house to put on sunscreen before leaving. We step out into the sunshine, and I stop for a moment, having almost forgotten how good it feels to have the sun on my face.

Then, I start at a brisk pace away from the house.

I can see the guard Ivan talked about, lined up around the property. If I was going to escape now, it would be at night. Especially since Boris has stopped sleeping in the room with me. I would need to find a disguise again, or, at the very least, put together an all-black outfit. I would need to scale down the side of the building and make it to the woods.

I’d find a stream to clear the scent from myself, just in case the Milovs have dogs I haven’t noticed yet. That seems just like something they would enjoy—I picture Viktor, specifically, grinning ear-to-ear as he releases his ruthless guard dogs.

Once I got out, it would take a few days, but I would have to creep along through the woods before getting to the next town. I’d need a disguise—something inconspicuous—to get back into my apartment without the Milovs discovering me. And then, even if I did get my fake documents, Boris may have already found them and put a track on the name.

Which means I’d need to find a way to get all-new fake papers, which could take some time.

My thoughts fade as I come across a tall, wrought-iron gate shrouded by trees. I turn to Ivan, who’s breathing heavily from trying to keep up with me.

“What’s this?” I ask, jerking my head at the gate. It looks like it leads somewhere interesting.

“It’s the other Milov property,” he says after a second, as though he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be telling me about it.

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