Page 56 of Escaping the Bratva

V

“We have to make one more stop,” Sasha says from the passenger seat as I turn my SUV out of the rental car lot and on to the road.

“Where’s that?” I ask, glancing over at her. Before dropping her car off at the rental lot in Spokane, she changed into one of my T-shirts and sweatpants. I like her in my clothes. The possessive side of me would have her wearing my clothes all the time just so everyone would know she belonged to me.

“My nana’s. I’d feel terrible if I came all the way out here and didn’t stop by.”

I never got to meet any of Sasha’s family. Her mother was out of the question, and she didn’t know her dad. Her grandma’s all she has, but in college, we never made it to the meeting family part of our dating. She types the address into her phone and hooks it up to the bluetooth.

Her eyes flicker to me as we come to a stoplight. “She’s going to be surprised I’m bringing a man home.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve never introduced your grandma to someone you’ve dated?” The light changes, and I have to focus back on the road.

“Nope. Nothing has ever been serious enough, but that doesn’t stop her from asking me when I’m going to find someone.”

I smirk. “I’m honored.”

She laughs. “I apologize in advance. She doesn’t really have a filter. You’ve been warned.”

“I think I can handle it.”

It doesn’t take very long for us to arrive at the two-story suburban home at the end of a cul de sac. It reminds of the kind of place I dreamed of living when I first came to the States. I get out first and walk around to the passenger side to help Sasha out of the SUV.

“This is where you grew up?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, I bought Nana this place once Elevate started making good money. I wasn’t far from here though. I tried to get her to move to Seattle, but she likes the small town feel of Spokane.”

A screen door shuts, and I look up to see a small woman with gray hair walking down the porch steps.

“Sasha? What are you doing here?” she says as she opens the gate to the white picket fence in the front yard.

Sasha smiles. “I was in the area, and I knew you’d kill me if I didn’t stop by. Nana, this is—”

“V,” she finishes, looking at me.

I smile at the woman. “You remember?”

She rolls her eyes. “You're the only man my granddaughter has ever talked about.”

Sasha cheeks flush, and I can’t help feeling victorious. Even after all these years, there still hasn’t been a man that was close to filling my spot because this is how it was always supposed to be.

“You can call me Georgia. Come in, I just pulled some cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”

She turns to walk away, and I raise an eyebrow at Sasha. “No one else, huh?”

“Shut up. Your ego doesn’t need to be stroked anymore.” She turns her back to me and walks towards the house. I closed the white picket fence behind me and follow after Sasha. The house has hardwood floors, but big rugs had been thrown down to cover most of it. Oversized furniture fills the living room, and pictures of family members cover the wall. The smell of the cinnamon rolls fill the house. Something about the house just seems warm. Even though Sasha didn’t grow up in this home, I’m sure the home she did grow up in was similar. Our childhood couldn’t be more different. One day, I’d take her to Russia to see my old neighborhood. I still send money back home every single month, and I moved my mom to a better area a long time ago.

I take a seat on the oversized couch, and Sasha ventures into what I assume is the kitchen. I hear her say something about her Nana’s diabetes before they both emerge again. Georgia sets a huge plate filled with cinnamon rolls on the coffee table before taking one for herself.

“You want one?” Sasha asks.

I nod, and she grabs two off the plate and hands one to me before sitting down in the spot next to me.

Georgia rocks in the worn chair as she eats her dessert. “So tell me. How come this took so long?” She points a finger between us.

Once again, Sasha’s cheeks turn red.

I chuckle. “That’s my fault. I had to get my life together.”

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