Page 43 of Unwilling Bratva Bride

“Oh, shit, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve laughed like that in years.”

“Well, I hope it earned me a tiny confession, too.”

She wiped under her eyes, too, and I abruptly remembered that we were both sitting around topless, and she was much closer to me now.

“All right. All right. You’ve earned it.” As I thought about my father, the good mood that had blossomed was squashed. “My dad was a dick. Of monumental proportions. He didn’t…he didn’t really appreciate any of us thinking too highly of ourselves. It was made pretty damn clear that we were expected to do what he said because he was all we would ever have.”

Adley frowned, her attention refocusing on me as the memories took over. A thousand-yard stare took me, and I cleared my throat when I realized I’d drifted off somewhere else.

“We were lucky if we got to clean his boots, you see. And I mean, look, I know that I can get a woman to come back here with me. I have several times, but…that’s a skin-deep thing. It doesn’t change what’s been drilled into my head for years.”

When Adley spoke again, it was a faint whisper. “Why do you do this then? If you know that it’s an extension of that past?”

Well, that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

Chapter 17 - Adley

Ivan was so different like this. I’d certainly not expected to hear what I did, and that well of curiosity about him had only grown with each word he spoke. It felt so odd to be sitting here with him so comfortably, considering our situation. Yet, I couldn’t deny that I was drawn to Ivan in a new way.

The pull toward his bare chest was still there, of course, but a new interest in who he really was burned brighter. Getting to know him felt like uncovering missing pieces to a puzzle. It made me consider him and his past, and I was attracted to his drive to push through all that.

I waited for Ivan to respond, watching him as he looked down at the floor in his comfortable position on the floor. My hand went to the sketch pad reflexively, and I added more details to the portrait.

“That’s a hell of a question, Adley.” Ivan sighed, and it melted into a mirthless chuckle. “I needed to take care of my brothers. I’m the oldest, the one who’s been around for just a bit longer…and what I knew about was what my father taught me. Getting out from under his influence…from under his fists…meant finding someone who’d take a chance on a kid who was ready to volunteer for grunt work.”

My sketching stilled as I realized what Ivan was saying. His father had been abusive, and he’d fled with his siblings to protect them.

Holy shit. That’s…not what I expected.

“Vlad was still pretty young when I knew we needed to leave. My mother…well, let’s just say that she didn’t survive my father, and it fucked Vlad up so damn bad.”

“He doesn’t speak,” I offered quietly.

“No. And I wouldn’t either. I needed cash to support them. I needed a place for them to stay. So, we found Sergei Vadim. I worked my way up the ranks for him. Got damn good at my job and brought my brothers along with me. It’s just…how it went.”

It was such a silly little shock that I nearly laughed. Of all the people and things in the entire world, the guy who had essentially bought me knew exactly what it was like to do everything for your family—for your siblings.

It was too damn funny, in that horrible way that hurt your chest behind the smile.

Looking over at Ivan, I met his eyes when he finally brought them up again. “I get it.”

He cocked his head, his brows pinching together. “You get it? And how’s that? Your parents are practically saints.”

“Well, no. I don’t get that part personally. But I understand it.” I set the pencil down, now finished with the drawing. “I get what it’s like to put your siblings first. To do everything to ensure they’re okay and that they have everything they need.”

At that, Ivan nodded slowly, rolling his eyes down to the floor before returning them to me.

“I guess you do. You’ve thrown yourself in bed with a stranger because you wanted what was best for them—and the shop.”

The air was so thick with tension that it was like I was wearing it—sticky, heavy weights glued to every inch of my skin.

Ivan grinned, gesturing at the pad with his head. “You done?”

Turning back over my shoulder to look at it, I smiled at the portrait and nodded. “I am.”

He got up onto his knees, crawling across the floor to sit in front of the picture next to me. Ivan didn’t say anything at first, and I wasn’t about to push. He’d already offered plenty. Still, his presence next to me felt different. I want to put my hand on his where he leaned on it. I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder so that he knew I was right there with him.

It was a knee-jerk reaction to hearing such intimate details about his life. My brain wanted me to show him I was empathetic to his situation.

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