Page 18 of Accidental Bratva Daddy

"Promise me you'll always be honest with me. No more secrets, no more lies. If we're going to make this arrangement work, we need to trust each other completely."

Luka is quiet for a long moment, and I fear I've asked for too much. But then he nods, a solemn expression on his face. "I promise," he says. “Whatever I can tell you, whatever is within my control, I will. The good, the bad, and the ugly."

Relief washes over me, followed quickly by a wave of exhaustion. The emotional rollercoaster of the day, combined with our recent activities, has left me drained.

Luka seems to sense my fatigue. He lays us both down, pulling the plush comforter over our naked bodies. I curl into his side, my head resting on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat is soothing, lulling me towards sleep.

As I drift off, I can't help but marvel at the turn my life has taken. A week ago, I was just Natalia Orlova, fashion designer. Now, I'm Natalia Volkova, wife of the most dangerous man in Moscow. It's not the life I ever imagined for myself, but it’s mine, whether I want it to be or not.

9

Natalia

The delicate aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries coaxes me from my slumber. I blink groggily, my hand instinctively reaching for Luka's warmth beside me. When my fingers meet only cool sheets, my eyes snap open, suddenly alert.

For a moment, panic grips my chest. Was last night a dream? Has Luka left me alone, just as he did that first night we spent together?

But no, the soreness in my muscles and the lingering scent of his cologne on the pillow are proof enough that it was real. I sit up slowly, clutching the silky sheets to my chest as I survey the empty room.

That's when I notice the gentle clink of cutlery coming from beyond the bedroom door. Curiosity piqued, I slip out of bed, wincing slightly at the pleasant ache between my thighs. I grab the nearest item of clothing, one of Luka's discarded dress shirtsfrom the night before, and button it hastily, then slip it over my head.

The shirt hangs nearly to my knees, engulfing me in Luka's scent. Despite knowing better, I find the sensation oddly comforting. I pad barefoot to the door, cracking it open to peer into the suite's living area.

The sight that greets me is so unexpectedly domestic that for a moment, I forget to breathe.

Luka stands at the dining table, meticulously arranging an array of dishes that make my mouth water instantly. The smell of fresh coffee and warm breakfast greets my nose, cooked to perfection. I watch, transfixed, as he adjusts the placement of a vase filled with fresh-cut flowers, his brow furrowed in concentration.

This is a side of him I've never seen before, the dangerous mafia boss playing at being a doting husband. The juxtaposition is as jarring as it is intriguing. I never in my wildest dreams would’ve imagined this side of him.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or would you like to join me?" Luka's deep voice cuts through my reverie, amusement evident in his tone. “I can feel your eyes drilling through me.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks, embarrassed at being caught staring. I step fully into the room, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to maintain some dignity.

"I didn't expect to find you playing housewife," I quip, arching an eyebrow at him.

Luka's lips quirk into that infuriatingly handsome smirk of his. "I'm a man of many talents, Mrs. Volkova. I thought you'd have realized that by now."

The sound of my new surname on his tongue sends an unexpected thrill through me. It feels like being owned by him, fully claimed, a feeling I shouldn’t relish so much. I push the feeling aside, focusing instead on the mouthwatering spread in front of me.

"You did all this?" I ask, gesturing to the table. “Poached eggs, fresh bacon… are those croissants?”

Luka shrugs, the movement causing the muscles in his shoulders to ripple beneath his fitted shirt. "I ordered room service. But I did arrange it myself."

"How thoughtful," I mutter, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

"Don't sound so shocked," Luka chuckles. "I'm capable of being considerate when the occasion calls for it." He pulls out a chair, gesturing for me to sit. "Now, eat. We have matters to discuss."

I hesitate for a moment before taking the offered seat. As much as I hate to admit it, the gesture is oddly sweet. I watch as Luka pours me a cup of coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar without having to ask.

"How did you know how I take my coffee?" I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

Luka's smirk widens. “I’ve made it my business to know everything about you, Natalia. You'd be surprised at the things I've learned. You enjoy talking to the press and posting on social media enough that I was able to glean quite a bit… and that was before I had my investigator look further.”

The casual admission sends a shiver down my spine. It’s a brutal reminder that beneath the veneer of domesticity, Luka is still a dangerous man.

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the tension between us simmering just beneath the surface. I find myself sneaking glances at Luka over the rim of my coffee cup, admiring the way the morning light plays across his chiseled features.

"You need to call your mother and sister," Luka says abruptly, breaking the silence.

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