Page 26 of Bratva Baby

“Not snooping,” I protest. “I just saw it in the drawer. Who is she?” The question emerges with more bitterness than I intended, but I can’t help myself.

“Why do you care?”

I resist the urge to snap back. Instead, I soften my tone. “Because I saw how carefully it was tucked away. She seems important.”

He’s silent for a long moment, keeping his eyes fixed on a point behind me. Something tells me I touched a nerve. Finally, he exhales. “Her name was Anya. She was my sister.”

“Oh,” I recall how jealous I felt seeing that picture, how I assumed it was some girlfriend he was pining over. The shame of that assumption burns.

“She was murdered,” he continues. “Years ago. My parents passed away soon after. I blame the grief.”

I watch the flicker of pain in his eyes. Something twists inside my chest. “I’m sorry,” I manage. “I didn’t know.”

He pushes the eggs around on his plate without meeting my gaze. “She was the only girl in our family. The rest of us made it out of adolescence alive, but Anya…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “She was sweet. Too good for our world.”

My own heart twinges at the thought of losing Cecily. The mere possibility of her being harmed is what drove me into this predicament, to begin with. “I can’t imagine,” I whisper. “If anything like that happened to my sister…” The words catch in my throat, and I press my lips together.

For a moment, we share a silence weighted with grief—his for a sister lost, mine for a sister I fear might be in danger if I don’t appease Father. It’s the first time I feel a genuine sense of connection to Grigor, something beyond attraction or anger. A bond formed by understanding what it means to love a sibling fiercely.

He finally glances up. “Your sister’s name is Cecily, right?”

I nod. My hunger wanes as worry flutters inside me. “Yes. She’s younger by a few years. She’s… too kind and obedient for her own good.”

He offers a small, sad smile. “That was Anya, too.”

A beat passes. I realize the significance of his opening up, even this little bit. I catch myself feeling an urge to comfort him, to place my hand over his. But the memory of last night—how we ended up entwined—still dizzies me. And then I recall the reason behind my seduction. Guilt curdles in my stomach. Is it manipulative to show sympathy now, or is it genuine? I can’t even tell.

Trying to gather myself, I pick up my mug and down a gulp of coffee that scalds my tongue. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t mean to pry.”

He shakes his head, pushing his half-eaten plate aside. “You didn’t know.”

He studies me a moment longer, then stands to gather the dishes. I scramble to my feet. “I can help with—”

“Leave it. The staff will handle this.”

I nod and hug his shirt closer to my body. “Thank you for breakfast.” The gratitude sounds awkward, but it’s real. I never expected him to cook for me. It’s a departure from the commanding figure I’m used to.

He gives a curt nod. “I have to head out. Business.”

Unease stirs in my chest, thinking of how that business probably involves violence. He doesn’t elaborate, and I’m not sure I want him to. “Be careful,” I say, surprising myself.

“I always am.” He brushes past me, collecting his jacket from a hook near the door. “Stay here. Don’t wander off,” he adds. Then he’s gone, and his footsteps echo in the hallway. Moments later, I hear the door shut behind him.

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My emotions churn; a blend of pity for his loss, guilt for my father’s demands, and an odd warmth at the memory of him making me breakfast. This marriage is a tangled mess, and I can’t see a clear path forward.

I ignore his order about leaving it for staff and tidy up the plates myself before I wander into the living area. Grigor’s head housekeeper, Galina, appears with a polite smile. “More coffee, Mrs. Barkov?”

I hesitate, then nod, grateful for the distraction. She returns with a fresh mug, and I wrap my hands around it, seeking comfort. “Thank you.”

She glances at me carefully. “Is everything alright, Ma’am? You seem… thoughtful this morning.”

The question rattles me. She’s just a housekeeper, but I suspect she sees more than she lets on. The help is usually the first to learn any secrets since they have their fingers in every part of the household.

“I’m okay,” I respond, though I’m not entirely sure if it’s true. Then I force a small smile. “Just adjusting. That’s all.”

“If you need anything, please let me know.” She steps back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Mr. Barkov mentioned you might want to redecorate some areas soon, once you’ve settled.”

Redecorate. The idea of putting my personal stamp on this house is bizarre. I barely feel like I belong here. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

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