Page 35 of Bratva Baby

“Are you safe? Grigor didn’t punish you for keeping it secret, did he?”

I press a trembling hand to my forehead. “No, he hasn’t even mentioned it. He came home last night acting normal, like nothing unusual happened. I had no idea he went to see Father. Cecily, did Father tell him… anything else while he was over there?”

She’s silent for a moment. As far as I know, my sister has no idea about the bargain our father and I made, and I’d rather keep it that way. “Father was too busy cursing about his hand to mention anything else. He just kept calling Grigor a maniac.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.” Relief washes over me, tangling with guilt. The man just risked a war with my father to defend me, and I’m still planning to betray him for Cecily’s sake. The duality of it all hurts.

“Sera, he stood up for you. Isn’t that… I don’t know, kind of sweet, in a twisted way?”

“Maybe. But it’s also terrifying. I’m sorry it happened while you were around.”

“It’s not your fault. Just be careful. Father’s full of rage now. I don’t know what he’ll do next.”

“I will.” The weight of everything settles like a stone in my belly. “Thanks for letting me know.”

We end the call, and my hands tremble as I set the phone aside. Grigor attacked my father in retaliation for him hitting me, which means Grigor must care—or at least feel possessive enough to avenge me. And he doesn’t know the truth yet about me feeding my father scraps of information. I shut my eyes, torn between gratitude and dread. Every day I hold on to this secret is another day I risk him discovering my betrayal.

A tentative knock sounds on the door. I glance up as Galina peeks in. “Mrs. Barkov, your husband wants to see if you’re ready for the event tonight. He mentioned leaving in an hour.”

“Event?” I echo. Then I recall something about a dinner party. He mentioned it briefly a few days ago, but so much happened I forgot. After what he did for me, attending without making a fuss is the least I can do. “Tell him I’ll be ready.”

She nods and withdraws, and I stare at my reflection in the dresser mirror. My cheek is healing, with only a faint discoloration left. Grigor saw nothing last night, or if he did,he pretended otherwise. I steel myself, forcing a calm facade, vowing to act normal around him. If he realizes how rattled I am by what he did to my father, he might ask questions I can’t answer.

I dress carefully, choosing a sleek, midnight-blue gown that clings to my curves without being overly revealing. The fabric shimmers faintly under the light, the high slit adding just enough allure while the fitted bodice keeps the look elegant. It’s the kind of dress that demands attention without trying too hard, exactly what tonight requires and what Grigor deserves.

My reflection stares back with an anxious twist to the lips. I touch the faint bruise on my cheek, thinking of Father’s slap and Grigor’s savage revenge. A swirl of emotion floods me: fear of my father, admiration for Grigor, guilt for keeping secrets. I push it all down as I smooth my dress. Tonight, I’ll be the perfect Bratva wife in public, if that’s what he needs.

***

“Seraphina,” Grigor says when I step out of the bedroom. He’s waiting in the corridor, wearing a tailored suit. He looks me over and grants me an approving nod. “You look good.”

I offer a polite smile, ignoring the flutter in my chest. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He holds out an arm, silently inviting me to walk with him. I link mine through his and let him guide me downstairs and into the waiting car. The driver pulls away, leaving the estate behind. I glance at Grigor’s hands, recalling how one of them pinned my father to that desk and drove a blade through skin and bone. A chill prickles my spine, but I keep my face neutral.

We ride in silence for a few minutes before he eventually says, “This dinner party is hosted by one of our allies. I want you by my side. Any questions?”

I wet my lips. “Am I allowed to ask about them? Or is that off-limits?”

“It’s not off-limits, but it’s also not crucial. They’re well-connected, mostly old-money types who want to keep good terms with the Bratva. You’ll likely meet a variety of people with big egos. You may have met them before with your father.”

The venue is grand, with towering archways and gilded details that scream old money. The kind of place that expects you to look the part and act like you belong, even if the people inside are anything but noble. Grigor leads me inside with his hand resting lightly on the small of my back, a silent claim for anyone who might be watching. It’s a weight I feel keenly, especially as the room falls quiet when we enter.

Whispers ripple through the crowd as we move. Grigor’s presence commands attention without him doing anything more than existing. I keep my head high and my expression neutral, just as I’ve learned to do over the years. But there’s a massive difference this time. Tonight, I’m not Evan Thorne’s over-protected daughter—I’m Grigor Barkov’s wife. That distinction feels both liberating and damning.

“Grigor!” A high, lilting voice slices through the muted chatter.

I glance toward the source, and my stomach tightens. A blonde woman in a revealing red dress strides toward us. She’s beautiful in a way that’s almost too polished, like a porcelain doll. Her lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and the way she moves is as deliberate as a predator stalking prey.

“Emma,” Grigor greets her, though his voice is devoid of any warmth.

I blink at the name. Emma. His ex. He mentioned her once, briefly in passing, but I didn’t expect to meet her. Not like this. My hands instinctively brush the fabric of my gown, a nervous tic I hope looks casual.

“And this must be the new Mrs. Barkov,” Emma says, her gaze flicking to me. Her smile becomes more pointed, and I can feel her judgment before she even speaks again. “How lovely to meet you.”

Her tone drips with condescension, and I have to fight the urge to step back under her scrutiny. Instead, I extend my hand with a calm I don’t quite feel. “Seraphina,” I reply. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

She shakes my hand but is quick to recoil, like she’s afraid to touch me for too long. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she purrs as her eyes dart back to Grigor. “Though I must admit, I’m surprised. She’s… different from your usual type.”

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