Page 10 of Bratva Baby

“What’s it like, Grigor?” I ask out of nowhere, interrupting my father mid-sentence. “Commanding an army of men who probably only follow you out of fear?”

Father stiffens at the end of the table, but Grigor barely glances at him before turning his attention back to me.

“They follow me because I know what I’m doing,” he replies.

“Oh, I’m sure,” I respond with a sugary smile. “Nothing inspires loyalty like a well-placed gun to the head.”

“Loyalty isn’t given freely in our world. It’s earned. I’m sure you’d agree.”

I tilt my head, pretending to consider his words. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to bully someone into liking me.”

“Seraphina!” my father chastises. “That’s enough.”

I ignore him, keeping my focus on Grigor. “And this whole marriage thing? What’s that about? A strategic move to save face? Or are you just looking for someone to keep your bed warm?”

Grigor sets his fork down with deliberate care. The room feels smaller as he leans closer. “If I wanted a warm bed, Seraphina, I’d hardly need to arrange a marriage for it. You’re smarter than that.”

His words are calm, but the undercurrent of authority is unmistakable. I swallow hard as my bravado falters for a moment. But I force a laugh, brushing off the way he unsettles me. “Good to know. At least you’re not delusional enough to think I’ll be sucking your cock no matter what arrangement you and my father made.”

Maksim, seated near Grigor, raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show. Father’s knuckles tighten on the edge ofthe table, and his face turns crimson. “Seraphina, I said that’s enough.”

“And I said I didn’t want to be here,” I snap, finally turning to him. “You’re trying to force me into some archaic agreement with a man I don’t even know, and you expect me to sit here quietly?”

Father’s mouth opens, but Grigor cuts him off with a subtle wave of his hand. “Let her talk.”

I glance at him, startled. He doesn’t look irritated—if anything, he looks intrigued. That alone makes me angrier. “I’m glad I have your permission,” I spit sarcastically. “Since we’re all pretending I have a say in any of this.”

“You’re not pretending, Seraphina. You’re making your objections loud and clear.”

His calm tone only fuels my frustration. I slam my glass down, sloshing the wine over the rim. “Of course I’m objecting! I’m not some pawn you can move around the board. You think marrying me will fix your little problems? Let me save you the trouble—it won’t.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Father complains

“No,” I fire back, standing abruptly. “You’re embarrassing me by putting me in this position.”

Father eventually snaps, “Seraphina, behave.”

“Or what, Father? Will you do to me what you do to your enemies? You might try, but even you might have a hard time enjoying the rest of your meal while you wait for yoursanitizersto scrape my body off the floor.”

He pales, no doubt realizing that I witnessed his last execution. Then, he slams his fork onto the plate. “That’s enough,” he speaks through clenched teeth. “Don’t test me. Ifyou think you’re bulletproof just because you’re my daughter, you’re even dumber than I gave you credit for.”

To my surprise, Grigor throws his napkin across the table, right into my father’s face. “You’d better watch your tone.”

Father sneers. “Pardon me?”

Grigor lifts his chin. “Don’t speak to her like that. I don’t care if she’s your daughter. There are lines you won’t cross in my presence.”

My heart stutters. Did he just defend me? My father’s face looks like stone, and for a moment, I worry he’ll try to match Grigor’s bravado with a show of violence. But he just bares his teeth in a mock smile. “We haven’t finalized anything yet, Barkov. Don’t presume you have any say in how I treat Seraphina until you’ve accepted her hand. My blood, my house.”

I catch a flicker of disgust crossing Grigor’s face, or maybe I imagine it. I cling to the hope that he finds this arrangement too distasteful, that he’ll walk out and free me from this nightmare.

He tears his gaze from Father and turns to me. His voice comes out low, almost too quiet for the others to hear. “You’re not happy about any of this.”

I scoff. “A brilliant observation. I despise this entire setup.”

He nods, though I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Father abruptly stands, announcing that we’ll continue our conversation in a more relaxed setting. He gestures for everyone to move to the adjoining parlor, where dessert and drinks await.

The men file out, and I sense my father’s glare as I remain seated. He doesn’t say anything, probably deciding to keep his temper in check in front of the Barkovs. After all, he wants themto go through with this. If they witness me being dragged away by the hair, that might sour the deal.

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