Page 26 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

So he cultivated it. Fed it. Protected it like a gardener tending his prize orchid.

By the time he approached me, Raymond Donahue had spent years justifying every compromise, every moral boundary crossed. He'd convinced himself that each step deeper into darkness was really a step toward securing Clara's future. That everything he did, the money laundering, the criminal associations, the gradual sale of his soul, was really about love.

But I've seen his type before. Men who mistake ownership for affection. Who confuse control with care.

He didn't keep Clara pure to protect her.

He kept her pure toprofitfrom her.

The difference is everything.

Because men like Raymond Donahue are more dangerous than honest criminals. They're the ones who can look their daughters in the eye and call betrayal love. Who can sell what's precious and call it salvation.

Worse. Donuhue knows I don’t fucking negotiate, which is why he is trying to manipulate Clara against me.

But today, she becomes mine, legally, permanently. In ink and in name.

I rise, button the cuff of my shirt, and smooth down the front of my jacket. The notary is waiting. The papers are printed. And my woman, my bride, is upstairs preparing to become Clara Vasilieva.

Clara

It’s silly, maybe, but I want to look beautiful for him. Not just because of the marriage, or the name, or the symbolism of signing papers, but because heseesme. And when he looks at me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense to him, I feel like more than a girl in a borrowed body. I feel like a woman. His woman.

The pale blue dress fits like it was made for me. I pin my hair up, then down, then twist it halfway, leaving soft strands around my face. I do my makeup carefully, just enough to feel polished. Enough to match the elegance I’ve started to see in my own reflection.

When I hear his footsteps in the hall, my heart lifts instinctively. The moment the door opens, I turn with a smile.

But something is off.

It’s subtle. His mouth curves like it always does, possessive and hungry, but his eyes are tight. Too focused. Like they’re scanning for something he’s not telling me about. His suit is perfect. His cufflinks gleam. His jaw is smooth, clean-shaven. But he seems distracted.

He doesn’t kiss me and I try to hide the disappointment, but it’s hard.

He steps close, brushes a knuckle down my cheek, murmurs“You look beautiful”in that low voice that usually makes my knees go weak, but still, he doesn’t kiss me.

I brush it off. Tell myself it’s nerves. Maybe he’s anxious about the legality, the speed of it all. Maybe he’s worried I’ll change my mind. Maybe he’s bracing for rejection.

But it lingers. The silence in the car. The way his hand wraps around mine too tightly. The way he checks his watch twice in ten minutes. I should ask. But I don’t want to shatter this moment. Not before I’ve had it.

We pull up outside the notary’s building. It’s sleek and modern. Glass walls, marble lobby, too-clean and too-light. Maksim’s driver opens my door, and Maksim is already out, waiting for me, his hand outstretched like he’s anchoring me to the ground.

“I’ll be right beside you,” he says.

I nod.

I believe him.

But the second we step inside, I feel it.

The temperature in the room isn’t colder, but my skin prickles like it is. The receptionist offers a neutral smile, and Maksim’s grip on my hand tightens.

And then I see him.

Standing in the back corner of the waiting room, arms crossed loosely over his chest, casual as anything.

My father.

Smug. Smiling like this is all perfectly normal.

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