Page 3 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
I rolled my eyes and walked back to the window. It was dark outside, with stars twinkling faintly against the vast blanket of the night sky. “Working out the logistics comes next. House maintenance, mobility, arsenal restocking, among other things.”
“Hmm. That’s a good list. Funny, I was already ten steps ahead of you. As for mobility, we have a dozen new Maybach Sedans on their way to the estate, and there’s no need to worry about the maids and workers there. I have that covered, as well as the number of foot soldiers under your command. It’s also a good thing you have some businesses functioning there.”
I turned away from the view outside, meeting Fedor’s gaze, which grew serious.
“What?” I asked.
“You know you’re missing something more important.”
“Spit it out.”
Fedor didn’t hesitate, and his eyes told it before his mouth did. “Katya. Or did you happen to forget that you have a daughter?”
Hearing her name felt like a boulder had crashed into my gut. It was exactly eleven years and nine months since anyone dared breathe her name out loud.
The impact of our scant memories was brutal. It snatched the air out of my lungs in one single sweep, and a heat of self-loathing instantly spread through my chest.
I moved away from the window to the desk and settled into the chair, my jaw ticking and the crease between my eyebrows deepening by the second. I knotted my fingers undermy chin, staring down at Fedor with a flickering intention to disfigure his face with my fist.
The only reason he could bring up that topic and still survive, with that lopsided, smug smirk on his face, was because he was useful and valuable to me. He’d served the longest, proven his loyalty, and stuck closer than the rest.
It also wasn’t his fault that I had a damaged, irreparable, and almost non-existent relationship with my daughter, or that I moved miles away from her, back home to Moscow, one week after the tenth anniversary of the death of her mother.
The emotions swirling in my chest now were bitter, guilt-ridden, and filled with regret. I gnashed my teeth, but it didn’t hurt hard enough to feel like an atonement. Hence, the redirection of my anger to Fedor.
I questioned him with narrowed eyes. “And why should I consider her in our plans?”
“Why should you considerher?” He looked more confused than ever. “She graduated from the Manhattan School of Music about three weeks ago, a graduation you did not attend.And,might I addthe most important part: A night after the party, she returned to the estate in LA.”
“Great.”
“And that’s the remark of an ecstatic father. My papa could’ve taken a few lessons from you,” he mused, a smile hovering on his lips. “Let me guess, the last time you talked to her was….”
The last time I saw her face was that morning, while she slept peacefully like an angel I did not deserve. I placed a chaste kiss on her forehead and whispered, “You will grow up strong.”
She was ten years old.
After that day, I did everything else for her: I ensured she attended the best schools, provided every essential thing she needed, and had men watch over her with their lives. I simplyplayed my roles through third parties and from a distance. She tried, not once, to communicate, but I blamed my job for my decision to remain private.
Every attempt she made to connect was futile until she clocked sixteen, rejected my gift, and never tried again.
“Drop it,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “If she’s at the house, that’s fine. We can coexist. Her presence will not be a distraction.”
Stroking the hard edges of his jaw, Fedor inclined backward, clearly dissatisfied with my vague response, but I wasn’t willing to offer more.
“If you say so.”
Instinctively, I reached for the top drawer, which hung slightly ajar, and the silver frame tucked between a stack of folders and paperwork caught my attention. Taking it out was unnecessary when I knew what was fixed in it.
My daughter’s photograph.
She was younger, happier, and bubblier than ever. In that photograph, Irina held her in her arms, and they looked so alike as they laughed at something possibly silly. The memory was distant, and it felt like a lifetime ago when I sat on the recliner and watched them—my whole world—but the deep-seated emptiness inside stirred every time I thought of them.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time to dwell on my fractured relationship with my daughter. More important matters needed to be taken care of.
I shut the drawer, with more force than intended, and rose to my feet. “My daughter is the least of my concerns at the moment, Fedor. ThePahkanneeds us in LA starting Friday. I need structure plans and a proposal on efficient expansion strategies in thirty minutes.”
He sensed the shift in the air and got to his feet, slowly tugging on the buttons of his coat.
