Page 33 of The Bratva Contract
We finish the meal in near silence. I ride beside him in the car, then retreat to my room and peel off the dress. I want Dima tocome to me, but after the confrontation over dinner, I doubt he will. I’m afraid to hope. If I had my way, he’d barge into my bedroom and tell me I’m more to him than an incubator, that he wants me every night, every day, and it has nothing to do with producing an heir. That he craves me as I crave him, wanton, desperate, driven to the point of madness. My entire body heats at the thought of him shoving the door open, crossing to the bed in three long strides, pressing me into the mattress with that incredible body, his mouth on mine, his hands everywhere. I lie there a long time, not admitting I’m waiting up for him. He doesn’t come. I switch off the lamp and tell myself I don’t care, that the ache in my chest is nothing, just hormones and that I’ve fulfilled my obligation and he should leave me in peace from now on.
I don’t want peace. I want thepakhan. Always.
CHAPTER 21
DIMA
My wife, never an early riser, waits for me at the breakfast table at six a.m. She sits in a black silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. The V of bare skin just below her collarbone, where the robe crosses, is all I can see. I can taste her from here. It takes superhuman discipline not to stride over, part the dark silk, and seal my mouth over that skin. She is carrying our child. She deserves respect.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Twice now, you have not come to my bed,” she begins crisply as if she is about to scold me.
“You’re pregnant, and judging from last night you’re feeling sick. I’m showing you the consideration you deserve as my wife.”
“If that is your rule, that you’re considerate of me as your wife, then that is my primary role here, correct?” she continues.
“Yes. What is the point of this?” I say, exasperated. This woman gives me a headache, I think ruefully.
“Then does it not follow that you show me the consideration I’m entitled to?”
“I said so already. Why are you up early and talking in riddles?”
“I want what I’m entitled to, which your presence in my bed every night,” she says, matter-of-fact.
I can’t stop grinning. This woman, I swear to God, will be the death of me.
“Are you telling me you’re mad that I left you alone?”
“Yes! What am I to think when as soon as I tell you I’m pregnant you won’t come within ten feet of me? Like you’re done with me.”
I round the table and take her by the arms, pull her up from her chair. “I told you I am not done with you,” I say, fierce, possessive.
“Then prove it,” she challenges, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing.
“Your bed, you say? Then, go.” I point to the stairs and she hurries ahead of me to her room.
Karina glances over her shoulder, playful and breathless. Inside her room the shades are drawn against the bright morning. I shut the door and stalk toward her, my whole body roaring with triumph and need. I want her, God, I do, but more than that, she’s admitted she wants me. A victory I never dared hope for. I hunger to make this unforgettable, yet my body surges, hard and urgent, and it takes every shred of willpower not to toss her onto the mattress, claim her, and ride her hard. The hush, the dim light, the words we don’t say, all of it feels fragile, almost holy. So when I finally touch her, it’s with a tenderness I didn’t know I possessed.
I cup her face in my palms. She nuzzles into my touch and closes her eyes. Something rips open inside me, a rush so powerful it’s almost nausea, as if a floodgate has broken and I have no name for what pours through.
“You look seasick,” she says wryly.
I shake my head. Now isn’t the time for banter. What’s forming between us feels raw and pure, and I won’t let a joke dilute it. The shake of my head, and then my mouth on hers, silences her. Her arms come around me, palms pressing into my back. I crush her to my chest, one hand stroking the back of her head, keeping her with me while I relearn how to let anyone this close. It isn’t only pleasure I’m after now. It’s Karina, my wife, the woman I vowed to keep forever. The weight of that truth is solemn and terrifying. This isn’t a game, and if it were, I’d win. Here, I have far too much to lose.
When she finally drifts off in my arms, spent from our lovemaking, her face turns soft with sleep. I trace the curve of her cheek. She’d be mortified if she knew how much I adore those apple cheeks, the ones she tries to contour out of existence. Maybe it’s the parts only I get to see that thrill me: the tiny crinkle between her brows when she dreams, the sixteen freckles sprinkled over her nose, the birthmark inside her wrist, the spot at the nape of her neck that makes her giggle. All of it belongs to me alone, and I’m still stunned by the privilege. She still gives me headaches with her stubborn streak, but that tenacity is part of her charm. Without it, I might never have let her spearhead our cybersecurity overhaul, and the expanded Petrov bratva might still be under silent attack. Her sharp mind may yet save our necks.
I steal away silently to let her sleep. The sense of unexpected joy I feel is almost like being drunk. I have this beautiful youngwife who, despite her best efforts, can’t resist me. We’re having a child, an heir for the bratva I’ve built. We uncovered a threat within the organization and it’s being investigated by my top men, brigadiers who know their divisions and how to regulate any misconduct. Even as I go about my day and make decisions or read reports, I am frequently surprised to find that I’m happy. I look forward to going home to Karina and planning for our future together.
Thebratski krug, my closest brothers, are all men I grew up with. We ran the streets collecting protection money and roughing up drug pushers trying to operate outside the organization. We stole a couple of cars when we were teenagers and raced them in the city at three in the morning. Vlad went to jail for wrecking the Lambo he boosted that night. Piotr and I busted him out when he was in the transport van going to another facility. My dad was furious that we interfered with the police, many of whom are on our payroll. It didn’t look good, flouting government authority. It also didn’t look good that one of the guards died of his injuries later. But the point is, these aren’t just men who work for me. We came up through the ranks together, stuck together through all kinds of trouble, that of our own making as dumb kids and the kind that came from outside forces as well.
When I meet with them, it is not in a conference room or office. It’s in the back room of the bar we’ve frequented since we were too young to be there. I bought the place ten years ago and it’s a good front for money laundering too. I upgraded the sound system and put in security measures but, otherwise, I left it the same rough and tumble dive it always was. Call it nostalgia, but I love the place. The scuffed wooden flooring is the same and the framed newspaper clippings yellowed with age. I greet my brothers warmly and we take a seat. Before they give their reporton the security breach, I have to tell them my news. It will be more real to me once they know.
“I haven’t only called you here to learn the status of the investigations. I have news of the best kind. My wife and I are expecting our first child. He will be heir to the Petrov bratva and lead the organization forward into the future. It is what we’ve all hoped for, and a primary motivation behind my decision to marry. Because I’ve dedicated my life to this brotherhood and I would not have it become fragmented with no clear leadership upon my death. It is my great pleasure to share with you, my closest friends, that I am going to be a father.”
They clap, stomp their feet, and slap my back, shouting for the good Scotch. We normally drink vodka here, but tradition calls for Scotch when you toast the next generation. Len, the bartender, fetches a bottle from my private shelf. Karl raises his glass to the future of the bratva, and we drink the smooth, smoky liquor. One by one they toast the health of my family and the birth of a strong, clever son. If I thought I was happy before, this crowns it. Pride in securing the bratva’s future mixes with gratitude for their warmth. Guaranteeing another generation ofpakhan, offering hope for the years ahead, fills me with a sharp, almost aching sense of fortune.
Piotr pulls me into a hug. “You’ll be a tremendous father. I can’t wait to meet him.”
