Page 39 of The Bratva Contract
Iforce myself to stay put. She’s tied to a chair, chin lifted, eyes blazing, and every bit magnificent. Every instinct screams to scoop her into my arms and carry her out while my men stack bodies, but strategy has to come first. One wrong move and Karina, and our child, could pay the price.
As I stroll past her and drop onto the couch, giving the muted TV a cursory glance, I’m grateful no one in the bratva knows how deep this runs. That secrecy will make it easier to convince Piotr she isn’t a worthwhile bargaining chip, because he doesn’t know the truth.
“You shot my men,” Piotr accuses. He lowers the gun he had pointed at my wife’s head and strolls toward me.
“Technically, they were my men,” I say coolly. “But because they were also working for you, neither of us could trust them.”
“You got here quickly. How did you know I’m the one who has her?” he challenges. “Are you having me followed?”
“If I had you followed, we wouldn’t be in this room. There’d be no need for this tiresome scene.” I let boredom seep into my tone.
“Don’t tell me you saw this coming. I’m not that predictable or you wouldn’t have wasted all those years thinking I was your lapdog.”
“Even lapdogs have teeth; I know this,” I say. “I’m here so we can reach an understanding. You think capturing my bride will get you whatever you want.”
“Won’t it?”
“Hardly,” I scoff. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, or you’d have taken something of great value to me.”
“Your heir isn’t valuable?” he asks.
“An heir to the bratva would be a precious commodity, if there were one.”
“What do you mean?” he demands.
“She lost the baby. We went to her first appointment and there was no heartbeat. Why do you think she looks like shit? Miscarriage.” I shrug. Karina, predictably, makes an indignant noise. I keep my face neutral, not letting myself laugh at her outrage.
“So get her pregnant again,” he says. “Hardly an ugly chore. She’s got tits straight out of a porn flick, I damn near came in my pants the first time I saw her.”
I keep my disgust locked behind a blank mask even though every muscle itches to spring up and strangle him for daring to talk about her body. He’ll pay for the audacity soon enough.
“They’re not real,” I reply, voice flat with boredom.
“Who cares?” he says, turning to ogle her freely. “I like how the fake ones feel.”
“I don’t. But I should have known she’d be fake.”
“You’re telling me you’re not dying to knock her up again?” Piotr asks, incredulous.
“I’ve had better. And the truth is, you did me a favor.”
“What?”
“Look, I hate to admit this, especially if it reaches her father, but I married her for the network. An heir would’ve been smart for the organization, except she’s so goddamn annoying.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You son of a bitch!” she shrieks.
Somehow, my wife manages to give me the finger even with her hands zip tied behind her. I have to give her credit for sounding exactly like the screeching, insufferable bitch I claim she is. Still, it’s hilarious and we will have a good laugh over it once I get us out of here.
I don’t even look directly at her, giving Piotr all my attention. “You see what I have to deal with?” I say with a shake of my head like a long-suffering, henpecked husband in some old sitcom.
“She’s a lot less irritating when she’s quiet. She shut up when I hit her in the face. Did you try that? Maybe teach her some manners?” he suggests. It takes a lot of willpower to keep my fists from clenching, to restrain myself so I don’t leap up and beat the shit out of him for saying it, much less for putting his hands on my wife.
“Doesn’t work for long,” I mutter, forcing the words out. I roll my eyes with exaggerated contempt.
“Huh. I figured a hot piece of ass like that would be easier to handle. Heard her old man sent her to college just to get her out of his hair. Always a mistake. They get uppity,” he says, giving a sage nod.
“Yeah, well, it hasn’t worked for me. Getting her off my hands gave me a break from the constant texts and calls complaining about everything in my mansion, acting like she owns the place. You can’t imagine how much work I finished without the interruptions.”
