Page 3 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
I stay rooted to the spot, trying to make sense of it—trying to convince myself I’m overreacting. That it’s just a strange delivery, that I’ll laugh about it later. But my heart’s pounding too loud in my chest. My palms are damp.
Something about this feels very wrong.
Chapter Two - Kion
The smoke from my cigarette curls toward the ceiling, slow and unbothered. The old man across from me drones on about daughters and dowries like it’s still 1952. I barely hear him anymore. Something about lineage, loyalty, her education. Obedient. Well-bred. Traditional. The kind of words men use when they’re selling flesh without admitting it.
“She’s young, barely twenty-one,” Yuri says, adjusting his cuffs. “A good girl. No drama. Her father’s been loyal to the Sharovs since before your time.”
“You want a wife?” I slouch lower in the chair, the edge of his grin sharp. “What for? So she can polish the silverware while the rest of us do real work? Send her in here if she can shoot straight. Otherwise, find another sap for your matchmaking.”
That shuts him up for half a beat.
I lean back in my chair, legs spread, elbows resting on the arms. The silence stretches just long enough to make the others in the room uncomfortable. They watch me, and I revel in the attention.
Yuri clears his throat, but doesn’t speak. He glances at Arseni, seated to my right, who just shrugs like he’s not interested in playing diplomat.
The other elders keep their mouths shut. Smart.
Yuri tries again. “Kion. It’s not only about what you need. This is about the family’s image. The girl’s father has reach. He controls three clubs in Brighton Beach, all clean fronts. This could strengthen our hold on the coast.”
I tap ash into the tray. “Then marryhim.”
Someone snorts. Probably Denis. He’s always good for a laugh when it’s not aimed at him.
Yuri bristles. His face flushes a slow, mottled red that creeps up his neck. “This isn’t a joke. This is an opportunity.”
“No,” I say. “It’s a leash.”
There’s another silence. He’s not used to being shut down this quickly. Not by me. He wants to push—wants to say I’m unstable, unpredictable, that I act on impulse and violence. He wouldn’t be wrong, but he won’t say it here. Not in front of the others. Not with my gun still on the desk.
He looks down, fiddles with the corner of the folder in front of him. “You’d be doing the family a service. She doesn’t need to be involved in business.”
“Then she’s useless to me.”
“She’s docile. Modest. She’s never even been seen with another man.”
I blink at him. “I’m not shopping for a pet.”
Across the table, one of the younger captains coughs into his hand. Arseni chuckles under his breath, not bothering to hide it.
Yuri tries again. “Her name is Katerina. Her father—”
I cut him off with a wave of my hands, smile biting. “I don’t care.”
That finally does it. He slams his hand against the table, loud enough to make a paperweight jump. “You think this is all about you? You think you’re above making sacrifices for the good of the Bratva?”
I meet his gaze, dead on. “You think I’m not?”
The room freezes. He stares at me, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched tight enough I can hear his teeth grind. But he doesn’t push further. He can’t. Not when I’ve already cleaned up three of his messes in the past six months alone. Not when his own nephew went missing after he tried to skim profits off our ports.
He sits back down, slow. “Fine. Then what do you want?”
I finish my cigarette and crush it out in the tray, then light another. Let the silence build a little more before I answer.
“I want loyalty that doesn’t come dressed in lace. Someone pretty, but capable.” A pause, a wile grin. “If I have to have a wife, she can at least be usefulandhot.”
Arseni makes a sound low in his throat, halfway between a laugh and a grunt.
