Page 41 of Sold to the Bratva
“I don’t know,” she says calmly, shifting the blanket slightly. “We were shopping, and everything was normal until it wasn’t. One second I was laughing, and the next the sidewalk decided to tilt. Evie caught me before I hit the ground, thankfully.”
“Have they run any tests?” I ask, glancing around as if a doctor might materialize.
“They drew blood, checked my vitals, the usual stuff. The doctor hasn’t come back yet.” She pauses. “I feel fine now, really. I’m sure it was just low blood sugar or something.”
I reach out and take her hand. Her fingers curl around mine instinctively. We sit there for a moment, just breathing in sync, letting the room settle.
“Tell me something,” she says suddenly. “To distract me.”
“From what?”
“From the fact that I’m wearing a backless hospital gown and haven’t been given a real answer yet. I need my mind elsewhere.”
I huff a soft laugh and shift my weight. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Tell me what you were doing before Evie called.”
I hesitate.
The truth is, I walked out of a meeting with my inner circle the moment her name flashed on my phone. I didn’t explain. I didn’t apologize. I just stood up and left, letting them draw their own conclusions. But Katya doesn’t need that right now.
“I was working in my office,” I say. “Going over some reports. Coordinating logistics with Mikhail. He was giving me an update.”
Her fingers tighten slightly. “On that shipment you were telling me about?”
I nod, impressed she’d actually listened when I mentioned it.
“We still don’t have any leads on who was behind the hit. We’re tightening security, shifting drop locations, scrubbing our intel again, but nothing yet.”
She nods, understanding. She doesn’t press further. She knows what can be said and what can’t. The silence between us isn’t awkward. It’s familiar now. Safe.
“I don’t know how you do it,” she murmurs after a moment.
“Do what?”
“Sit with all of that weight. Be the one everyone looks to for answers.”
“It’s what I was raised to do.”
“Did you want it?”
I think about that for a long beat. “No.Not at first. I watched my father lead with an iron grip and saw what it did to him. How it made him cautious, paranoid, isolated. I didn’t want to become that.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Here I am,” I agree. “But I do it differently.”
She cocks her head. “How?”
I consider her question for a moment, trying to count the ways I run my business differently from my father’s.
“I think I’m kinder than he was, for one,” I say. “And I’ve tried to diversify our assets. I want some of our business to be legitimate.”
She nods, a thoughtful hum vibrating in her chest. “And you got married,” she adds, “so you aren’t as isolated.”
“I wanted to be, though,” I admit. “I always thought I’d stay single. It felt less complicated not to bring love into the equation.”
She reaches up with her free hand and touches my jaw, her fingertips grazing lightly across my skin like she’s memorizing the shape of me. Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, neither of us says a word.
