Page 63 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

I shift so my body is between her and the stairs and my arms are crossed over my pecs. I flex. “Is that a compliment on my physique? If so, thank you.”

She raises a brow at my flexed chest and rolls her eyes. “You’ve proven my point. Only an actual brick wall would think that was a compliment. Actually, that might be insulting to brick walls. Move.”

Her fire is still there, burning brighter than ever. The Molly I’ve come to admire is still inside her, but now, rather than confiding in me, I’m the one dodging her flaming arrows.

I want her to smile at me the way she did before I fucked everything up. I want Molly to trust me again.

“We live here together, so we might as well try to get along.”

“For now,” Molly says. “The moment you stop having me guarded like an inmate, I’ll get out of here.”

And be killed.

I don’t know how many ways I need to explain to Molly that she isn’t safe. I was able to find her because Kent had a packet of information on her. Sources reported to him that Fedor had a witness floating around, and if Molly goes back on the streets, those same sources will report the same information. My house of lies will tumble down and Molly and Theo will be the ones trapped beneath the wreckage.

“You aren’t being watched. There are still only two guards on duty. Just like before.”

“I know you’re lying. Just because I can’t prove it doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Maybe I should just admit she has a private detail on her at all times. It might even make her realize how serious I am about her security.

Though, it also might be another example of me lying to her and make her hate me even more.

I clench my jaw and try to push down the frustration rising in my chest. “I know you aren’t stupid, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make stupid choices.”

“Enlighten me,” she says, stepping forward, our bodies so close her chest nearly brushes mine. Molly looks up at me from beneath long lashes. Her long dark hair tickles my arm. “Tell me all the ways I’ve been stupid. Please. I’m dying to hear what a criminal thinks of me.”

She spits the word “criminal” at me like a slur, and I reach out and grab her arm before I can stop myself. Maybe I am more drunk than I thought.

Molly’s eyes go wide, but she doesn’t relinquish an inch. She shapes her face back into an angry mask and continues to stare at me.

“First, you refuse to show fear when you should obviously be afraid,” I say, gesturing with my eyes to where my hand is white-knuckled around her bicep.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she growls.

I sigh. “You never keep your mouth shut.”

“Fuck you,” she says, lunging forward with every word, nearly spitting at my face.

“And,” I say, pushing her back against the wall and caging her in with my arms. She gasps when her body thuds against the wall, and her breathing picks up, her chest rising and falling quickly. I catch myself staring down the front of her shirt and drag my eyes up to her face. “Worst of all, you refuse to accept help from powerful people who genuinely want what is best for you. And for Theo.”

I want to kiss her.

It makes no sense. This woman is infuriating. She fights me at every turn, curses me, and refuses to respect my authority. And yet, I want her.

It has been days since I’ve touched Molly and being this close to her is muddying my thoughts more than the alcohol.

And maybe I really am drunk, or maybe she’s looking up at me with something like desire in her eyes. I can’t be sure, so I don’t move an inch. I just hold my position, waiting for Molly to make the next move. Waiting for her to respond and tell me how to react.

She takes another long breath, her chest straining against the thin cotton V-neck of her shirt, and when I glance down to admire her, she seems to wake up.

Molly’s hands are on my chest, pushing me back. “Stop pretending like you care about me. You care about what your brother will think when he finds out you lied to him, and you care about what I could do to your Bratva with the information I have. This isn’t about me or Theo at all. This is about what’s best for you.”

Being separated from her body feels like being doused with a bucket of cold water, and I feel fully sober. I shake my head and sigh. “I wish you felt differently.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why? So I’d be easier to manage? So I could be like one of the soldiers you employ?”

“No,” I say, reaching over her head to knock on the wall that separates the stairwell from the kitchen. In a matter of seconds, a man walks out of the kitchen, a folder pressed to his chest, and a gold cross hanging around his neck. “So you could marry me willingly rather than by force.”

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