Page 8 of Til Death Do Us Part (Kornilov Bratva Duet 2)

Molly

My interior design textbooks sit in front of me, open but unused. I can’t force my mind to focus on the task at hand. I’m distracted. Beyond distracted.

I haven’t seen Viktor since he stormed out of the apartment after I told him about the baby. He sent a doctor over yesterday morning, though.

I want to be angry with him for scheduling a doctor visit without my permission, but I’m just relieved. Hearing the baby’s heartbeat and being assured that things are progressing normally has been a huge weight off my shoulders.

Plus, on some level, Viktor’s care and concern feels nice.

Though, it’s also alarming.

Yet again, I am going to have the child of a Mafia member. No matter how much concern Viktor has for my safety and the safety of his child, he inherently puts us at a higher risk. His activities bring danger to our doorstep every second.

Not to mention, the Mafia members in question are brothers dead-locked into a violent war.

The only way I can see to get out is to not have the baby, but the second the thought crosses my mind, I push it away.

I had Theo when the entire world was against me, and I still love him more than myself. I can’t imagine my life without him, and I know I’ll feel the same way about this baby when he or she arrives.

Vaguely, I hear the door open, and I assume it’s the nanny bringing Theo in from their daily trip to the park. I’m still staring blankly at the book in front of me when I see movement near the door. I paste a smile on my face to keep Theo from knowing anything is wrong, but when I look up and see Theo in the arms of a man I don’t recognize, my entire body goes cold.

The smile slips from my mouth and shatters on the floor. I jump to my feet, my body rigid and coiled, ready to strike.

“Who the fuck are you?” There is a knife in the drawer closest to me, but my gun is upstairs. Why didn’t I bring my gun down with me?

I assess Theo. He isn’t noticeably injured, and either he is relaxed or he is too stunned to be upset. He is stiff and staring at me, his hand resting on the strange man’s shoulder.

He isn’t hurt and that’s a good sign … I hope.

“Fedor sends his regards,” the man says. His voice is deep and low and robotic. It sounds like he has been programmed to speak, but that doesn’t stop his words from slicing through me like a blade. Fedor. I feel like I’ve been split open, exposed to my core. “You aren’t as safe as you think.”

My hands are shaking, and I ball them into fists.

This is my nightmare. This exact moment is what I’ve feared for weeks.

I don’t take my eyes off Theo. If he understands the meaning of the man’s words, he doesn’t show it. His face is an emotionless mask, which is more concerning. If he was crying, I would understand that. I don’t understand this.

The thought crosses my mind that Fedor is hurting Theo even when he isn’t hurting him. I can’t protect him from this emotional trauma. From the fear and the distrust this will sow in him.

“Please.” The word scratches out of me. It’s all I can manage to say. Please don’t hurt him. Please put him down. Please leave.

The man’s face twitches in annoyance, almost like he wants to roll his eyes, and he bends and sets Theo on the ground.

I want to run to him and scoop him up, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I make any sudden movements. It feels like we are standing in the center of an iced-over pond and the ice could crack beneath me at any second.

The man glares down at Theo, his eyes hungry and violent, and then he turns and leaves. I don’t stop him to ask where the nanny went. God only knows what happened to her. At best, she was paid off. At worst…well, it’s best not to ask.

The second the door clicks closed behind him, I drop to my knees and hold out my arms. Theo looks at me for a moment, too stunned to move, and then his lower lip starts to wobble. By the time he walks into the circle of my arms, he is crying, though I’m not even sure if he understands why.

I know why I’m crying, though.

* * *

“He paid them off.”

Viktor is pacing around the living room, running his hands through his hair and tugging on the strands.

“Fucking money,” he growls. “That’s what it took for my men to turn on me. He offered them some cash, and they folded and walked away.”

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