Page 83 of Sins He Taught Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 3)

Victoria

Saturday mornings are my favorite of the week. There’s nothing better than sitting Nikolas down and giving him something to do while I do my chores and clean up while listening to music. This morning, I put Nikolas in front of the TV and put on one of his favorite shows, kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” I tell him. He’s too engrossed in the show to even respond. Laughing softly, I head in the kitchen and begin cooking breakfast for him.

When Matvei is around, I usually make Nikolas eat in the kitchen, but on the weekends, we do breakfast much more casually, eating in the living room and relaxing. Pancakes seem to be Nikolas’ favorite lately, so I heat up the skillet and quickly whip up a large batch of batter, spooning them out into perfect circles and flipping them with skill.

I could make these all day. As I cook, my mind wanders back to Matvei, and I’m grateful that he won’t be joining us for breakfast. I don’t know if I could sit across the table from him and eat without thinking about what he said and losing my appetite.

It’s not the first time a man has taken his anger and insecurities out on me. When I was younger and Dad’s drinking was worse, he’d constantly come home stumbling and curse me out for something that wasn’t even my fault. He screamed, broke things, and passed out face-down on the sofa. In the morning, he’d have no memory of what he said or did, and I’d always forgive him, helping him clean up the mess he made the night before.

But maybe it’s time I stop making excuses for men who throw temper tantrums. Matvei may be powerful and deadly, but I’m not just going to let him yell at me and treat me like dirt because his feelings got hurt. It felt more personal than me forgetting to do the dishes or turn off the stove.

I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.

I thought we were getting better. I thought we were making progress in this situation. Sure, I knew we couldn’t be a thing because of how violent he is and how against relationships he seems to be, but I’d been under the assumption that things were becoming less hostile. That doesn’t seem to be the case at all.

I should quit right now and walk away from this. I should tell Dad that he can solve his own problems the same way he created them, and I should tell Matvei that he’s never going to find a woman to settle down with because he’ll always respond in anger and scare them away. I could pack up and leave all of this behind. It wouldn’t be hard.

But that little boy sitting in the living room is the one thing I can’t run from.

He’s been through so much pain and loss since his parents died, and if I left, I’d just be another person who abandoned him. It would crush him and break his heart all over again. I don’t want to do anything like that to him, which is why I refuse to run away. Even with Matvei yelling it in my face, I refused.

This is where I belong, even if every second makes me doubt that very idea.

When breakfast is ready, I carry two plates into the living room and hand one to Nikolas. He smiles up at me with that adorably round face and I sigh. Every now and then I forget how rewarding it is to look after someone and take care of them. Nikolas can take a lot for granted, but whenever I cook for him, his appreciation shines through. He makes it clear that he’s thankful for me.

Is this what motherhood is like?

Making breakfast every morning, spending time with your boy, and realizing how much you’d sacrifice to be with him? I see how so many women stay in unhealthy relationships. They want to look after their kids.

I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, really. If I ever found a husband and he turned out to be like Matvei, angry and bitter, I’m not sure I’d last very long. But then I look at Nikolas and watch the tiny drip of pancake syrup fall to his chin and I know that if I were a mother, I’d weather any storm to make sure he’s safe.

He’s going to grow up to be a great man, I can feel it. He has a softness to him that this harsh life his parents and uncle lived in hasn’t touched yet, and I just want to shield him from ever knowing the truth about it. I want to keep him pure and protect him no matter what.

After we finish eating and I take his plate back to the kitchen, I wash up and clean the small mess I’ve made. It’s nearly nine in the morning when I load up the dishwasher and wipe a small bead of sweat from my forehead.

The doorbell rings, and I quickly hurry to the front of the house to get it. I yank the door open without looking through the eyehole first. As soon as I see who it is, I realize that that was the stupidest thing I could have done.

“Good morning, Victoria,” Mr. Rogers says. His beard looks mussed, his eyes slitted with intensity.

“What do you want?” I ask guardedly. “In case you forgot, you tried to assault me last time you were here. I don’t think Matvei would appreciate you showing up here like this.”

He flashes his CPS badge at me and growls, “In case you forgot, I’m an employee of Child Protective Services. If you don’t let me in, I’ll have police kicking down your door and snatching Nikolas away before the hour is up. And,” he adds with a wicked grin, “we both know that Matvei isn’t home, is he?”

I freeze. How does he know Matvei’s not here? And is he really a CPS agent? I’m stiff with panic and indecision—until Rogers makes the decision for me, pushing the door open and striding inside.

It’s only when he turns around in the foyer that I see he’s holding a gun.

I swallow hard.

“Come in, Victoria,” he says softly. “Shut the door.”

I do as he says, slowly, keeping my eyes on the glistening barrel of his gun the whole time.

“Why are you here?” I croak.

He sighs and rubs at his beard. He’s so pale, deathly pale even, like he’s never been out in the sun even once.

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