Page 8 of The Bratva's Innocent Forbidden Bride
My sons were the same, building their own empires in Moscow and Milan, and in the case of the twins, raising hell wherever they went. Sofiya railed against my plans for an arranged marriage so she could finally settle down and have the kids I knew deep down she craved. Why else would she run after her brothers and me like we were her wayward children?
No matter how hard I tried to distract myself, my thoughts always circled back to the problem locked in the guest bedroom. Tati was a distraction in herself. One I didn’t need, and yet wouldn’t give up. Was she still crying, thinking all was lost? Or putting together a cunning plan? Perhaps that plan was already in motion.
With a sigh, I hoisted myself off the lounge chair I had fallen into, realizing with a jolt that the sun was dropping below the buildings, the red glow burning through the air pollution to make quite a stunning display. I had spent too much time ruminating and had no plan of my own.
All I knew for sure was that right now, I had to consider Tati an enemy, even down to the fact that she might have set me up, playing on what she knew was my protective nature. She certainly couldn’t have expected me to go so far, though, could she? Not when I was taken by surprise at how strong that protective nature became where she was concerned.
If she thought she could play me that way, perhaps in order to infiltrate this place or gain information, she messed up. No one was getting into this building that my nephew Nikowned. They’d be lucky if they were able to park across the street for two minutes before being spotted and sent on their way.
She was stuck with me because she was mine now.
No, damn it. I shouldn’t like that idea so much. She was my problem, nothing more.
With a huge sigh that should have rattled the sliding glass door, I went back into the apartment as night fell. It was getting late. I had been lost in fruitless thought for too long. Whatever Tati was to me, I couldn’t let her starve, and I headed to the kitchen, trying to remember what this new thorn in my side liked to eat.
Chapter 6 - Tatiana
I cried until I was worn out, not a tear left in me. Making my way into the adjoining bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and then took a good look around me for the first time. It was a lovely prison.
The bathroom had white marble everywhere, shiny chrome fixtures, and sparkling glass. The mirrors were framed in dark wood, and the drawers were stocked with all kinds of high-end lotions, toothpaste, body oil, and even a small first aid kit. I dabbed a bit of pain-relieving cream on the lump sprouting from the middle of my forehead like some kind of stunted unicorn horn, and tried to force a smile.
Anything to make this situation not so bleak. It looked like a grimace, and I turned to the closet. Plush black towels were stacked up in neat rows, along with a thick bathrobe hanging on a hook.
I didn’t want anything to do with Konstantin Fokin, but I didn’t want to be wearing my disguise anymore, either. A few of the buttons had come off the cheap blouse in one of my struggles to get away from him, and my cheeks grew hot thinking about my bare flesh being exposed to his hot, glancing touch as he wrangled me.
Like I was little more than a rag doll. There was no chance of physically overpowering the man, so what chance did I have?
Ignoring the luxurious robe for the moment, I went back into the bedroom and tentatively sat on the edge of the bed, my hand smoothing idly over the soft cashmere throw draped across the bottom half.
What did I know about Kon that I could use against him? How to find a way out of here that didn’t involve brute strength?
For as far back as I could remember, he was always there, around the periphery of my life. He was always Papa’s friend, and while Kon was the boss, he never threw his weight around or acted like my father was his subordinate. But orders were orders, and wherever Kon wanted to try his hand at world domination, my father was always close behind.
The most recent place was Tokyo, and things seemed to go well for a while. Kon and Papa had the magic touch when it came to making money. Kon had a cursed touch at making enemies.
Now I was in my current predicament, left alone in our big house in Moscow with only the cook and my dour guard who followed me to work at Master Bakhtin’s studio. I shuddered, new tears threatening to start when I thought of the current project he was letting me work on. A glorious tapestry meant for the house of a high official. I could almost feel the threads beneath my fingers and rubbed at the calluses I’d earned from my hard work.
Were those days gone for good now? What did this new life hold for me? Surely I couldn’t be Kon’s prisoner forever. Was I even his prisoner?
What else did I know about the man who tossed me over his shoulder and locked me in this room? My thoughts went back to the feel of his rock-hard chest pressing against me as he held me close, wrapped in the iron bands of his arms. My cheeks burned again, and I shook my head, forcing myself back on track.
Unlike my father, Kon was brash and reckless. Fearless. I had gone to school with his daughter Sofiya, and she had just as much of that raw confidence. Sofiya was always kind to me, even though she ran with a different crowd. Thanks to my fatherkeeping me so sheltered, I would never have been allowed to some of the parties she politely asked me to attend, so I would never be excluded.
But she always made sure I was at her birthday parties and the occasional sleepover, and made sure to congratulate me if I won an honor at school. I sometimes envied her for being so free, while at the same time agreeing with Papa that Kon wasn’t doing her any favors by bringing her into the family business. One he assured me was full of danger. Still, she never seemed afraid. Why should she be with someone like Kon as her father?
While I was part of the same elite groups, I was always on the outside, not allowed to be part of anything the Bratva kids had going on. Anyone whose parents made their money in a more legal way still knew who I was and didn’t want to get mixed up with anything unsavory by association.
I was mostly fine with that, with a couple of close friends who were the kids of my dad’s employees. It certainly wasn’t a sad or lonely childhood. I didn’t remember my mother very much, and Papa made sure he was always there when I needed him.
Until now. And that was because he had no choice. Of that I was sure.
It wasn’t until college that my outsider status caused me any trouble, and I found myself the target of a nasty bullying campaign. One word to Papa, or even Sofiya, and it would have ended. But only because those kids would havebeenended. I didn’t want that, and tried to ignore it, but it escalated and escalated, as unchecked cruelty always does. To them, my silence equated to weakness they could exploit, never knowing their lives lay in the palm of my hand.
Who wants a responsibility like that? I learned young, no matter how Papa tried to shield me, that death was forever. No coming back.
So I quit school and found an apprenticeship with Master Bakhtin in the finest textile studio in Russia. I loved it and longed to be back there right now.
Or did I? None of this was anywhere close to what I was used to, but I was still amped up on adrenaline from my amazing escape attempt. My forehead had dialed back to a low throb, and my feet were still burning from tearing across filthy LA terrain with no shoes, but I had acted on pure instinct for the first time in my life, and it felt good.
