Page 5 of Bratva Beast

There’s more to this story, but I don’t want to deal with him anymore. I’ll get the truth out of the little pixie. “Don’t bother her again, little brother. I won’t like it.” He nods and skulks back down the hallway. “Little prick.”

ISABELLA

Cynric’s housekeeper is really nice. She shows me the room I’ll have here in the swanky penthouse and then feeds me my favorite dinner: lobster mac and cheese.

“So, Isabella, what do you study?”

I set down my fork. “This is my fourth year of medical school. I plan to be a trauma surgeon.”

She nods. “Wow. That’s ambitious.” She glances at the kitchen and back at my bowl. “Oh. I’m sorry. What would you like to drink?”

“Water is fine.” The penthouse décor lacks warmth. The gray walls and monotone furniture with all the glass make the entire condo seem vacant. Would it have hurt the decorator to put in just a splash or two of color? White, black, and gray make the place seem like a prison.

The housekeeper beams. She’s too nice to live here with Cynric. He was an asshole before the accident. I’ll bet he’s even more rude and brooding than he was before. She smiles a knowing smile. “Do you know Cynric?”

I nod. “Yes. He’s Papa’s oldest son. I haven’t spent much time with him, except around his second surgery.” He’s always been cold, broody, and distant.

Mrs. Belova touches my hand. “He’s had a difficult time.”

I shrug. I don’t have any response. That man has never been easy. Papa called me to help with him after his second surgery to repair the graft on his neck. It was my job to keep him from scratching at the wound. Thank God for the heavy drugs that kept him out of it for days. My mind drifts back to his bedside.

The sterility in the hospital room seems more poignant as a visitor. The smell of cleaner permeates the gleaming white vinyl floors and stark white walls. My back aches from sitting in the hard plastic gray chair. I have pity for my future patients’ families, sitting in a dreary room waiting for their life to continue. I’ve sat next to his bed from the moment they returned him from surgery. Papa used his clout with the hospital to grant me access to recovery. The nurse has popped in to check on him. She’s inquired about who he is and why he’s important. I shrug. I don’t gossip, and would never say anything about anyone in the bratva. Every time he moves, I take his hand in mine. He drifts in and out of consciousness, rubbing his thumb across my hand as I hold it. Papa refused to tie his hands. I natter at him to pass the time. He often shifts back long enough to call me a woman’s name before he goes back under.

“Katia? I’m done with you. You can leave my bed.”

Her name is the sixth or seventh woman’s name he’s uttered. I sit quietly, offering a “sh,” as he rises out of his slumber. “Just sleep, Cynric.”

He mumbles as he falls back under. The morning of the third day, I wake to Cynric’s annoyed gaze. He slurs in Russian. “Why the hell are you here?”

I sit up in my chair and answer in Russian. “Papa wanted someone to keep you company.”

He frowns. “I don’t need you or anyone.”

I stand and walk towards the door to motion for Saxon to get the doctor. “Certainly not. I thought about tracking down Katia, but you dumped her, and it would seem mean to give her hope that you wanted her back.”

He cringes. “Who told you about Katia?”

“You’ve talked about her. Good thing I learned early not to pay attention when one of you speaks, or I could write a steamy romance novel about your exploits.”

The doctor strolls in with Saxon and Papa. Standing, I step to Papa. “I’m going to go home to shower and change. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He nods.

When I return, Cynric is asleep again with an older nurse at his bedside. She widens her eyes at me. “He yells a lot. I think it’s a good thing I don’t speak Russian.”

You bet your ass it is. They’d kill you if you heard stuff you shouldn’t.

We do this dance for two more days until the doctor is ready to bring him back to reality. I kiss Papa’s cheek. “Let me know if I can do anything else.”

He touches my cheek. “You’re a good girl.” He motions for Saxon to walk me out. “Someday you’ll be doing this whenever I need a doctor.”

I nod. I’m hoping to get into Med School far, far away from Manhattan.

Mrs. Belova clears her throat and my focus returns to the penthouse. I stand to take my dish, as she pulls it from my hand. “Why don’t you get settled? I’m sure you have class in the morning.”

Did my advisor send me an email about my change in rotation? I’m sure my leaving Harlem Health Center is going to damage my record. I walk out of the kitchen, noticing a blinking light in the corner of the living room ceiling. There’s a camera. Farther down is another light, and at the far end of the hall I see another perched over a stark white steel door. I wonder what’s behind the door?

My room is the second door off of the living room. I walk into my room, glancing around. I’m surprised there aren’t cameras in here too? The room has a queen bed and furniture. Boxes from my apartment sit stacked in the corner. The top box says ‘electronics’ in shitty handwriting. I scan the boxes for bedroom ones. I just need to get some sleep and figure out everything in the morning.

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