Page 6 of Born into Chaos

“Way too embarrassing,” Sveta agrees with a smile.

I watch their interactions, trying to puzzle out this family. The brothers I’m familiar with. I’ve been working for them long enough to know who they are as Bratva bosses—fair but brutal when the situation calls for it. They have a reputation that demands respect and there are enough rumors floating around, all of them true, that ensures people don’t fuck with them. This is a new side, though, one I caught glimpses of when I was watching Natalya, and it’s so at odds with the brutality I’ve seen that all I can do is stare. I once saw Vitaly gut a man while eating fruit snacks, but now he’s laughing with his wife and kids, looking every bit like a family man whose entire world is right in front of him. Well, he looks like a typical family man aside from the tattoos covering just about every exposed inch of him and the obvious lack of a dad bod.

I’m still trying to puzzle it out when they leave to go do whatever the hell it is that I’ll no longer be a part of. My job is the gorgeous woman who’s still standing a few feet away from me and eyeing me like she’s not at all thrilled with this new arrangement.

“I need to go and get some things,” she tells me.

“Where?”

My one-word question somehow seems to piss her off because she sighs in an annoyed-sounding way and says, “I want to get a coffee at the place on the corner, and there’s an art store on ninth that I need to go to.”

“Oh, honey, could you grab me another sketchpad and a few colored pencils?” Katya asks, smiling over at us, and she’s either oblivious to the tension in the room or choosing to ignore it.

“Sure. What colors do you need?”

“Just get me a bunch of different blues. I’m not sure which one will work best yet,” Katya tells her.

I’ve heard Vitaly talk about his wife’s art, but I’ve never seen it, and I had no idea that Sveta was an artist too. I’m curious if she’s any good, but I’m not about to ask to see her work. I’m guessing bodyguards don’t usually do that.

While Sveta runs to grab her bag, Katya walks over to me and surprises me by giving me a quick hug.

“Thanks for watching over her, Vitya. Vitaly and I appreciate it so much. I worry about my kids all the time, but I feel better knowing you’ll be with her.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” I say, and she smiles up at me like she knows something I don’t.

She squeezes my arm and says, “I know you won’t.” Before she walks off, she adds, “It’s so good to see you up and around again. We were all worried about you.”

Katya and the other wives had sent me flowers and made sure I had plenty of food while I was recovering, but I figured that was just standard behavior when someone in the Bratva gets hurt, but the way Katya is looking at me makes it seem like she genuinely cares.

I’m not sure what to say, so I just mutter a, “Thanks, Mrs. Melnikov,” and then go to wait by the elevator. Sveta meets me a few minutes later. She has a worn messenger bag thrown over her shoulder, and she’s put on a pink, knitted cap since the weather has turned chilly. Fuck does she look cute in it.

When the elevator doors open, she steps in and says, “Mind if we hit the coffee shop first?”

“No,” I tell her while I watch the countdown on the small screen as we descend to the parking garage. As soon as the doors open, she starts to barrel out and my hand instinctively reaches out to grab her arm and stop her.

“Hey!” Her brows furrow as she looks up at me.

“You can’t just run out,” I tell her, ignoring her look as I scan the garage in front of us, looking for anything that could be a threat.

“I didn’trunout. I just stepped off the elevator,” she argues.

“Next time wait for me to say it’s okay.”

She lets out a heavy sigh that I ignore, and when I’m sure it’s safe, I guide her to the black SUV in the corner. Once she’s in the passenger seat, I walk around and get in the driver’s side. When she makes no move to put her seat belt on, I look over and point to it.

“Are you joking right now?”

I keep pointing. “No.”

She puts it on while muttering something under her breath that’s probably for the best I don’t hear.

She and I are off to a great start.

With traffic it takes us longer to get to the coffee shop than it should, but as soon as I pull into a spot, she reaches for the door handle, forcing me to grab her arm again.

“Aleksandr wasn’t this bossy,” she tells me.

I don’t bother saying that I don’t give a fuck how Aleksandr was. I scan the parking lot and then make sure my jacket is covering the shoulder holster I’m wearing before I nod to let her know it’s okay to get out.

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