Page 21 of Bound By the Bratva

He unbuttons his coat, slides it off, and folds it over one arm. "Sleeping." He moves like a large predator across the room. "His nap time, I suppose. He was tired…" Rolan doesn't even lookat me again, but now his eyes fall on the shattered porcelain. I could run. The door is open, but I would never find Nikolai and get away from here before he caught me.

"Let me see him." I step forward, chin erect. I want my son.

He crosses to the liquor tray and pours amber liquid into a crystal glass before draping his coat on the back of a chair. "You’ll see him when I allow it." The calm in his voice is infuriating.

I rush toward the doorway, determined to get past him, but he steps into my path and blocks it without a word, his presence enough to stop me cold.

"Do you even know what your father did?" He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes.

"He would never hurt Nikolai." My hands curl into fists. Every muscle tenses.

"He didn’t need to do it himself. He tried to use him." Rolan lifts the glass to his mouth and sips.

"You're lying." I backpedal as my voice falters.Batyaloves hisKoyla.

He leans in. "Am I?" His breath hits my cheek. I want to shove him, break away, but something tells me he's not lying and that maybe Nikolai really is safer here.Batyais always drunk, always gambling. What if he really did do that?

I stare at his jaw, not his eyes, and see his Adam's apple move as he speaks. He tells me Nikolai is safe because he’s here and turns away like that’s the end of it. My voice feels raw when I speak, telling him I want to see my son. He sets the glass down, unmoved.

“You don’t give orders,” he says.

He turns to face me again. The set of his jaw has changed and he appears colder than ever. "Your father was drunk and desperate. He wanted part of his debt forgiven. The Zharovs didn't bite, but they listened long enough to start spreadingrumors. And now they know my son's name, Anya. Surely, you didn't expect me to stand back and do nothing." I could interpret that as him caring, but I don't. He doesn't have a heart. He's incapable of affection.

I stagger back a step. "No. He wouldn’t—Batyawouldn’t do that."

Rolan steps toward me. "He did. That’s the reality. And it makes your position untenable."

I shake my head, my hands trembling. "I didn’t know. I didn’t ask for any of this, Rolan. I didn't know he was going to do that."

"Then make a choice. Stay here with your son, under my roof, under my terms. Or walk out that door alone." His arm rises and points at the door, and I feel my heart do a flip.

My voice catches as I say, "You can’t be serious."

"Deadly."

The pressure in my chest snaps. "I’ll go to the police. Someone has to care about what you’re doing."

He laughs under his breath. "You remember what happened last time you thought you had options? Do you, Anya? You think anyone out there’s going to save you now?"

He walks to the door, opens it without another glance. "You’re not a prisoner. You’re a mother with one decision," he says and waits for me to step out first. The hallway beyond is quiet, hushed like the whole estate is terrified of the man in charge. I follow him without speaking.

He leads me up the stairs past paneled walls, guards with guns, and low-burning sconces to a room near the end. He opens the door without ceremony.

Nikolai lies on the bed, already asleep, his small chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A stuffed bear is tucked against his side—a new one, not his ratty, one-eyed stuffy at home—and the blanket covers him up to his chin. I walk inside, the sight of him stealing the breath from my lungs.

I lower myself beside the bed and touch his hair, fingers gentle so I don’t wake him. But the knot inside me won’t untangle. My body wants to hold him, protect him, but he’s sleeping soundly, and I know if I wake him, I’ll cry too hard to stop.

I rise again and step back into the hall.

Rolan is waiting, arms folded, his back resting against the wall across from the door. The guards are gone. It’s only him now.

"We shouldn’t talk here," he says. "You’ll wake him."

He gestures toward a nearby room, and I have no choice but to follow. This is his kingdom. The sight of those men with guns has me shaken. I have no way out, at least not with my son.

He opens a door across the hall and waits for me to follow. I step inside slowly. His bedroom is large and dark, the fire low in the hearth. The heat rolls toward me in waves that, under any other circumstance, might feel comforting. Tonight, it only reminds me that I’m far from home, deep in a place where nothing belongs to me.

I turn to face him, keeping the bed in my peripheral vision. He closes the door behind us and says nothing for a long moment.

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