Page 68 of The Bratva's Innocent Sold Bride
In the evenings, we browsed recipes on the internet, acting as if the decision of what to make was of the utmost importance. We’d pull out all the ingredients, making a huge mess, but we usually ended up with something pretty good. He’d try to drag me away from the dishes, but there was no way I was leaving the nightly wreckage we created in the kitchen to the staff.
He realized how much fun my favorite TV drama was, or at least he pretended to, as I caught him up with all eleven seasons. And he announced he was setting up a shooting range on the property, bringing in a fierce-looking man who spread out a selection of guns for me to choose from.
I hauled the biggest one up to my shoulder, and they both winced, then Mat laughed and asked why I should have to choose. I could learn to shoot them all if I wanted. We didn’t talk about Anatoli or what was happening to him, and I found I didn’t care either way. Maybe being in the Bratva was rubbing off on me.
We had four blissful days where nothing in the outside world mattered, just my husband, my dog, and me. Then Masha came home, hot under the collar and spitting nails at Mat.
“How long am I supposed to hold him? He’s kind of a massive pain in the ass, you know that, right, Mat?”
I turned to Mat, feeling a bit guilty that his cousin looked so worn out and bedraggled, while we lounged by the pool with margaritas and chicken skewers. He shrugged.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked. “He’s not having a good time, is he?”
Masha scowled, but sat and grabbed a skewer. “I’m not a hundred percent convinced he’s not. He seems to like it when I get rough.”
Mat grumbled, sitting up. “I don’t like the sound of that. You’re off the interrogation.”
“Like hell I am,” Masha snapped. “But I don’t think he’s going to talk until he knows he’s in serious peril.” Popping a cherry tomato off the skewer, she chewed angrily, crossing herarms over her chest. “He doesn’t seem to take me seriously at all.”
“What an asshole,” I said, earning a nod from her.
“Don’t worry, CJ, I’m not slacking after what he tried to do to you. I just think it’s time to turn up the heat.”
Mat sighed, reaching for my hand. He didn’t want our idyllic time to end, and neither did I. But life moved on, and if he was going to properly run this town, he couldn’t have Anatoli’s men running around, plotting behind his back. I told him this in a solemn tone, and he burst out laughing.
“My Bratva bride,” he said, leaning over to kiss me deeply despite Masha sitting right there.
“She knows what’s up,” Masha said.
With that, they headed out together, but not before Mat told me exactly who was on duty. I now had a database with pictures of all his people, so I couldn’t be tricked again. I promised I felt secure, so he could stop hugging me and go do his job.
As for my job, that was still up in the air. Mat assured me there was plenty to do, but that it could wait until I was up for it. As long as we were in that little honeymoon phase, I wasn’t too concerned, but if Mat was going to be gone all hours of the day and night again, my contentment to stay at home with nothing to do wouldn’t last long.
With no one around, I decided it was time to tie up a loose end that had been gnawing at me. It was the one thing I hadn’t shared with Mat, and it bothered me, so I called my dad.
He answered with the same tortured tone he had used on his ill-conceived rescue mission. “CJ, are you all right? I haven’t heard from you. I’m back in town and I have another—”
“No,” I cut in forcefully. “No more. I’m fine. I’m happy. You need to quit thinking you need to rescue me. You don’t.”
He took a deep breath, blew it out. “But I can’t live with myself.”
I let out a twin sigh. I forgave my father for selling me off, but I wasn’t so quick to forgive the lifetime of lies he fed me. I would have been fine with putting some more space between us until I could reconcile all that and lay my hero worship to rest, but he sounded so pitiful as he continued to try to explain his deeds. And did he sound short of breath?
I hadn’t kept in touch with his assistant and reverted right back to worrying about his health. He was still my father, after all, just not the one I thought I grew up with.
“Why don’t you come over here?” I asked. “I’ll show you that I’m fine.” Maybe then he could turn his life around and get back on his feet.
“To Mat’s house?” he asked, aghast. “He’ll kill me the moment I set foot through the door.”
“No, he won’t.” I was fairly certain that was true. It would be once everything was out in the open, anyway. “And he’s not home right now anyway.”
He agreed, and I warned the guards not to scare him too badly, then got a cheese plate ready, adding wine instead of iced tea because I figured one or both of us would need it.
The Gordon Taurus who walked through my front door wasn’t the man I had idolized my whole life, but there were traces of him in his grateful smile when I held out my arms for a hug. When his selection of cheeses went ignored on his plate and his wine glass didn’t get a glance, I rolled my eyes.
“It’s over, Dad. I was angry—furious, more like. But it’s done and I’m glad now.”
“This is Stockholm Syndrome,” he said, putting his face in his hands. “How can you be glad to be in that monster’s hands? How can I look at myself in the mirror when I put you there?”
