Page 15 of Bribed & Bred By the BRATVA
Relief blindsides me harder than a bullet. My shoulders loosen. I almost laugh, but I shove the sound down and cut into my own plate instead.
We eat. Her quickly at first, then slower when she realises I’m watching. I don’t bother pretending I’m not. My eyes are on her mouth, the curve of her throat, the way her lashes dip when she lifts another bite.
“You didn’t have to,” she says softly.
“I wanted to,” I answer. The truth tastes strange on my tongue. “I wanted it to be from me.”
She lowers her gaze, cheeks warming. And I know she felt it. The shift.
I lean back in my chair, fork abandoned, and study her. She looks smaller in my house, but not fragile. She bends, but she doesn’t break. She has bent her whole life and kept going. Now she’s bending toward me, even if she doesn’t realise it yet.
“You should smile more,” I say, almost absently.
Her eyes flick up, startled. “Why?”
“Because when you do, I feel like I’ve won something.”
She doesn’t answer. Just looks at me over her fork. Her mouth trembles at the corners, almost a smile, almost not. It’s enough.
The air between us thickens. I could reach across the table, haul her onto my lap, take her again before the plates are cold. My body wants it. But something in me, something I don’t recognise, holds me still.
I want her to finish the meal. I want her to taste every bite I made with my hands. I want her to know I can give her more than cages and commands.
When she sets her fork down, I rise and circle the table. She stiffens when I touch her shoulder, but she doesn’t pull away. I bend, brush my mouth against the crown of her head. Just a kiss. Gentle. Nothing more.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
The words hit me like a blade and a balm at once. No one thanks me. No one sees me as more than the sum of my violence.
I tilt her chin up so I can see her face. “Get used to it,” I murmur. “I’ll give you more.”
Her throat works as she swallows. She doesn’t look away.
My chest tightens. This is more dangerous than any bullet. Not because I could lose her, but because I can already feel myself falling into the fire of her, and I don’t want a way out.
She’s mine. My wife. My reason.
And God help anyone who thinks they can take her from me.
Isabella
The air outside is different. Softer somehow. The courtyard gardens are hushed with the sound of bees moving through lemon blossoms and the rustle of leaves overhead. After a life of small hospital rooms and a smaller apartment, the greenery feels unreal, like something stolen from a dream.
I follow the stone path between clipped hedges, trying to make sense of the knot inside me. My body still aches from Aleksei’s hands, his weight, the way he took me as if I had been made for him alone. The memory makes my cheeks heat, even as I tell myself I should feel nothing but anger.
But the ring catches the sun every time I move, and I can’t deny what it means: I am Aleksei Vasiliev’s wife now. That truth hangs over me heavier than any vow I could have spoken.
I think about Mateo. About his face this morning, colour in his cheeks, a real smile tugging at his mouth. That smile is worth any price, I remind myself. Even this. Even me.
I stop at the edge of the pool where the water reflects the sky, pale and unbroken. Mateo would love it here. He’s never had space like this to stretch his legs, never had a house where he could walk outside and smell citrus instead of exhaust fumes. The thought makes my throat tighten. Could he live here? Could I?
A voice interrupts my thoughts. “You must be Isabella.”
I turn quickly, startled, to find a woman leaning against the low stone wall. She’s striking, with dark hair pulled back and a figure both elegant and sharp-edged. There’s something watchful in her eyes, though the rest of her looks relaxed.
“I’m Sarah,” she says, and then gestures behind her where another woman approaches with a gentle smile and a small bundle in her arms. “And this is Rachel.”
Rachel’s smile softens when our eyes meet, and she rocks the baby absently as if it’s second nature. The child makes a tiny noise, more like a sigh than a cry, and my chest squeezes.
