Page 16 of Bribed & Bred By the BRATVA
“You’re Aleksei’s wife,” Sarah says simply, without accusation or mockery, just a flat statement of fact.
I nod, because denying it would be pointless. “I am.” The words taste strange in my mouth, too new, too heavy.
Rachel steps closer, peering at me with quiet curiosity. “It’s overwhelming at first. The house, the men, the rules.” She adjusts the baby against her chest. “But it gets easier.”
Her kindness makes me ache. “Does it?”
“It has to,” Sarah says, voice dry but not unkind. “Or none of us would survive it.”
The three of us stand in silence for a moment, the garden humming around us. I glance down at the baby again, so small, so alive. My mind flashes to Mateo. Sixteen, but in many ways still fragile as glass. Would this place break him? Or would it be the first time in his life he could actually live?
“I have a brother,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “He’s recovering now, but… he’ll need somewhere safe.”
Rachel’s gaze softens further, though Sarah only tilts her head, assessing me.
“Family fits,” Rachel says gently, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. “One way or another, they always make it fit.”
Her words settle inside me like a seed, and I realise for the first time that I’m not just marrying a man. I’m stepping into something vast, tangled, and inescapable. A family that is both danger and safety at once.
When I walk back toward the house, the ring glints again in the sunlight. For the first time, it doesn’t feel like a shackle. It feels like an anchor.
Aleksei
The desk is stacked with contracts, numbers bleeding ink across the paper, but I can’t read a single line. My mind keeps circling back to her. The way she blushed when she thanked me this morning. The way she trembled under my mouth last night.
I call her with one word. “Isabella.”
Her steps are soft in the hall. She pauses at the threshold, hesitant, still clutching that cardigan like its armor. I lean back in my chair, legs spread, shirt sleeves rolled. I don’t need to tell her what to do. My hand taps my knee once, and she understands.
She comes slowly, like a girl walking toward a fire she knows will burn. Good. Let her feel the heat. Let her know there’s no turning back.
“Sit,” I say.
Her lips part in protest. She doesn’t get the words out. Her body folds, obeying before her mind does, lowering onto my lap. She perches at the edge like she might slip away. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her flush against me.
“That’s better.” My voice is low, satisfied. “This is where you belong when I’m working. On me. Close.”
Her pulse is frantic against my arm. “You can’t—”
“I can. I will. You’re my wife. You sit on your husband’s knee while he handles business.” I tilt her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Understand?”
Her throat works. “Yes.”
I reward the answer with a slow stroke down her spine. She shivers, sinking into me without meaning to. Her scent curls through my head, soft and feminine, mixing with the leather and smoke of the room until I’m half-crazed.
My hand drifts lower, resting on her stomach. Flat now. Empty. But not for long.
“When was your last period?” I ask.
She stiffens like I slapped her. “What?”
I don’t repeat myself. My palm presses firmer against her belly. “Tell me. I need to know how long I have to wait before you’re carrying my child.”
Color floods her cheeks. “You can’t just ask that—”
“I can ask anything. I will ask everything. Your body is mine, Isabella. Every cycle, every ache, every heat, it all belongs to me now. So, answer.”
Her breath hitches. She squirms, embarrassed, but I hold her still with one hand on her hip. Finally, she whispers, “A couple of weeks ago.”
