Page 57 of Bratva Daddy
The engine noise cut off abruptly. "He did what?"
Ivan pulled up the video on his laptop, and we could hear Dmitry watching, his breathing getting heavier with each of Viktor's lies. When it ended, the silence stretched for three seconds.
"Let me kill him," Dmitry said immediately, voice carrying that particular edge that meant he was already planning methods. "One shot, back of the head, make it look like suicide. Guilty conscience over betraying his daughter. Clean, simple, satisfying."
"No," I said, stepping over the Tolstoy casualty. "Clara deserves better revenge than blood."
"Better than blood?" Dmitry's laugh was sharp. "Brother, have you forgotten who we are? Blood is our currency."
"Not this time." I picked up a miraculously unbroken paperweight, turning it over in my hands. "She wants him to suffer legally, publicly. Wants him to lose everything that matters—position, power, reputation."
There was a pause, then: "You've changed, brother. The girl's made you soft."
Before I could respond, Ivan spoke—unusual enough that both Dmitry and I went silent.
"The girl's made him complete," Ivan said quietly, adjusting his glasses in that way that meant he was about to dissect something. "Not soft. Complete."
"Complete?" Dmitry repeated, skepticism dripping from the word.
"I ran a psychological profile," Ivan continued, ignoring our surprise. "Professional curiosity."
"You profiled my—" I started, then stopped, unsure what to call Clara. My captive? My submissive? My little girl?
"Your mate," Ivan supplied simply. "That's what she is on a psychological level. Your matching pathology."
Dmitry made a sound of disgust. "Pathology? Jesus, Ivan, they're not lab rats."
"Aren't they?" Ivan pulled up something on his laptop, though we couldn't see it through the phone. "Alexei shows classic signs of protective dominance rooted in childhood trauma—the need to control stems from the chaos leading up to our father's death. Clara displays complementary submission patterns, also trauma-based—a need for structure and boundaries stemming from emotional neglect."
"You're saying we're both damaged," I said flatly.
"I'm saying you're both damaged in ways that fit together perfectly." Ivan's voice carried an unusual warmth. "She needs exactly what you need to give—structure, protection, controlled environment. You need exactly what she needs to give—trust,submission, someone to protect who won't betray you like Father did by dying."
The casual mention of our father's death should have angered me. Instead, I found myself considering Ivan's words with uncomfortable clarity.
"She's dangerous for him," Dmitry argued through the phone. "A weakness enemies could exploit. The Kozlovs already know about her—Viktor just giftwrapped that information."
"She's perfect for him," Ivan countered, and the conviction in his voice surprised me. Ivan never had convictions about emotional matters.
"It started wrong, Ivan," I said quietly. "Kidnapping, coercion—"
"Roses that bloom in the harshest soil grow the strongest roots," Ivan interrupted. "You think normal courtship would have worked? She'd have been too guarded, you'd have been too controlled. You needed the crucible."
He pulled up new files on his laptop, fingers flying across keys. "With her information and my forensic accounting, we can destroy him legally. No blood, no bratva violence that brings heat on our operations. Clean devastation using the system he thought he owned."
"You're really on board with this?" Dmitry asked, disbelief coloring his tone. "Ivan Volkov, the ice prince, supporting his brother's Stockholm syndrome romance?"
"I'm supporting my brother's evolution," Ivan said simply. "She makes you human, Alexei. We all benefit from that. The construction contracts you've negotiated since she arrived have been more favorable—you're thinking long-term instead of immediate gratification. You haven't killed anyone in two weeks, which has to be a record."
"I've been busy," I muttered.
"You've been happy," Ivan corrected. "Or as close to it as men like us get. She grounds you, gives you purpose beyond the bratva."
"And when enemies use her against me?" I asked the question that had been haunting me since I'd signed that contract.
"Then you'll protect her," Ivan said simply. "Like you protected us after Father died. Like you've protected the family for fifteen years. But this time, you'll be protecting something that's purely yours, not an obligation you inherited."
Dmitry sighed through the phone, heavy and resigned. "You're both insane. But if we're doing this—destroying Viktor legally—we do it thoroughly. I want him to rot in federal prison, not some minimum-security country club."
