Page 40 of The Bratva's Forced Kidnapped Bride
“So much for a toast.” He tipped his glass toward me and took a long pull, draining half of it, then sat down to pick up his sandwich.
“Do we have anything to toast about?”
He smiled at me then, nearly knocking me off my chair with the sincerity of it. Maybe it had nothing to do with me, but a real smile from Anatoli was something else. His dark, suave good looks changed to a boyish charm I’d never seen before.
“You’ll never guess what I learned today.”
“That’s true,” I answered, finally able to take a bite of my sandwich. “I’d never guess in a million years.”
He went on to tell me that his brother’s widow, who’d been causing so much upheaval in the family, had been cheating on Konstantin with another rival of his family. They were shipping her back to her family in disgrace without a dime.
“What about your Uncle Leonid. Wasn’t he working with her somehow?” He gave me a narrow look, probably trying to remember when he discussed this with me. “Oh, come on,” I said, eager for more gossip. “You know I was listening to everything.”
He laughed and shrugged. “I’m not sure yet where Leonid stands.” His face slightly darkened. “We spoke of other things after that.”
“They know,” I said, not a question. I could read it all over his face. “If this is supposed to be my last meal, I think I would have preferred something better than a sandwich.” I was joking, mostly, but Anatoli didn’t laugh this time.
“It’s not your last meal,” he said. “Yet.” Topping up our wine glasses, he took another long swallow. “Right now I’ve got to clean house.”
I knew he didn’t mean to pull out the vacuum. “Do you know who it is?” I asked, referring to the spy who must have squealed to his uncles.
“Yes,” he rumbled. “And I have suspicions about others. When I…” he paused, looking at me for a long moment before continuing. “When I took a break, many of my men returned to Russia. I hired new people I didn’t know well, and now I’m paying for that mistake.”
“It happens. My cousin Aleks had to do a sweep a couple of years ago. My dad’s had to do it before, too.”
“Ah, well, if it happens to the almighty Fokins, I suppose I feel a little better.” He dropped the sarcasm and frowned. “What pisses me off more than having untrustworthy men around is that the one who ratted you out is actually part of our organization. Miron sent him over to spy on me. They hunt me down to grovel for my help, then when I give it, they repay me like that.”
I was absolutely stunned he was sharing so much with me, really baring his soul, it seemed. I could see true emotions on his face and understand each one. He may have been older than me, more experienced, maybe even a little wiser, but he still wanted his family’s trust and recognition as badly as I did, even if he’d pull his own teeth out before admitting it.
“Imagine if you’d been a daughter,” I said.
He huffed out a breath. “Then I wouldn’t have to think about any of this, I’d be happily married and busy raising my children by now.”
“What?” I yelped. My jaw just about hit my chest. He reached over and tapped my chin, smiling.
“What do you find offensive in that statement?” he asked. “That I might not be blissfully wed or the part about raising children?”
Well, I couldn’t admit to caring about how he felt about our marital state. “So you think I should be starting a family instead of working alongside my cousins?”
His eyes searched my face. “Masha, you are unique. Unique and difficult to comprehend.”
It almost sounded like a compliment, and the way he kept looking at me made me feel overly warm, so I reached for my wine glass to drain it. It did nothing to cool my cheeks or soothe my elevated heart rate under his curious gaze.
“Don’t you want children?” he asked.
I coughed, but my glass was empty. Never taking his eyes off of me, he refilled it. After a calming sip, I feigned disinterest. Of course, I wanted children in the far-off future when I was finished proving myself. “I have at least ten more years before I have to think about it,” I said, then slumped.
Did I have ten years? Did I even have one year, or would he keep his promise? At the moment, he seemed to be doing a great deal to keep me alive, for someone who wanted me dead.
“Ten years,” he repeated, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “That’s a very long time. Maybe something will make you reconsider.”
Did he—was he insinuating that he might be the father of my children? More heat flooded my face as images assailed me. I didn’t have a motherly bone in my body, but there was something intriguing about teaching martial arts to a miniature Anatoli.
“I don’t know what that would be,” I answered.
“Don’t you?” he asked, looking smug as he took in my red face. Was he reading my mind or thinking along the same lines?
I sniffed, finally able to look away, pretending some crumbs on my plate were of vast importance. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep me alive to find out.”
