Page 16 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

That’s who the boy is, after all. Right?

The folder Kent gave me said that Molly was a woman Fedor assaulted. She’d gone to the police years before and filed a report, but it was never followed up on. It could be followed up on this time around, though, now that the D.A. is desperate to keep Fedor behind bars.

But there was no mention of a pregnancy. Of a fucking child. Does Kent know? Does Fedor?

With his dark hair and pointed chin, the boy is Fedor’s twin. His hazel eyes are not as vividly green as Fedor’s, but I can still see the flecks of his father in them.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask the kid, pointing to the rattling mini fridge under the table. “Take a water.”

Molly rushes over, cracking open a small bottle of water and helping him take a drink. Water sloshes down his chin, and she wipes it away with the sleeve of her shirt. Then she fixes him a small plate of cherry tomatoes, crackers, cheese slices, and a small bunch of grapes that she cuts in half with a plastic fork. He sits down in a chair in the waiting room. I turn the television hanging in the corner to a random cartoon. The volume on the TV is broken, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind.

With the boy occupied, Molly slowly makes her way towards me, her face lowered to the floor. “Are you the manager or something?”

“No.” I shake my head. “The owner, you could say.”

The Twin Chandeliers is one of many different motels the Bratva operates from around the city. They are little more than fronts for our other businesses. I rarely do any kind of oversight, but apparently, I need to start. Greg is a piece of shit.

“You didn’t have to give us a room. He wasn’t lying when he said I can’t pay.”

“After the way he treated you, you shouldn’t have to.”

Plus, I might kill you before the morning. The thought is acid in my stomach. I try to ignore it for the time being.

“What’s your son’s name?”

She hesitates a long time before deciding to answer. “Theo.”

“I’m Viktor.”

She looks up at me, and some of her defenses have lowered, though not all of them. Molly doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who is ever entirely defenseless. Based on the way her life has gone thus far—a homeless single mother assaulted by the likes of my brother and Greg—she probably can’t afford to. “I’m Molly.”

“What brings you to my lavish motel tonight, Molly?”

She smiles faintly at the self-deprecating humor. “I needed a place to stay, but I wanted the aesthetic of a 1980s bowling alley, so this was the only place that fit the bill.” The room is designed in dingy shades of orange, yellow, and green. She isn’t wrong. “Sorry if that’s rude,” she murmurs. “But, I mean, you don’t have to be an interior designer to know this place could use some work.”

“Are you an interior designer?” I ask. If she was, surely she’d have a home of her own. That would be the irony of ironies.

“No. It’s a dream, but not quite.”

I can’t be talking to Molly about her dreams. It’s like naming a chicken you plan to eat. It only makes the slaughter more difficult. She tucks a strand of long dark hair behind her ear, and I see a beauty mark on her chin. She hugs her arms around her narrow waist and rolls from heel to toe and back again on a pair of worn sneakers.

This particular slaughter is going to be hard no matter what I do.

“Is it just the two of you?” I ask, unable to help myself. “You and Theo, I mean.”

She looks over at Theo with a hint of sadness behind her eyes and nods. “Yeah, just the two of us.”

I want to ask her for the whole story, but she probably wouldn’t tell it. Even if she would, I’m not sure I want to hear. I know enough.

My brother ruined her life. Whatever plans she had for herself, it’s safe to assume they didn’t include becoming a single mother or being homeless. Her life has obviously been hard, and now, it will be short.

“I should say thanks,” Molly says suddenly, looking at my shoes as she talks. “For stepping in and stopping him. I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t—well, actually, I am sure what would have happened.” Her cheeks go pink.

I nod. “Happy to help.”

She glances up at me, her golden eyes soft and warm. For the first time, she gives me a small smile.

Shit.

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