Page 26 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

Viktor

Proof that kids can adapt to anything, Theo miraculously falls asleep in the back seat. Molly is rigid and shaking next to me, refusing to look in my direction, and as much as I want to comfort her, I decide her being afraid of me isn’t the worst thing that could happen. Maybe she won’t try to run anymore.

Why now? It’s been years.

When she said that back in the parking lot, it all made sense. She figured it out. Somehow, Molly figured out who I am, how I’m related to Fedor, and must have guessed why I found her at the motel and offered her a free room.

I can’t even imagine how terrified she must have been to wake up and find Theo missing. She probably thinks I took him from the room, but if that was the case, why would I have returned him to her? Perhaps as a show of my power over her, I guess. Though Molly didn’t seem to be thinking rationally enough to make that kind of logical leap. She was acting on pure instinct. So much so that she and Theo were going to leave the motel barefoot and coatless.

They are still barefoot and coatless, and I’m not going to let them wander around on the streets that way, no matter how much Molly fights.

“Just let him go,” Molly whispers, breaking me out of my thoughts. She glances into the back seat to be sure Theo is asleep and then relaxes back against the headrest. “Whatever this is about, Theo has no part in it. He doesn’t know anything. He’s too young to hear the details.”

The details of her assault. Of how he was conceived. I’m twenty-eight, and I think I might be too young. Nothing could ever prepare me to hear how my baby brother hurt an innocent woman.

“Don’t hurt him,” she continues, her hands folded nervously in her lap. “Make sure he’s taken care of. That he has everything he needs. And please …” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat. “Please don’t speak badly about me. Please let him know how much I loved him.”

My hands tighten on the wheel, my knuckles going white. I don’t respond or make any move that I’ve heard her, but Molly must feel moderately better just getting it all off her chest because she sits back and doesn’t say anything else the rest of the drive.

* * *

When we pullup to the house, I call for one of the full-time guards to come out and carry Theo inside. Molly tenses up when he grabs Theo, but the boy is so fast asleep that he doesn’t even stir.

“You’ll only scare him if you throw a fit,” I say, grabbing her arm.

She glares at me and wrenches her arm away, but she must agree because she stays quiet. She watches through the tinted windows until Theo is carried up the stairs and through the front door.

“Why aren’t we going inside?” She’s trying to sound tough but the fear is obvious in her voice.

“Because I need to talk to you first.”

When she turns to me, her golden eyes are glassy with tears, but none of them leak down across her cheeks. She’s trying hard to be strong.

“About what?”

“Your living arrangements.”

Confusion flickers across her face. “Living arrangements?”

I nod.

“So, you aren’t going to kill me?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute.” I reach across her and point to the stairs at the corner of the building. “That is my home. You and Theo will be staying there with me for the foreseeable future.”

Molly’s mouth falls open in surprise, and her outward expression mirrors my inward one. I hadn’t fully made the decision until the very second the words came out of my mouth. And now, it seems, I’ll have two houseguests when I’ve previously had zero. Ever.

The idea has merit, though. I’ll be able to keep a close eye on both of them if they are in my house. I have guards who can monitor them when I’m not around, and I can guarantee that they are safer here than in the motel. No one on my staff would dare hurt either one of them, but the same can’t be said of the workers at the motel.

Molly leans down to get a better look at the building. It’s three stories tall and takes up most of the city block. The brick has been whitewashed and flowers stand outside large windows restored from when the building was once a warehouse. It’s an eclectic mix of industrial and homey that looks nothing like where anyone would expect the head of the Bratva to live. That is part of the reason I chose it. The other reason was because of the private entrance.

“My penthouse takes up the first two floors on this half of the building.”

“Maisonette.”

I frown. “What?”

“It’s a maisonette,” she says. “A penthouse is an apartment on the top floor of a building, but yours is on the first and second. Plus, you have a private entrance. That makes it a maisonette.”

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