Page 30 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

“Toys,” he says, as though I might not know what the word means. “What does he like to play with?”

I blink at him, confused why this would matter.

“If he’s going to be staying here, I should make him a room. I have a few guest rooms upstairs. You can each have one.”

The more he talks, the more it feels like he’s speaking in another language.

Theo has never had his own room. He had his own bed before we lost the apartment, but since then, we’ve been making do with the shelter and the kindness of what few friends I have left. When you are living that way, toys don’t enter into the equation. I feel like a terrible mother for admitting it, but I’m not even sure what he likes. Viktor must see this realization on my face because he shrugs.

“I’ll just have one of my guys buy him a bit of everything. Kids are easy to please, right?”

I nod. “Especially Theo.”

Viktor’s mouth pulls up at the corners. “He seems like a good kid.”

Something cold runs through me. I shouldn’t be talking Theo up. I should be trying to convince Viktor that he’s a terror. That he throws temper tantrums that rattle the walls and burst eardrums. I should be trying to convince him that Theo is not a kid he wants to raise.

“What about you?” Viktor asks, interrupting my thoughts. “What do you need?”

My mouth flops open like a fish.

“Clothes?” he asks. “If there are any foods or snacks you prefer, you can leave a list on the counter and the chef will pick them up when she delivers meals in the morning.”

Foods? Snacks? I’ve been struggling so long to simply get food of any kind that I’m not sure I even snack anymore. There have been a few meals that have been mostly things I could buy from a vending machine, which has honestly put me off the idea of snacks altogether. I’d rather have a pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. I wonder if I can put that on the list.

Then I chastise myself.

Again, Viktor is drawing me in with special treatment. He couldn’t get me to submit with his body, so now he’s putting on the charm. It’s all a trick.

Or is it?

He turns his head to the side, watching me think, and I can’t help but feel like he’s being genuine. Like he actually cares what I eat.

I haven’t had anyone care about me in so long that even this distorted kind of concern feels good.

“Why would you care what I want?” I ask. “You’re going to kill me, right?”

It feels surreal to say the words so casually. To somehow both feel safe in the moment, but also recognize that Viktor could decide to end my life any second. I have no way to explain the dichotomy other than exhaustion. At this moment, I think I could fall asleep standing up.

“That remains to be seen,” Viktor says, looking down into his now empty coffee cup. He curls his large hands around the mug, drumming his fingers on the ceramic. “How long have you and Theo been homeless?”

“A couple years.”

“Where is your family?”

I shrug. “Around, but they don’t care about me. Sex before marriage is not something they support.”

“They let you raise a kid on your own?”

“They let me raise myself on my own.” I don’t talk about my parents. With anyone. I don’t talk about my shitty childhood because I know there are people out there who grew up the way Theo is now. People who had no homes, skipped meals, and wore clothes that were too small. They won’t give a shit about my parents being cold while they still fed and clothed me.

“How old were you when you had Theo?”

“Nineteen. Eighteen when I got pregnant.”

Something resembling pity crosses his face, and he won’t look me in the eye.

“Did you know?”

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