Page 44 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

I always thought Theo was playful. An outgoing, bright kid. But since living with Viktor, he has opened up in ways I never knew were possible. He likes to build and design things. Viktor bought him wooden blocks and then plastic LEGOs when those became boring. Now, the two of them are working on a LEGO recreation of a castle from a movie I’ve never seen, and I never would have thought Theo capable of something like that.

Having the necessities in life has given him the opportunity to branch out and explore his interests, and for the first time in a long while, I’m hopeful that he will be okay. I’m hopeful that he’ll break the cycle of poverty I’ve dropped us into.

That deserves some fancy macaroni and cheese, at least.

When I hear a key in the front door, I assume it’s Viktor home from work early.

Thoughts of food disappear when I realize he’s home, Theo is sleeping, and I’m feeling especially warm towards him at the moment. Perhaps we could swipe the food onto the floor and make use of the counter the way we have several times before.

Warmth pools in my abdomen, and I have to bite back a smile as I pour him the last bit of coffee left over from the cup I shared with the designer earlier.

Apparently, I like fancy coffee now. Viktor taught me how to use the grinder and the Chemex, and while I still can’t drink it black like he can, I don’t need much more than a pinch of sugar and a glug of milk to make it drinkable.

Then I grab the mug and pad barefoot across the marble floor to greet him.

Because I was working with the designer, I opted for one of my more modest outfits—a pair of skinny jeans with a cream knit sweater—but the neckline still cuts low enough that I know Viktor will notice. He is a boob guy, after all.

When I turn the corner, however, Viktor is already there.

I hold the cup away from me to avoid the coffee splashing over the rim of the cup and yelp in surprise. “I didn’t hear you,” I gasp, laughing at my own clumsiness. “I was bringing you coffee, but I hope you like licking it off the floor.” But then I make eye contact with him freeze.

“Excuse me?”

I can’t respond. My words are trapped in my mouth.

My free hand is pressed to my chest, and I stare at the face of the man who is not Viktor.

It’s Fedor.

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