Page 54 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

“Our money,” he says, gesturing between us. “Kent named his price, and I said we’d pay it. I’m sure he’ll call you to collect soon.”

“Our money?” When our parents died, we each received an inheritance. Fedor, in typical fashion, blew through his in six months. He has no money. I gave him a high-ranking position in the Bratva and a salary, but I know for a fact he didn’t save a thing. If anything, he’s in debt due to all his legal troubles.

“Yes,” he insists. “Our money. The Bratva is still a family business, isn’t it? Aren’t we all family here?”

“How much?”

He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest, his mouth sullen. “Fifty grand. Each.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and then run a hand through my hair, tugging on the roots. “To Kent and …”

“Some judge,” he says, shrugging like it barely matters. “They got me out on parole.”

I thought I’d be happy when Fedor was finally free. I wouldn’t have to listen to him bitch about being locked up and how it was my fault. And, despite his ways, I thought I’d be happy to be able to spend time with my brother again somewhere that wasn’t sitting across from a metal table.

But I don’t feel happy. I feel overwhelmed.

“Okay, we’ll pay the money.”

“No shit we will,” he says. “Unless you want me to get locked up again.”

I hold up a hand to steady him. “Obviously we will. I’m just trying to formulate a plan right now. We’ll pay the money, get you set up with your parole officer, and keep you away from the criminal elements of the business.”

“No, throw me back in. I’m sick of sitting on the sidelines.”

“Throw you back into what? You can’t carry a weapon—parole violation. You can’t get in a fight—parole violation. And you can’t traffic drugs or weapons—parole violations. Our entire business will get you sent back inside.”

“So I won’t get caught.”

“Like it’s that easy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’ve had a historically hard time not getting caught.”

“Ease up,” Fedor says, slamming his hands on the desk. “God, I thought you’d be happy to see me, but you act like I’m a burden.”

If it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck …

“Maybe I’d feel differently if you’d given me time to prepare,” I snap back.

“Prepare for my triumphant return?” he asks. “I didn’t assume my brother would need to work himself up to being pleased to see me a free man.”

“You aren’t a free man, Fedor. You’re on parole. I’m trying to make sure you stay out of trouble and can actually be free one day.”

“Semantics.” The amusement has drained out of him, leaving only the caged frustration I saw when he was locked up. There is no telling what trouble he’ll find when he leaves this room. “I’ll stay free as long as no more fucking witnesses step up to the plate. This shit never used to happen.”

“When Dad was in charge, you mean?” I ask, not bothering to hide my anger.

Fedor looks guilty for a second, and I see a glimpse of the brother I used to know. “I wasn’t making any statement about your leadership,” he says, sounding surprisingly respectful. “I’m just … surprised there are so many people who want to put me away so badly they would risk their own lives.”

We sit in silence for several seconds, the air thick as we each try to think of how to respond. Finally, Fedor breaks the silence.

“But I guess we sent them a message,” he says with a smirk. “You took care of all of the witnesses, so unless someone else is stupid enough to step forward, I’m home free.”

Any doubts I had about Fedor lying to me, about him actually recognizing Molly, disappear. He has no clue he just spoke to one of those witnesses downstairs. He doesn’t remember her at all.

Then, the reality that Fedor can’t recognize a woman he drugged and assaulted settles in.

Clearly, the incident wasn’t as defining for him as it was for Molly. Clearly, she’s not the only woman my baby brother has assaulted.

If he wasn’t my brother, I’d kill him for what he did to Molly.

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