Page 62 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

I bite the inside of my lip, swallowing back the litany of curse words I want to unleash on him. “Let’s not make any rash decisions. Where’s your father?”

“Sitting across the table from me,” he says. “He told me to call. It’s done. Your brother is your problem, but if he touches my sister again, he won’t be anybody’s problem anymore. He’ll be dead.”

“I’ll talk to him. I’m sure there was a miscommunication. I respect your family, and—”

“If he touches my sister again,” Rio repeated. “There will be war. Do you hear me?”

Mario Mazzeo is growing old, and Rio is poised to take over. I don’t want to start my relationship with him off on bad terms. Not after the lengths my father went to to secure a peaceful alliance with the Mazzeos. I can’t let Fedor’s sex drive ruin that for me.

I try to arrange a meeting with Fedor, but he doesn’t return my calls. I try to meet up with him at the bar, but he seems to disappear moments before I arrive.

He is dodging me, and we both know why. Because he doesn’t want the leash I’m going to try to attach to him.

After my third visit to the bar in two days trying to find Fedor, I drop down into one of the vinyl-covered stools and order a scotch. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but I’ve never needed a stiff drink more in my entire life.

If Molly is sticking to the usual schedule, Theo will be out at the park with the nanny, and she’ll be sitting on the couch reading her design books. I haven’t seen her for a few days, so I’m not sure if she’s continuing on with things as normal or not.

I had the locks on the door changed the very night Fedor let himself into my apartment. For the sake of Molly and Theo, I couldn’t let him have unfettered access to my private life. Thankfully, he hasn’t come by the house and learned this fact for himself yet, but it will happen soon enough.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I pull out my phone and call the private guard I had put on Molly.

“Where is she?”

“Inside,” he says. “Hasn’t left all day. The boy left with the nanny half an hour ago.”

So, business as usual.

“Good. Let me know if anything changes.” I hang up and throw back the drink in one swallow.

My days are spent being Fedor’s firefighter. Dousing the flames and destruction that trail in his wake, but as I toss back the drink and request another, I realize I can’t do it anymore. I can’t chase after him and clean up his messes. It’s a pointless, tiring, and thankless job. I can’t do it anymore, and I won’t.

But before I deal with Fedor once and for all, I have to take steps to make sure Molly and Theo are protected.

I don’t know what Fedor will do when I finally put my foot down and impose consequences for his actions, but I have to assume he’ll come at me with everything he has. We are brothers, and I love him, but I know him well enough to be realistic. Fedor will come after me. And if he has any reason to believe my arrangement with Molly and Theo is strange, he’ll look into it, and I’m honestly not sure what he will find. One conversation with Kent could bring the entire operation to the ground.

So, I need to marry Molly, change her last name, and adopt Theo. It’s the only way I can think to avert suspicion and protect them from my brother.

* * *

When I get home,the drinks from the bar are buzzing beneath my skin, but my head is clear.

Molly is home alone, just like the guard said she would be. Theo is still at the park with his nanny and won’t be home for another half hour—the perfect amount of time.

As soon as the door shuts behind me, I hear movement in the living room. The last few days when I’ve come home, Molly has retreated to her room immediately, avoiding any kind of confrontation.

Today, I cut her off at the stairs, extending my arm across the stairwell. She frowns but refuses to meet my eyes.

“Hey.” My voice sounds more slurred than I think it should, and she must notice because she looks up at me, studying my face with hooded eyes.

“Are you drunk?”

I shake my head. “I had a drink, but I’m not drunk.” Maybe three or four drinks.

“Several drinks by the smell of it,” she says, waving her hand in front of her nose in two quick movements. “Get out of my way.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“We’ve talked,” she says. “I’m done talking to you. It’s as productive as talking to a brick wall.”

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