Page 72 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

If I allow myself to be lowered to that, I will be an unfit mother for Theo.

Not to mention, I’m the reason Theo is in danger at all.

It is my testimony that would make Fedor angry. And it is my identity that would make Fedor realize Theo is his son, not Viktor’s.

But if I’m gone …

I’m grateful Theo isn’t in the house. If he was, I’d never be able to leave.

After packing my bag, I would have stopped in to kiss his forehead one last time, and I never would have left. I would have collapsed in a crying heap next to his bed and been resigned to this life.

Since he isn’t in his bed, however, I’m free to go.

I slip into some clothes and then pack the rest of the nice jeans and soft T-shirts and lacy underwear Viktor paid for. I also throw his white undershirt into the bag, though I can’t entirely decide why. Then I go into Theo’s nursery and pack the small picture frame Matilda hung up on the last day we worked the remodel together. It’s a picture of the three of us standing on the balcony. Matilda insisted we needed a “family picture,” and I didn’t have the strength to argue. So, we took it, Matilda framed it, and I reluctantly hung it on Theo’s bedroom wall.

Now, it will be the only printed picture I have of my baby boy.

In it, he’s hugging a soccer ball and smiling up at Viktor. I’m standing next to them with my arm around Theo’s shoulders, careful not to touch Viktor.

When I look at it, it will remind me that I did what was best for Theo. He loves Viktor, and I know Viktor will take care of him. Family is everything to the Bratva. He will look after Theo. He will make sure he’s safe.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away. I can’t afford to let them start. If they do, I’m afraid they may never stop.

I try to come up with a lie to tell the guards so they will let me past. Something to convince them I need to leave and Viktor doesn’t need to be alerted. But when I get downstairs, the guard on duty looks up sleepily from the couch and nods as I leave.

Viktor only cared about keeping Theo in.

And since Theo is staying at the nanny’s house tonight, that’s probably where all the guards have been stationed.

In some ways, this realization comforts me because I know Viktor is serious about protecting Theo. But in another, deeper way, it feels like a slap in the face.

Viktor doesn’t care about my well-being. He only cared about me in terms of Theo. He will probably be glad to see me gone in the morning. Finally, Theo will be free from the inherent danger I brought into his life.

I walk out into the dark morning and march down the sidewalk, bag grasped firmly in my hand, without the faintest idea of where I will go.

I should leave the city, I know that. I should start over somewhere else.

But every step I take feels like jogging through sand. Like jogging through wet sand mixed with cement.

Every step is further away from Theo … and Viktor.

I’m reluctant to tack his name on at the end, but I can’t deny that I’m partially sad I won’t see him again.

Viktor and I may have been married for less than twelve hours and under less than ideal circumstances, but I can’t deny that part of me may have been falling for him.

A foolish part of me, no doubt. The part of me that trusted Fedor enough to take a drink from him at that concert. The part of me that accepted the free room Viktor offered me at the hotel.

I feel for Viktor despite all sense and logic screaming at me not to, and now I am escaping into the night, leaving my son behind.

I’m leaving him to a good life, I know that. A better life than I could ever provide for him. I’m leaving him to safety, and prosperity, and protection. Things that I can’t give to either him or myself.

But leaving him feels like tearing my heart out. I tell myself again and again that this is what is best for him. In my head, I know that it is. I cannot do for Theo what Viktor can do for him. But it hurts worse than I could ever imagine. My heart is screaming at me that this is the wrong decision. Go back, it orders. But I let my footsteps carry me farther and farther into the night.

Finally, when I’m six blocks away from the apartment, the tears begin to fall and, like I predicted, there is no stopping them.

My cheeks are wet, the collar of my shirt is soaked, and I cry until there is no water left in my body. Until I am an empty, aching shell, seeking nothing but the essentials—food and shelter and warmth. Because if I let myself want anything else, there will only be disappointment.

---