Page 90 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

Viktor

Molly never says it out loud, but I sense she’s disappointed that our marriage was fake.

I’m not foolish enough to ever speak the idea out loud to her. She would never admit to it, but I catch her looking at her ring finger with a longing kind of look on her face more than once. And when I play with Theo on the living room floor after dinner, she smiles at us, but when I catch her eye, she looks away and knits her brows together.

I never considered marriage. Not really.

It was always a distant idea that seemed fine for some people, but not for me.

Then, I met Molly.

I’ve never wanted to protect someone this way before. Not even Fedor.

With Molly, my instincts feel primal, ingrained in my DNA. I want to be the person who holds her at night, I want to be the one she can confide in, and God forbid, if anyone comes for her or Theo, I want to be the man standing between her and danger.

If being her husband lets me do all of that, then so be it.

I think it might be too soon to have ideas like that. I’ve really only known her a couple of months and almost every second of that time has been spent putting out fires and solving problems. But now, Molly is looking into signing up for interior design courses, and the men who stayed by my side and didn’t betray me for Fedor are willing to make our business more legitimate. We already have motels all around the city, so it isn’t difficult to fix them up and, rather than treat them as fronts, use them as actual motels. With a great designer like Molly on my team, they could even turn into destinations in the city.

Even during this time of transition, we’ve found time for family dinners and date nights. Molly is eager to get into bed with me every night, and I have no desire to leave bed in the mornings. We’re happy.

Molly, Theo, and I could have a real future together. One free of the dangers inherent in Bratva life.

It’s that thought that propels me to pull into a parking space downtown and walk down the street lined with designer boutiques and hair salons. It’s my hope for the future that convinces me to pull open the door and walk into the jewelry store.

* * *

I leaveMolly’s ring in the car when I go into the Bratva’s temporary office space.

The other building is being renovated because of the damage from the shootout, and we needed a more secure location to set up the infirmary.

Fedor is still in a coma. The wound to his stomach was a serious one, and he lost a great deal of blood. But the doctor suspects he will pull through.

“Any sign of the Mazzeos?” I ask Petr.

He has been acting as my head of security at the offices since half of our enforcers deserted to join what they thought would be Fedor’s new Bratva. Unfortunately for them, that isn’t going to happen now.

The moment Fedor wakes up and is well enough to understand what I’m saying to him, I’m going to kill him. I have to.

Petr has said many times that it doesn’t make sense to keep him alive only to kill him, but I can’t bring myself to kill my baby brother while he’s unconscious. It seems wrong. Cowardly. I need to look him in the eye and face him when I do what must be done.

Part of me also has to admit that I want to give Fedor one last chance to correct his mistakes. I want to give him another chance at forgiveness. Even though I know it’s too late for that. The day Fedor genuinely drops to his knees and asks for my forgiveness is the day the earth stops turning.

“Not a thing,” Petr says. “Whatever hole they’re hiding out in, it’s a deep one.”

“Good for them.” The moment they show their faces, I’ll kill them. I cannot trust them any longer.

“Fedor opened his eyes earlier this morning, but there hasn’t been anything since,” Petr says. “My guess is that as soon as we cut back on the painkillers, he’ll come out of his stupor. Though, it might be better for him if he just stays this way. A coma has got to be better than where he’s headed.”

My anger matches Petr’s. Honestly, it’s probably greater. But I still can’t bring myself to talk about my brother that way. Fighting with him in the parking lot, wrestling a gun from his hands to keep him from blowing my brains out, was one of the most horrific things I’ve ever done.

A lifetime of protecting Fedor disappeared in an instant. Suddenly, we were enemies, and I had to shoot him.

I haven’t told anyone, but I pulled the shot at the last second. I could have hit him in the head as he ran. I probably should have.

But I couldn’t.

I lowered my aim and hit him in the stomach. It still was nearly a fatal shot. He tried to run, but he did not get far. My men—those who remained loyal to me—found him half a dozen blocks away, bleeding out.

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