Page 93 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

Molly

Istare at the remainders of our romantic dinner—the flickering candles nearing the end of their wicks and the half-empty glasses of wine. Viktor was going to propose to me.

He was nervous, which he never is. That was my first clue.

My second was the bulge in his pocket. I spotted it when he led me to the terrace. It could have been anything—a wallet, a gun, a balled-up handkerchief—but I knew.

And I wanted it.

That is still the hardest thing to wrap my mind around. I wanted Viktor to propose. I was poised at the edge of my chair, desperate to accept him, to say yes and start a life with him.

And then the phone rang.

Just when I’d relaxed enough to think even for a second I could have a normal life, everything went to shit. Fedor is on the loose, the Mazzeos have resurfaced and are working in tandem with Fedor, and Viktor is gone.

I understand that he has to go and solve this issue. His business is literally burning, but I can’t help but wonder if it will ever stop—the fighting and killing and burning. Will life ever be normal for us? Will there ever be an us?

I still think being with Viktor is the safest place for Theo, but how long will Viktor really want to put up with this drama? At some point, he’ll get tired of protecting us. He’ll decide to hand us over to Fedor and be done with it. I don’t want to think that way about Viktor, but he’s only human. We all have our limits. Except, I don’t think Fedor does.

The insane don’t understand limits.

He won’t stop until he’s killed Theo or has him. I thought he would be dead in a matter of days, but now he’s free.

I press a hand to my chest and grip the railing of the balcony as an icy breeze slices through the warm air barrier provided by the outdoor heaters Viktor had installed.

He must feel so guilty. Viktor could have killed Fedor while he was unconscious, but he didn’t want to. I supported him, and I still do, but if anything happens to anyone because of Fedor, Viktor will be riddled with guilt.

My fingers ache from how tightly I’m gripping the rail, so I release it and begin carrying dishes back inside. The maid will do it later, but I need something to keep me busy anyway. Theo is sleeping upstairs and the house is quiet. I’ll be restless until Viktor gets home.

I scrape the food into the trash and take one last drink from my wine before pouring it down the sink. Then, I put the dishes in the dishwasher and lean back against the counter, frustrated that the task is over so quickly.

Suddenly, there is a loud bang.

I jump away from the counter, immediately searching the kitchen for a knife or anything heavy or sharp to defend myself with, but there isn’t time. I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and Fedor is standing there. He has a walking cane in his hand.

It feels like a nightmare. I blink, expecting him to disappear, but he doesn’t. He tips his head to the side and smiles. “Where the fuck is my son?” he snarls.

I run through the door to the right and straight for the stairs and the hallway that leads to Theo’s room. I only realize the mistake I’ve made when hands reach out and yank me backwards, dragging me down to the floor.

Rio is standing over me. His face is twisted in anger, but it’s easy to see that he’s wavering. “Get what you need and let’s go, Fedor.”

“Your assistance is a condition of our deal,” Fedor says, moving slowly and resting heavily on his cane. “Keep her here.”

He walks past me, and I try to reach out and grab him, but Rio pins my arms to the ground with his knees.

Where are the guards? Where is George?

“Help!” I would usually be worried about waking Theo, but Fedor is going to do that anyway. “Help me!”

Rio’s hand clamps down over my mouth. I try to bite his palm, and he backhands me across the face. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

I kick and thrash even harder. “Working with Fedor is stupid,” I bite back, wrestling my face out from under his hand. “You’re the idiot. He’ll get you killed.”

The fight drains out of me when I look up and see Theo in Fedor’s arms.

They are mirrors of one another. The same pointed chins and wide-set cheekbones. The same wide eyes and dark hair and pale skin.

Seeing them together sends a chill down my spine. It is my worst nightmare come to life.

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