Page 14 of Bratva Bastard

Trancoso is located about eight miles from Dimitry and Gemma’s house, and when we passed the sign I wondered if Crissy had already reached her home. My heart fluttered, but I shrugged it off. Maybe it was gas from the shitty airline food.

We turned into a long driveway, leading to a secluded home buried in the privacy of trees. The home was a larger house, but nothing compared to the mansion that Misha or Sorokin had. It was cozier, felt more like a home. A vacation home, given the tropical setting.

Waiting on the front steps was a petite woman with olive skin and long, dark hair. When she turned to the side, a big, pregnant belly poked out.Gemma.

I’d only met her briefly when I crashed Ivan’s wedding, and even then we weren’t properly introduced. So being here now, without Dimitry, was awkward.

When I stepped out of the vehicle, she welcomed me with a hug. “Maxim, I’m so glad we finally get to properly meet. I’m Gemma, the other pregnant Koslov wife.” She walked with an arm around my waist—not like she could reach much higher, she was so short—and I felt like a son coming home to visit his mother during college break.

“Oh, right. Sophia is pregnant, too. Maybe Willow’s next,” I teased.

Gemma chuckled, poking a finger into my arm. “All the other brothers are married, except for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the next one to have a baby.”

“Now you’re the one making jokes.” I laughed, placing a hand behind her back for support as she climbed the stairs to the door.

She gave me a tour of the house, making a joke about there being too many stairs—one floor upstairs, and a basement downstairs. The house was nice. Elegant, but still cozy. A perfect blend of luxury and comfort.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, completing the tour in the kitchen. “Dimitry should be back in a day or two, but feel free to enjoy yourself before he gets back. I know we’ve only just met, but I want you to feel comfortable here. This is your home, too.”

We made dinner together. Although she insisted that I was the guest and should let her make it, I refused to let her make it on her own. A pregnant woman cooking for a perfectly able man? It felt wrong to make her cook for me. And in a strange way, it reminded me of when my mom and I would make dinner together when I was a child.

When the flour spilled, we laughed and she tossed some flour on my shirt, telling me to throw it in the laundry and she’d wash it later. I got her back with a little pasta sauce on the nose. And when we sat down to eat, she told me more about herself and her life in Brazil.

It fascinated me to learn more about Dimitry’s wife. Really, just the husband wife dynamic with a Bratva man. Most Bratva men either weren’t married, or they were fucking around on the side. To hear about a relationship that was honest and monogamous was refreshing. I asked her how she’d met Dimitry, and it was like the kind of story you’d read in a mafia romance book.

I thought that being here without Dimitry would be awkward and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. I liked Gemma. She was kind and funny, and made me feel welcome.

* * *

The first few days,I spent most of my time at their house, recuperating from the gunshot wound. Every morning and evening, Gemma had morning sickness. I felt bad, and tried not to mention it too much because I think it embarrassed her to know I could hear her puking out her guts. But at least she had a small window of time in the middle of the day when she felt decent.

During those hours, we would walk outside together to get some fresh air. She forced me up and out, saying it’d be good for my healing. And when Dimitry got back home, he joined us on the daily walks around the outside of the house. It’d become our afternoon ritual.

But after nearly a week of being cooped up in the house, even the afternoon walks weren’t enough. I loved Dimitry and Gemma, but I needed to get out, and felt like a burden being here all the time.

I decided to go into town and make a stop at the bar. It’d been too long since I had fun, and I wanted to get drunk—and possibly laid. Besides, I felt way better than I had when I first arrived. And it just so happened that Crissy worked at the bar I was headed to.

Dimitry wasn’t fond of the decision at first, but I figured a few days in the hotel would do everyone some good. I’m sure he would like some privacy with his wife, and Gemma would like some privacy throwing up, besides, I had Andrei with me.

Naturally, the gigantic idiot Andrei urged me against it, but when I refused, he made me promise to stay in the bar and the hotel room. When I originally chose the hotel I’d be staying in, I hadn’t realized that Crissy worked at the bar downstairs. It wasn’t until I went down for a drink that I connected the dots.

But when I saw her standing behind the counter, my heart started pounding so hard that I thought it was going to burst right through my chest. The visual of her boyfriend’s arm wrapped around her flickered into my mind, becoming the focus I didn’t want, or need.

I’d planned to come in there to speak with her, see how she’d been doing that past week. Until that image flashed into my mind. Now, I headed toward a table and chair, avoiding the bar altogether.

It was a quiet Monday evening, a total contrast to what I’d heard about nights in Trancoso, but I guess a Monday is a Monday wherever you are.

Because it was so dead, and there was only one other patron, it didn’t take long for Crissy to stop by my table and ask for my drink.

“Surprise me,” I said, curious to see her choice. You could tell a lot about a person by what they drink. Who did she think I was?

“How’ve you been?” she asked, her hip cocked to the side to hold the tray propped against it. She wore a simple white shirt that dipped down in the front, revealing only the top of her cleavage. Her leggings were tight against her skin, showing off all her curves in the most luscious way.

It was one thing to see a woman’s curve when she wastryingto look sexy and show off her form. But seeing the way her body looked in her everyday clothes, not trying to impress anyone, was sexier than if she’d walked into that bar wearing lingerie and fishnets—though I wouldn’t mind the latter either.

“I’ve been resting. Couldn’t stand being cooped up any longer, so I figured I’d venture out and see Trancoso for myself. How about you? What’ve you been up to?”

I hated small talk. It was pointless, deceiving. There were always other intentions and having a conversation about the weather only prolonged the inevitable.

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