Page 29 of Beautiful Trauma

“Whatever.”

“You just stick to your part of the plan.”

“I will.” At the thought of a naked Kellan in the shower, I said, “Maybe you should go on and fly Anton home. Then you could come back for me.”

“Leave you alone in enemy territory? Are you insane?”

As my illicit intentions continued swirling in my mind, I shook my head. “That isn’t necessary.”

“That’s not up for negotiation.”

I rolled my eyes at my overbearing brother being a major cockblocker. “Then get comfortable because I’m going to take my time.”

A pause came over the line. “Mila, what are you–”

I jerked the piece out of my ear and quickly deposited it into my purse. Rising to my feet, I decided to take a look at the equipment I needed to bug. At the moment, Kellan’s phone was with him in the bathroom, but I could acquaint myself with the computers.

I made a mental note of the laptop as well as a large PC on the desk. Thankfully, Dima had sent computer chips with me. If I hadn’t had romantic aspirations for the night, I would have already placed them before drugging Kellan as soon as he came out of the shower.

My attention swept from the desk over to the wall of floor to ceiling mahogany bookshelves. There were large hardbound tomes of legal books as well as finance and public relations. But there were also hardbound copies of the classics. So few of the Bratva men I knew read anything outside the classic Russian authors like Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. If they did that.

As I gazed at the shelves, one thing that stood out to me was all the framed pictures. Before I got a closer look, I fully expected them to be moments of drunken debauchery with scantily dressed women. Pictures like the ones in my father’s study that Faina chose to ignore.

But they weren’t.

Instead, they were of brotherly love. Adoration for wives. And absolute devotion and pride for children.

It was not only unnerving, but it made me feel incredibly guilty about what I was doing to the Kavanaughs. Just from their bookshelves, I could tell they were a different breed from my father and his brothers. I had hope for my brothers to break the cycle of trauma. That one day shelves in their offices would be filled with smiling wives and precious children.

When Kellan appeared in the doorway, my gaze flicked over to him. One glance at his white shirt untucked and wide open caused my mouth to run dry. While he looked impeccable in his clothes, nothing could’ve prepared me for his bare chest or six pack on display.

His brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Clearing my throat, I croaked, “Fine. Why?”

“You were so quiet. I was afraid you’d ditched me.”

I shook my head. “I don’t break my word.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Motioning to the shelves, I said, “I was just admiring your collections.”

He grinned as he buttoned his shirt. “Let me guess. Your stereotype of club owners didn’t include literature.”

A nervous giggle that felt completely foreign fluttered from my lips. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit surprised.” Wrinkling my nose, I replied, “The men in my family aren’t big readers.”

“One of the many wonderful things our mother impressed upon us was an appreciation for literature. I think in another life, she would’ve been an English teacher.”

Although I knew exactly what he meant, I cocked my brows. “Another life?”

Kellan shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I just meant if she hadn’t gotten married so young and started a family.”

“How young was she?”

“Eighteen.”

“That is young. My sister is nineteen, and I can’t imagine her being married.”