Page 10 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter nine

The Punishment

M ila

The first thing I do after Alexei leaves for his meeting is test every door and window in my wing of the house.

I know it's probably pointless. This place is a fortress, designed by someone who understands security better than I understand breathing. But I have to try. I have to know what my options are, even if I'm not planning to use them.

Yet.

The truth is, after last night—after the way Alexei touched me, worshipped me, made me feel like I was the center of his universe—I'm not sure I want to escape anymore. Which is terrifying in its own way.

Three days ago, I was planning to destroy this man. Now I'm walking around his house in one of his dress shirts, my body still aching pleasantly from the thorough claiming he gave me, wondering what the hell is happening to me.

Stockholm syndrome, maybe. Or just really, really good sex.

I'm examining the lock on a French door that leads to a balcony when Irina appears in the doorway with a tea service and a knowing smile.

"Exploring, Mrs. Morozov?"

I jump like I've been caught stealing. "Just... familiarizing myself with the house."

"Of course." She sets the tea tray on a small table and begins arranging delicate porcelain cups. "It's natural to want to understand your new home."

There's something in her tone that makes me think she knows exactly what I was doing. Testing boundaries. Looking for weaknesses.

"Irina," I say carefully, "how much do you know about why I'm here?"

She pours tea that smells like jasmine and contemplation. "I know you married Mr. Alexei yesterday. I know he's happier than I've seen him in years. And I know you're trying to decide whether to trust him."

"And what's your advice?"

"Trust is earned, not given. But some men are worth the risk."

"And Alexei?"

She hands me a cup of tea and fixes me with those kind but sharp eyes. "Mr. Alexei has made many difficult choices in his life. Some of them have caused pain—to others and to himself. But he is a good man in a world that doesn't always reward goodness."

"Even though he's..."

"Bratva?" She says the word without flinching. "Yes, even though. The world is not divided into good people and Death Eaters, Mrs. Morozov. Most of us live somewhere in between."

I nearly choke on my tea. "Did you just quote Harry Potter at me?"

"I read everything Mr. Alexei brings into the house. Including the books he had shipped overnight when he learned you studied literature in addition to computer science."

My heart does something funny in my chest. He bought me books. Without being asked, without knowing if I'd even stay long enough to read them.

"Where are they?"

"The library. Third shelf from the top, near the window."

I spend the next hour exploring the library, which is even more incredible than I remembered from my tour yesterday.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books in Russian, English, German, and what looks like French.

A rolling ladder to reach the higher shelves.

Comfortable reading chairs positioned to catch the best light.

And there, exactly where Irina said they'd be, is a collection of books that looks like someone raided my Amazon wish list. Contemporary fiction, classic literature, a few programming manuals I'd been meaning to read.

He noticed. In the middle of buying me at an auction and planning our wedding and dealing with whatever Bratva business demanded his attention, he noticed that I love to read.

The realization makes me feel warm and unsettled and dangerously close to something that feels like affection.

I'm settling into one of the reading chairs with a novel I've been wanting to read for months when I hear voices in the hallway. Male voices, speaking in rapid Russian that sounds urgent.

Without really thinking about it, I move closer to the library door and listen.

I can't understand most of what they're saying, but I catch a few words that make my blood run cold. Viktor's name. Roman something-or-other. And what sounds like concern about security.

Then I hear footsteps approaching, and I scramble back to my chair, trying to look like I've been reading the whole time.

The library door opens, and Alexei walks in with the man from yesterday—Dmitri, I think. They're both wearing expressions that suggest their meeting didn't go well.

"Mila," Alexei says, and there's surprise in his voice. "I didn't expect to find you in here."

"You bought me books," I say, holding up the novel. "I thought I should read them."

Something soft flickers across his face. "Do you like them?"

"I love them. Thank you."

Dmitri clears his throat, and the moment breaks. Alexei's expression shifts back to business mode, all hard edges and controlled danger.

"We need to talk," he tells me.

"All right."

"Not here. My study."

The words send a chill down my spine. His study—the one place he told me was off-limits. The place where he keeps his business files and carves Viktor's face every night.

Why does he want to talk to me there?

I follow them through the house, my mind racing with possibilities. Did they find out about my escape plans? Did someone see me testing the doors and windows?

Or is this about something else entirely?

Alexei's study feels different with three people in it. Smaller, more intimate, with an undercurrent of tension that makes my skin prickle. The carved figurines of Viktor watch from their shelf, silent witnesses to whatever is about to happen.

"Sit," Alexei says, gesturing to one of the leather chairs in front of his desk.

I sit, trying to project calm I don't feel. Dmitri positions himself by the door—not blocking it, exactly, but making it clear that leaving isn't really an option.

"Mila," Alexei begins, settling into his desk chair with fluid grace. "I need you to understand something about your situation."

"My situation?"

"Your safety. The threats you face simply by being my wife."

Here it comes. The reality check I've been avoiding since yesterday.

"Roman Volkov," Dmitri says, speaking for the first time since we entered the room. "Do you know this name?"

"You mentioned him yesterday. You said he killed Viktor."

"He did. And now he knows you're here."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "How?"

"Because news travels fast in our world," Alexei says grimly. "And because Roman has been waiting three years for an opportunity to hurt me. Marrying Viktor's sister gives him exactly what he's been looking for."

"So I'm bait."

"You're a target."

The distinction doesn't make me feel better.

"What does he want?" I ask.

"Revenge. Power. The satisfaction of taking something precious away from the man who cost him millions of dollars and half his operation."

I process this information, trying to understand the implications. "And you think he'll come for me."

"I know he will."

"When?"

"Soon. Which is why we need to discuss some changes to your... freedom of movement."

Ah. Here we go. "What kind of changes?"

Dmitri speaks up. "No more exploring the grounds alone. No more testing locks and windows."

My blood turns to ice water. They know. Of course they know. "I was just—"

"Planning escape routes," Alexei finishes. "Yes, I know. Boris reported your activities this morning."

Betrayal stings sharp and hot in my chest. "You were having me watched."

"I'm having you protected. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Alexei leans forward, and there's something dangerous in his pale green eyes.

"Mila, let me be very clear about something.

Roman Volkov will torture you for information about my business, then kill you slowly just to hear you scream.

If you think being married to me is a prison, imagine what being his captive would be like. "

The casual way he describes it makes my stomach lurch. "You're trying to scare me."

"I'm trying to keep you alive."

"By keeping me locked up."

"By keeping you safe."

We stare at each other across his desk, and I can feel the battle of wills crackling between us. This morning, we were partners. Lovers. Now we're back to being captor and captive.

"I need some air," I say, standing up abruptly.

"Mila—"

"I need some air," I repeat, heading for the door.

Dmitri steps aside to let me pass, but I can feel both men watching me as I leave. Probably wondering if I'm going to make a run for it, or lock myself in my room, or do something else equally dramatic.

Instead, I head for the gardens.

The estate grounds are beautiful in the afternoon sunlight—perfectly manicured lawns, elaborate flower beds, fountains that remind you of something out of Versailles. It should be peaceful. Relaxing.

But no, it feels like the most beautiful cage in the world.

I find a bench near a rose garden and sit down, trying to process everything I've just learned. Roman Volkov knows I'm here. He's going to come for me. And Alexei's response is to lock me up tighter instead of... what? What did I expect him to do?

Let me go? Send me back to my old life where I'd be an even easier target?

The truth is, as much as I hate feeling trapped, I know he's right. I know that being Alexei's wife makes me valuable to his enemies. I know that my computer skills and my connection to Viktor make me exactly the kind of asset someone like Roman would want to acquire.

I just wish there was another way.

"Mrs. Morozov?"

I look up to see Boris approaching, his expression carefully neutral. Behind him, I can see other guards positioned around the garden. Close enough to intervene, far enough away to maintain the illusion of privacy.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Morozov would like to see you in his study."

I want to roll my eyes. We just spoke. We have unfinished business, he and I. A conversation that got interrupted by my dramatic exit.

"Fine. I guess this is all the air I get."

I follow Boris back to the house, steeling myself for round two of whatever power struggle Alexei and I are engaged in. But when I enter his study, I find him alone, standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Close the door," he says without turning around.

I do, then move to the center of the room and wait. The carved Viktor figurines seem to watch from their shelf, silent judges of whatever is about to happen.

"You're angry," Alexei says finally, turning to face me.

"I'm frustrated."

"With me?"

"With the situation. With feeling like I have no control over my own life."

He moves closer, and I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is set with determination. "You have more control than you think," he says quietly.

"Do I?"

"You chose to come to my bed last night. You chose to stay this morning. You chose to explore my house instead of barricading yourself in your room."

"And now?"

"Now you get to choose how to respond to the reality of our situation."

I study his face, trying to read the subtext of what he's saying. "Which is?"

"We're married, Mila. In the eyes of the law, the church, and the Bratva. That makes you my responsibility and my weakness. Roman knows that, and he's going to exploit it."

"So what do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop looking for ways to escape and start looking for ways to help me protect you."

The words hang between us, loaded with implications I'm not sure I'm ready to think about.

"And if I don't?"

His smile is sharp and predatory. "Then I'll have to find other ways to keep you safe. Ways you might not like as much."

"Such as?"

"Locked doors. Constant supervision. Restrictions on your movement that make today's conversation look like a friendly suggestion."

The threat is clear, but there's something else in his voice. Something that sounds almost like... regret?

"You don't want to do that," I say.

"No. I don't. But I will if I have to."

We stare at each other, and I can feel the weight of the choice he's offering me. Partnership or imprisonment. Trust or control.

The smart thing would be to agree. To play along until I can figure out a better option.

Instead, I hear myself saying, "I want to help."

His eyebrows rise. "Help how?"

"My computer skills. You said Roman's been rebuilding his operation. Maybe I can find out how, where his weaknesses are. Give you information you can use."

"That would put you in danger."

"I'm already in danger. At least this way, I'm useful."

He considers this, and I can see him weighing risks and benefits behind those pale green eyes. "It would mean working closely with me," he says finally. "Sharing information that could get you killed if it falls into the wrong hands."

"I understand."

"It would mean trusting me completely. No more escape attempts, no more testing boundaries. Full partnership."

"I understand."

"And it would mean acknowledging that this marriage—this life—is real. Not temporary, not a game, not something you can walk away from when it gets complicated."

The words hit me like a physical blow. He's asking for more than partnership. He's asking for commitment. For acceptance that this beautiful, dangerous man is mine now, and I'm his, in every way that matters.

"Alexei," I say softly.

"Yes?"

"I stopped looking for ways to escape the moment you made me come apart in your arms last night."

His sharp intake of breath is audible in the quiet study. When he moves toward me, it's with the fluid grace of a predator who's spotted his prey. "Say it," he commands, stopping just close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Say what?"

"That you're mine. That you choose this life, this marriage, me. Say it, Mila."

The intensity in his voice makes my knees weak. This isn't just about safety or strategy or finding ways to fight Roman Volkov. This is about us. About the connection that's been building between us since that first night, despite every rational reason it shouldn't exist.

"I'm yours," I whisper. "I choose this. I choose you."

The words are barely out of my mouth before he's kissing me, hard and desperate and possessive. I kiss him back with equal fervor, pouring all of my confusion and desire and growing trust into the connection between us.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"Partners?" he asks.

"Partners."

"Good." His smile is slow and dangerous. "Because we have work to do."