Page 28 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
HOPE
We’ve been driving in near silence for nearly an hour when Pavel turns down a secluded side road. My ring finger is free of the ribbon he bound there during our joke of a wedding. I tore it off at the first chance I got. It was a small rebellion that darkened his eyes but earned no comment.
The flight had been tense. When Roman Vasiliev, Pavel’s Syndicate partner, boarded and saw us, his surprise was unmistakable, especially when he looked at the “ring” and then at Kin.
The two men spent most of the flight in heated discussions at the front of the cabin. They spoke entirely in Russian, so I couldn’t understand a word, but it definitely wasn’t a friendly chat.
I’m grateful that exhaustion finally overtook my anxiety at some point, allowing me to block them out and get some much-needed sleep.
In the rearview mirror, I peek at Kin. He’s drifted off again, worn out after such a long trip.
His lashes flutter against his cheeks as Pavel turns onto a long driveway that ends at a security gatehouse.
He rolls down his window and exchanges brief words with the guards.
Their eyes move past him to me, then to Kin in the back seat.
If they’re surprised to find Pavel with a woman and child in tow, they don’t show it.
Ornate gates open in front of us, and Pavel drives forward. I stare out the window, caught off guard by the beauty of everything. I’d expected gray walls and iron fences, something severe and institutional, but this place looks like a cross between a resort and a country club.
A heavily fortified country club.
Light glints off the white lines of a tennis court tucked between trees, and beyond that, I see what looks like a basketball court and a huge gazebo surrounded by wildflowers. The road splits, with lanes branching in different directions through perfectly manicured grounds dotted with trees.
“My house is just ahead.” Pavel gestures. “The others are further out on the property.”
I follow his gaze and spot a long driveway curving to the left. Another branches off toward a sprawling stone house with a wide front porch and elegant columns.
“What others? Is this some sort of gated community?”
“You could say that.” He glances at me, one hand loose on the wheel. “It’s a compound for high-ranking Syndicate members,” he explains without going into details.
Perfect. Not only was I forced to marry one of my father’s killers, but I now get to live with all of them.
In the distance, I spot an impressive playground with a bright-red slide, a tire swing, and a rope bridge that Kin would lose his mind over.
“There are other kids here?”
He hesitates for a moment as if weighing whether to share this information. “Maxim and his wife, Kira, have three kids. Their middle boy, Alexei, is about the same age as Kin.”
His warm palm lands on my thigh, and he gives it a squeeze. I stare down at his hand. It’s big and rough, with tattoos curling over his knuckles. How had I not noticed that these aren’t the hands of a writer? These are the hands of a dangerous man.
But they’re also the hands that held me with surprising gentleness, that traced my skin like I was something precious. Even knowing who he really is, it’s hard to forget the way he made me feel. Or how damn attractive he is with that sharp jaw and chin cleft.
Nope. Not going there.
“When the time is right, I’ll introduce Kin to the other kids.”
“I don’t want him playing with Maxim Belov’s kids, or anyone from the Syndicate for that matter.”
My hands twist in my lap. I hate that I’m denying Kin a friend his age, because he deserves a playmate. But preferably not one whose family helped destroy mine.
Still, a thought I’ve been trying to ignore surfaces.
I’ve always believed my father was different from most men in his world, but how well did I really know him? I only saw the man who took me swimming and bought me ice cream during brief summer visits. He shielded me from his dark side, but I have no doubt it existed.
Pavel’s voice drops, becoming more serious. “I need you to understand something, Hope. I won’t hurt you. Neither will anyone else here. Whatever you think I’m capable of, harming you or your son isn’t on the list.”
“Sure,” I say, giving him a non-committal response before turning to stare out the window. I believe him, but not because he has feelings for me, but because I serve a purpose. I just haven’t figured out what that purpose is yet.
The view out the window steals my attention. Through the trees, a house comes into view. It’s large and impressive, with elaborate stonework, steep gabled roofs, and arched windows. It reminds me more of an old French manor than a mob boss’s fortress.
Pavel parks, and we step out of the car.
The SUV that’s been trailing us pulls up behind our vehicle.
I circle to the back and open the passenger door.
Kin’s head is tipped to the side, cheeks flushed from sleep, his stuffed dinosaur smushed under one arm.
I brush my fingers through his hair and unbuckle him carefully.
He’s heavier with every day that passes, and my arms strain under the weight as I pull him into me. His legs dangle, socked feet swinging against my thighs.
Pavel turns to one of his security men, speaking in Russian. The guard nods and signals to another, who begins retrieving our bags from the trunk. I stand awkwardly to the side, unsure where to go or what to do.
Kin stirs against my chest. “Mama?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“We’re here, baby,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead.
No matter what, I promised myself I’d hide my discomfort from Kin. He’s waking up in a strange place in a strange country. The least I can do is pretend everything’s fine.
He blinks slowly, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. I brace for tears or questions I won’t know how to answer.
Instead, Kin lifts his head from my shoulder, his gaze widening in wonder as he spots the sprawling house.
“Is that where we live now?”
“For a while,” I answer carefully.
“Look. Water!” Kin points to a glimmer of blue visible between the trees. It’s a huge pool. “Can we go swimming?”
I can’t help but smile. Leave it to a four-year-old to find the silver lining in any situation.
Pavel approaches us, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Come in. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“I wanna walk,” Kin says, wiggling in my grasp. I set him down, and his hand slips into mine.
We climb the stone steps, but the door swings open before we reach it. A short, stocky man with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard stands in the doorway and ushers us inside.
The entryway opens to a living space with soaring ceilings and polished hardwood floors that gleam under recessed lighting. Fresh tulips spill from a crystal vase on a side table. There’s a lived-in warmth here that I didn’t expect.
“This is Yaroslav,” Pavel announces. “Yarik for short. He runs my home, does a little bit of everything except cook. If you see him near the stove, run in the other direction.”
Yarik rolls his eyes. “Please, everyone loves my borscht,” he shoots back in heavily accented English, before turning his attention to me.
I shake his hand, but I’m not sure how to introduce myself. “I’m Hope,” I finally say. “And this is Kin.” Even without me saying so, I get the feeling he knows exactly who I am and why I’m here.
“Very nice to meet you both,” he says warmly, then crouches down to Kin’s level and extends his hand. “And you too, young man.”
Kin shakes it solemnly, happy at being included.
“Yarik is the reason I still have all my teeth,” Pavel adds, his hand clapping the shoulder of the much-shorter man affectionately. “He was my boxing coach. Taught me everything I know about fighting and surviving the streets of Moscow.”
Kin’s eyes light up. “Can you teach me how to fight?”
“Maybe one day if your mom allows it.” Pavel winks at him.
Before I can shut down all talk of fighting, a pretty young woman with full-sleeve tattoos and heavy eyeliner bounds down the stairs, earbuds still in. She wears cut-off shorts and an off-the-shoulder band tee.
She gives me a once-over, then grins. “You’re the wife,” she says. “Damn. I never thought this day would come.”
Word has definitely spread. I suppose Pavel had to alert his household.
“Dinara.” Pavel speaks her name like a warning.
“Oh, come on. You know it’s what we’re all thinking.” She extends her hand to me with a sheepish smile. “I’m Dinara, Yarik’s daughter. I also work for this guy here.” She jerks her thumb at Pavel.
I’m curious what her role is exactly, but I don’t ask. I go through the introductions again.
“Well, hello there,” she says, dropping to Kin’s eye level. He immediately becomes shy, pressing closer to my leg. “Damn. Look at those eyes, kid. You’re gonna be a heartbreaker, aren’t you?”
Kin bobs his head, though I’m sure he doesn’t know what she means. Either way, she’s not wrong.
Dinara straightens. “I’m actually about to give the Belov’s poor nanny a break. With Kira and Maxim away, she’s been doing double duty. Is your little guy interested in coming with us? We’re going swimming.”
Kin looks at me hopefully. I give him an apologetic smile. “Maybe next time. We need to settle in now.”
“Sure thing.” Dinara flashes another grin, then bounds out the door.
Well, she’s a vibe.
“Your rooms are upstairs,” Yarik says, gesturing toward a curved staircase. “If you follow me, I can?—”
“No need, old man. I’ll take them.” Pavel pats Yarik’s barrel chest.
“Who are you calling old man? I can still kick your as— Butt in the ring.” Yarik makes a one-two punch gesture that has Kin giggling.
“No doubt.” Pavel’s smile suggests this is part of their usual banter. “But I can take it from here.”
Yarik places one of his enormous hands on my shoulder. “If you or the little one need anything at all, come find me. I’m usually in the kitchen, out in the garden, or downstairs in the boxing ring.”