Page 33 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

HOPE

Lunch is served on a sun-drenched patio overlooking the gardens. The cook, a round, smiling woman named Olga, brings out several courses of surprisingly light, fresh food: salads, grilled fish, and roasted vegetables.

Kin devours the chicken tenders shaped like dinosaurs. Someone clearly put thought into making a four-year-old happy.

“Where’s Pavel?” Kin asks between bites.

“I don’t know. He’s probably working.”

“Will he eat dinner with us?”

I set down my fork with a sigh. “Probably not, sweetheart. Men like Pavel have busy jobs.”

“Like Simon?”

The way his face falls guts me. What am I supposed to say? On the surface, Pavel and Simon might seem different, but underneath, they’re cut from the same cloth. They both run criminal empires, and there’s nothing they won’t do to protect that power.

Pancakes and unlimited credit cards can’t erase what Pavel really is—a killer. He might have spared my life for reasons I still don’t get, but he sure as hell didn’t spare my father’s.

I can shield Kin from the ugly truth, but I’ll never let myself forget it.

“They have similar work,” I say carefully. “But they’re very different people.”

Kin nods, satisfied with my non-answer.

After lunch, Yarik shows up for the tour he promised.

We start with the common areas: a formal living room with rich leather furniture and oil paintings, a library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a music room with a grand piano.

There’s a game room with an actual pool table and vintage arcade games from the eighties that make Kin lose his mind with excitement.

The gym features a full boxing ring, an indoor pool with an attached spa, and a home theater that makes Kin beg me to promise we can watch a movie there later.

“Come,” Yarik says, gesturing toward the doors leading outside. “Let me show you something special.”

We follow him through the gardens to a corner I hadn’t noticed before.

Here we find an impressive vegetable patch with raised beds bursting with life.

Tomato plants climb wooden stakes, their fruit ranging from green globes to deep-red spheres.

Pepper plants heavy with colorful pods stand beside neat rows of leafy greens.

“This is my escape,” Yarik explains, his hands gentle as he checks the plants. “When the world gets too complicated, I come here.”

Kin walks between the rows like he’s exploring a jungle.

“Did you plant all these?” I ask.

“Every single one. Started them from seeds in the greenhouse.” Yarik points to a small glass structure at the far end of the garden. Then he asks my son, “Would you like to help me water them tomorrow morning? I do rounds every day after breakfast.”

“Yes! Can I help pick the tomatoes too?”

“When they’re ready,” Yarik promises with a wink. “Another week or two.”

I watch the exchange with mixed emotions. Everyone here has been kind to Kin, almost suspiciously so. I’m not sure whether I should trust this generosity or if I’m being paranoid. But even fake kindness is better than the alternative.

Whatever Pavel’s true intentions for bringing us here, he’s made an effort to make this pleasant for Kin. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m here against my will, as his wife.

During our stroll back to the house, I keep an eye on the security situation. I won’t worry about the logistics of leaving yet. First, I need to reach Chen. But it’s smart to pay attention to the rhythm of this place.

Men in casual clothes patrol the grounds at regular intervals, positioned strategically near the house and along the compound’s perimeter. Just because I can’t see their weapons doesn’t mean they’re unarmed. I’m sure they are.

“Come. I want to show you my model airplane collection,” Yarik says, leading us back inside. “Built them all myself.”

We pass a room off the main floor, with its door slightly open, and Kin runs toward it.

“Kin, wait—” Yarik starts, reaching for him.

But he’s already darted inside. I follow, ready to apologize for the intrusion.

What I find stops me cold. Canvases are everywhere in the room, some finished, others half-completed. The paintings are abstract but emotional, full of dark colors and violent slashes of paint that speak of rage and anguish.

“Whose paintings are these?” I ask, taken aback.

“Pavel’s,” Yarik explains, clearly uncomfortable. “Art helps him...process things.”

I stare at a canvas that looks like a storm at sea, all grays and blacks with tiny touches of gold. This is Pavel’s soul on display, raw and unguarded.

“The red one looks like fire.” Kin points to a canvas dominated by streaks of crimson and orange.

“We need to go,” I say quickly, suddenly feeling like we shouldn’t be here, seeing this. It’s too personal.

Yarik nods gratefully as we retreat, closing the door firmly behind us. But the images linger in my mind. What ghosts haunt him? I’m not sure I’ll ever know.

“Higher, Mama! Higher!” Kin shrieks with delight as I push him on the swing, his little legs pumping frantically in the air.

The playground tucked into the corner of the expansive garden is pristine, like everything else on this property.

I don’t want to know what their monthly landscaping bill runs.

“Use your legs,” I tell him, giving him another solid push anyway because I love hearing that infectious giggle as he soars toward the sky.

“I can do it by myself!” His voice bursts with pride as he pumps his legs back and forth, creating his own momentum.

“You’re doing great,” I call back.

It’s been three days since we arrived, and we’re slowly finding our rhythm here. Pavel’s been mostly absent—buried in work, according to Yarik—which suits me fine. Kin and I are slowly adjusting to this bizarre new normal, though I’m not sure what normal even means anymore.

“Looks like someone’s having fun.”

I turn to see Dinara approaching, her vivid purple hair almost glowing in the sunlight. She’s wearing torn black jeans and a tank top that shows off her sleeve of tattoos. Tucked under one arm is a sleek digital device.

“Yeah, he is.” It’s weird to admit, but Kin has found his way earlier than me. And it makes sense. New toys, his own playground, everything a kid could want.

Kin abandons the swing and darts toward a cluster of dandelions, crouching down to study them with intense concentration.

Dinara shades her eyes from the sun. “Got a minute?”

I nod, and she gestures toward a stone bench beneath a shady tree, where we sit side by side.

“Pavel wanted me to give you this.” She holds out the tablet, and I take it, turning the sleek device over in my hands. It’s expensive, definitely the latest model.

A flicker of excitement sparks. “Right, he mentioned this.”

“You’ve got access to our intranet, which means online shopping, weather, news, Candy Crush… No social media, no email, no messaging apps, though. Basically nothing that connects to the outside world.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, as long as I have Candy Crush.” The irony isn’t lost on me. He’s offering unlimited spending but restricted internet access. Not that I’m surprised. “So what am I exactly? Wife or captive?”

“Above my pay grade.” She holds up her palms. “Discuss it with your husband if you need clarity.”

“I don’t consider him my husband,” I shoot back.

“Call him whatever you want.” She shrugs, then gives me a long, assessing look.

“But you should know what Pavel’s risking for you and Kin.

He went against his own people, his brothers in the Syndicate.

” She lets that sink in. “Marrying you gives you protection under bratva law. Makes you and your son untouchable to other Russian crime families, including his own.” The words spill out quickly, and she immediately looks like she’s revealed too much.

I open my mouth, then close it again, unsure what to say. I’d assumed Pavel was bullshitting with his talk of keeping me safe, that he took me because I’m useful as another chess piece he can manipulate, just like Simon did. Maybe trade me back or use me as leverage, or God knows what else.

But what Dinara’s describing, that Pavel’s actually risking something real to protect me… That he might genuinely care about me beyond my usefulness? That’s territory I can’t afford to explore.

“I never asked to be saved,” I say, but the words lack their usual fire.

Dinara gives me a look that makes me feel impossibly na?ve. “Would you have preferred marrying Simon?”

“No. I would have preferred freedom.”

She shakes her head slowly, silver earrings swaying. “Girl, you’re mafia royalty. There’s no such thing. This might not be what you want to hear, but he’s one of the good ones… relatively speaking. This life doesn’t exactly breed saints.”

I glance over at Kin to make sure he’s still happily occupied. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve known Pavel since I was a kid,” Dinara says, her voice softening. “Yeah, he can be brutal when he needs to be. But he’s loyal, keeps his word, and protects the people he cares about. Always has, even when he was barely more than a kid himself.”

Despite myself, I’m curious. “Like what?”

She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s deciding how much to share.

“After my mom took off, my dad was struggling, barely keeping the gym afloat. Pavel stepped in, made sure we didn’t lose the place, that bills got paid.

But he never made it feel like charity. Always played it off like Dad was doing him a favor training his guys.

” She clears her throat, gathering her hair off her neck.

“He bought the building so Dad could continue doing what he loved. Even put me through school but gave me the choice to work for him without demanding it.”

“Doesn’t make him a hero,” I grumble.

“Just makes him human. The good and the bad.”

I bite my lip. It makes me think about those tortured paintings hidden in his studio, all that raw emotion trapped in paint. We all have things that shaped us.

“He mentioned losing his family young. What happened?”

Her head snaps my way, eyebrows raised. “He told you about Kamilla?”

“Who’s that?”

“His sister. She was his sister.” She grimaces. “It’s really not my story to tell.”

Her answer only makes me more curious. Whatever happened clearly left deep scars, and I find myself wanting to understand what turned Pavel into the complicated man he is now.

Kin waves at us as he spins in dizzy circles, and I wave back, forcing a smile. Dinara waves too. He moves on to stomping through the dandelions like they’re bubble wrap.

“He seems happy.” She waits a beat. “Amazing eyes that kid has.”

My head snaps toward her. What is she getting at? But she’s already rising from the bench with a stretch, changing the subject completely.

“By the way, I hear you need a new wardrobe. Want help? I can have things delivered, and you can choose what works.”

There were basic clothes waiting when we arrived, but if I’m actually settling in here, which is surreal to think about, I’ll need more.

I eye her ripped jeans and motorcycle boots. “Uh, I’m not sure we share the same style.”

I lean toward clean lines and tailored pieces, while her look is more...cyber punk. Which I appreciate. But on her.

She smirks. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.”

A new wardrobe is the least of my worries right now. I need to figure out how to contact Uncle Chen, and Kin needs things too. “Sure. But nothing too...” I trail off, not sure how to finish.

“Nothing too bratva trophy wife?”

“Exactly.”

She winks and saunters away, leaving me with way more questions than answers.