Page 70 of Brutal Reign

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 sonuntouchable 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 naïve. “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 favortraining 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. Shewashis 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.