Page 14 of Cruel Russian Pakhan (Safin Bratva #1)

When Vera’s look-alike shoved me back, I was momentarily stunned, and I let go of her. The space she put between us gave me just enough control to catch my breath.

Then the thoughts hit me all at once.

The idea that she might’ve faked every reaction, that she moaned my name just to sell the lie, sent my mind into a tailspin. And yet, even with fury burning in my chest, I still wanted her. Still needed to touch her. To taste her. To drag the truth out of her body in a way she couldn’t fake.

My hardened length had been pressed between her thighs, my mouth devouring hers, God knows what would’ve happened if she hadn’t pushed me away. I had never craved a woman the way I craved her.

But I couldn’t let her get away with what she did, what she and that bastard Artyom had planned.

She expected me to believe she was innocent.

But how the hell could I? This could all still be an act.

It was no secret I didn’t go hard on women.

Maybe that’s why she came back, to exploit that weakness. Maybe Artyom counted on it.

I knew my siblings would have questions, but right now, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the woman standing in front of me, the woman that made me do things that I couldn't quite explain.

I stalked toward her, expecting the usual fire, sharp words, a lifted chin, that damn defiance she wore like armor.

But what I saw instead was fear. And tears.

Tears.

Even when I forced her into marriage, she hadn’t cried. Not once. Now, they slid down her cheeks as she tried to brush them away quickly.

If this was another performance, it was pitiful.

Too bad for her, whatever she thought she could manipulate with those tears, she was wasting her time.

“If you think this little crying game is going to save you,” I said coldly, “you’d better find a new strategy.”

“I thought leaders were supposed to listen!” she snapped, her voice cracking a little more with every word she spoke. “You’re a horrible leader, Lev. You haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said since you walked in!”

I stepped closer, jaw clenched. “And why the hell should I listen to you?”

That’s when her shoulders dropped, and for the first time since I met her, she looked…defeated.

“You know what, Lev?” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m done. I’m done fighting. Done trying to prove anything to you. It doesn’t matter what I say, you’ve already decided who I am. My life is officially over.”

With that, she sank to the floor, buried her face in her hands, and completely broke apart in front of me.

I’d been waiting for this moment, waiting for her to break, to bend, to fall in line. But now that she had, it didn’t feel like a victory.

It felt like I’d gutted her.

Those tears weren’t fake. They were real. And I was the bastard who caused them.

My fists clenched at my sides. I wanted to go to her, to stop the shaking, to tell her…

No.

I forced myself to turn away. I walked to the door, unlocked it, stepped out, and locked it behind me.

Then I made my way downstairs to the office. There was no way I'd get any sleep tonight. Not after discovering I’d married the wrong woman, and the one under my roof, the one that stirred something primal in me, had shattered right in front of me.

I needed to keep my mind busy tonight in my home office. Then tomorrow…I'd figure out what to do next.

Around seven the next morning, a knock echoed at the office door. I was still behind my desk, sleeves rolled up, same clothes from last night, paperwork scattered across my desk.

“Come in,” I said without looking up.

Two sets of footsteps entered, and I looked up then. Marten and Jaroslav dropped into the chairs across from me and I leaned back, setting the pen down.

“What’s the next move?” Marten asked, getting straight to the point.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said.

Jaroslav’s brow lifted. “Where is she?”

“Locked in her room.”

He gave a short nod. “And your read on the situation?”

I leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “I think it was staged. Artyom found her, whoever she really is, and paid her and planted her as a Vera look-alike. He knew if I found out Vera was missing, I’d go after her.

So he fed me a replacement, gave me something to find.

When I didn’t show up at the wedding, and I ‘broke’ the deal, he had his excuse to declare war. ”

“We thought he was insane sending men after you while his sister was with you,” Marten stated.

“But now it makes sense. It wasn’t about killing you, it was about watching you react.

Seeing if you’d protect her. Maybe trauma-bond a little.

Get her under your skin so she could manipulate you.

” He paused. “But, if she did die, he wouldn't lose any sleep over it at night.”

Jaroslav’s expression darkened. “Did she say anything worth noting?”

“She claims she doesn’t know Artyom, that he didn’t pay her.”

Jaroslav studied me for a few seconds. “But you don’t believe her.”

“I don’t.”

“Did she have a phone or ID when you took her?”

“Checked her bag when she first got here, she didn't have a phone. Didn’t think to check her ID for obvious reasons.”

“Have you contacted Timur, yet?” Marten said. “If she has ID, he’ll trace her. If not, we find another way. DNA, contacts, voice records, whatever it takes.”

“That's if her ID isn't fake,” Jaroslav warned them.

“I’ve heard both of you.”

And I did. My brothers didn't give me judgmental stares or become angry about what I had done.

I was their leader, my decisions reflected on my family name.

Instead, they came in, heard me out and laid out a plan so we could uncover the truth.

I pushed past my thoughts and focused on the two men in front of me.

“How are Ninel and Mariya?” I asked Marten.

He shrugged. “They’re worried about her.”

I wasn’t surprised. In the short space of time, I saw the connection between her and my sisters, especially Ninel.

Jaroslav leaned forward. “The sooner we find out who she really is, the sooner we’ll know what she wants, and how to deal with her. With Artyom calling us enemies, keeping a woman in your house we think he planted to deceive you? That’s a liability we can’t afford.”

He was right. The longer it took us to find out who she really was and what she wanted, the more this could blow back on us.

I rose from behind the desk. My brothers did the same.

“We'll continue to play this little charade that she's my wife. The only person to answer questions about her is me, got it?”

“Got it,” my brothers said in unison.

“Have the cook set extra places at the table,” I said. “I’ll join you soon.”

I left the office, and with brisk strides headed toward her room. One way or another, I’d get the truth out of her.

As soon as I unlocked the door and stepped inside, I found her curled up on one end of the sofa, still wearing the same dress from last night.

Her arm rested on the armrest, her head against it.

Her face was blotchy, eyes red and swollen, like she had been crying the whole night. She didn’t even look at me.

“Tell me why you did it. What did Artyom want?”

She closed her eyes, offering no answer.

I crossed the room, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to her feet. She gasped, startled, struggling to pull away.

“Let me go!”

“I asked you a question and I expect an answer,” I snapped. “I’ve tolerated your moods long enough. My patience is gone.”

Her eyes burned. “If you think Artyom sent me, why don’t you ask him who I am?”

I ignored her question.

“Where’s your ID?” I didn’t release her arm.

“In the closet.”

I let her go and watched her rub at the spot where my fingers had gripped her.

“Get it. Now.”

She spun on her heel and disappeared into the closet. When she returned, she handed me the plastic card.

The name read: Katya Simoens.

“My name is Katya Simoens. I’m twenty-two.

I have an associate's degree in office administration.

My mother left me at an orphanage when I was a baby.

I spent most of my life in foster care until I was adopted at thirteen by Daisy and Arnold Simoens.

A week after my sixteenth birthday, they went to the bank and were killed in a robbery. I've been on my own since then.”

Her voice trembled near the end, but she held her chin high.

“I’ve been telling you the truth since the beginning. You can verify everything I just said, I have nothing to hide. But if you won’t check, then let me leave. I’m tired of repeating myself. I'm tired of staying here. I'm tired of you.”

My lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ll leave when I say. Not a moment sooner.”

Katya didn’t argue. She just turned and sank back into the sofa, curling into herself again, ignoring me.

I stared at the ID for a second, then pulled my phone from my pocket and called Timur as I walked out of the room, locking the door behind me.

I made my way to my bedroom.

“Boss,” Timur answered.

“Get me everything you can on a Katya Simoens. I want a photo as well. Send the information as soon as you have it.”

“Yes, boss.”

I ended the call and got ready for the day. After breakfast with my brothers, Marten headed to the club office, and Jaroslav and I headed to the main office downtown.

Right before lunch, an email from Timur popped up. Subject: Katya Simoens.

As I read through the attached file, my chest tightened.

She grew up in foster care. Was adopted at age thirteen. She had her degree. Worked at a diner to put herself through college. The day I kidnapped her, she’d been on her way to a job interview.

Timur even included a photo of Katya with her adoptive parents. But he didn’t stop there. He dug deeper, and what he found made my skin crawl.

Katya was a Rykov.

Timur found footage of their deceased father, the late Bratva leader, entering and leaving hotels with the same blonde woman, each and every time. The man had been having an affair for over a year.

Fuck.

She’d been telling the truth this whole time.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.

“Lev, you really fucked up this time,” I muttered under my breath.

She had no job, no home and no money. All because of me.

Artyom declaring us enemies? I had put her in danger. That was on me, too. I’d married the wrong woman and kicked off a war I never wanted.

Shit.

But acknowledging a mistake wasn’t enough. My father drilled that into me. Mistakes were meant to be corrected.

And that’s exactly what I intended to do.

I grabbed my phone and dialed.

“Safin, what do you want?” Artyom’s voice snapped on the other end.

“We need to talk.”