Page 31 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

When I wake up, my head pounds. For a brief moment, I panic and think I’m still in the Kuznetsovs’ clutches, drugged and tied.

But then, the room begins to look familiar, and I steady my breathing, remembering that I am safe. I’m with my brothers, and the doctor said the drug could take some days to leave my system.

This morning, my brain feels less foggy. The past two days were a haze. On the first night back, Tikhon told me I slept for eighteen hours straight. It was only when I woke up that he told me everything that had happened.

Ilariy had helped. I feel, with a hollow ache, like I’m not home. Home is where Ilariy is.

I push myself up against the pillows, wincing a bit as the blood gushes from my head.

Just then, I hear Tikhon from the doorway. “You’re awake.”

I look to see him walk over to me with a glass of water and some pills in his hand. He gives me the medicine, which I chase down with the water, before handing the glass back to him.

“How long was I out?” I ask.

“It’s around noon.” He perches on the side of my bed.

“Mm-hmm,” I murmur.

Tikhon leans over and tenderly pokes my nose. “How are you feeling? Andrei and Alexey keep checking on you, and I tell them that if they accidentally wake you, they’ll get a solid whooping.

I let out a snort at the image. The truth is, my brothers have taken such extraordinary care of me, and in these few days, I’m starting to remember them the way I knew them before. It’s hard to stay angry with them when I’m also forced to reckon with the good.

“I’m feeling okay,” I sigh. “Bored.”

What I don’t say is that I miss Ilariy. I look down at my hands, not wanting Tikhon to see the longing that must be written all over my face. There are so many questions I have about that night, but for some reason, I’m afraid to ask them.

I’m afraid that if I let it be known just how much Ilariy means to me, Tikhon might continue his threats. But I have to know exactly what happened. I know they fought together, but are the Letvins—is Ilariy—okay?

I clear my throat and look at Tikhon. “I wanted to know…was it very difficult that night? Was anyone hurt?” I try to ask casually, but something in Tikhon’s eyes shifts.

He looks gentler now. “Everyone on our team was fine,” he murmurs.

I nod, trying to hold back a choke, but my throat bobs. A flash of understanding passes through Tikhon’s eyes.

“I never told you, you know? But that night, Ilariy let me bring you back here,” Tikhon sounds hesitant, but tells me what he needs to. “He said you needed your family.”

I smile. “That’s Ilariy for you.”

“Is he really?” Tikhon looks doubtful.

“When I was at his house.” I look Tikhon in the eyes, “he always put me first.”

Tikhon shifts uncomfortably. “I’m starting to think I was wrong about him.”

I look up, surprised by the admission.

Tikhon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. “Here.”

I stare at it, not comprehending. “What’s this for?”

“It’s yours.” He places it in my hand. “Letvin’s been calling every few hours to check on you.”

My heart leaps, and I clutch the phone like it’s a lifeline. “You’ve been talking to him?”

“Mostly Andrei has.” Tikhon shrugs, but I can see the effort it takes him to appear casual. “He’ll probably call again soon.”

And then, he walks out.

***

I am finishing my breakfast when the phone rings, and my hands tremble when I answer.

“Arina?”

His voice washes over me like a warm tide, and tears spring to my eyes.

“Ilariy,” I breathe.

“How are you feeling?” he asks in such a gentle way that my heart gushes. “Are the drugs out of your system?”

“Mostly.” I lean back against my pillows. “My head still feels fuzzy, but I’m okay.”

“That’s good.” He sounds so relieved.

There’s a pause, a moment that stretches between us, filled with all the things we’re not saying.

“I miss you,” I whisper, because I can’t hold it in anymore.

His intake of breath is audible. “I miss you, too. But I want you to take all the time you need. I know your family—”

“I want to see you,” I interrupt.

“Arina...” There’s a hesitation in his voice that I’ve never heard before. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

“You’re not.” I close my eyes, picturing his face. “I want to see you.”

“I…I don’t know about that,” he says. “How about we take it one day at a time, okay?”

I’m disappointed, but what choice do I have? I can’t just force him to do what I want. “Okay,” I say.

We talk a while longer, during which he tells me what the others are up to and asks if I’m still feeling sick before he ends the call.

For the next four days, Ilariy calls every day.

Twice a day. He’s always so sweet, always so caring.

At the back of my mind, I start wondering what it is he wants.

We talk about everything and nothing at all.

I tell him about the movies I’m watching, and he tells me about what he had for breakfast. We sometimes talk about a shared memory over a laugh, but never, not once, do we talk about what the future might look like.

The more I talk to him, the more I miss him. One morning, Andrei walks in with a bouquet of flowers. He scowls as he hands it to me, and when I read the note, I understand why. The flowers are from Ilariy.

I wonder what this means. Not the flowers, but that Andrei passed them to me. Could it mean that my brothers might accept that there’s no one else for me except Ilariy?

With each consequent call, I hear the longing in Ilariy’s voice. It kills me to see us both suffering when we know what we want. By the end of the week, I know exactly what to do.

***

The following week, when I’m finally feeling like myself again, I go to find Tikhon in his study.

“I need to get out of the house,” I tell him. “I’m going stir-crazy.”

He looks up from his laptop. “Where do you want to go?”

“That Italian place on Riverside.” I keep my voice casual. “I’ve been craving their pasta.”

Tikhon breaks into a smile. “That sounds lovely. Let’s go! When?”

“Can we all go? Tomorrow for brunch?” I ask. “I feel like we haven’t spent much time together since…everything.”

“Arina,” Tikhon’s face softens like it used to when I was just a little girl and he covered for me, no matter what. “That sounds like the best plan.”

That night, I call Ilariy.

“I miss everyone,” I tell him. “Rurik, Agafon, Nikandr, Tatiana, Katya... all of you.”

“They miss you too,” he says softly.

“Could you bring them to Bellini’s tomorrow?” I suggest. “Around noon? Tikhon said I can step out, and he might not let me visit your house, but a quick lunch could be good.”

Ilariy goes quiet, and I cross my fingers. “Everyone?” he asks, a little skeptical.

“Yes, everyone,” I say, a little too fast.

“Arina... what are you planning?”

I wince. Fuck. He knows me too well.

“Trust me,” I whisper. “ Please. ”

His sigh is heavy with concern, but he agrees.

* * *

My heart hammers against my ribs as we pull up to the restaurant. We step out of the car, and I offer my brothers a smile, but it must look pained because Tikhon’s brows furrow.

I turn and we head inside before Tikhon thinks something is wrong.

The host leads us to our table, one set for far too many people, and when Alexey protests, the hostess shrugs and says the others are all reserved.

It’s a lie—I called her the previous night to say I bribed her a little to go along with it. My brothers sit awkwardly, and I scan the restaurant anxiously. There’s no sign of Ilariy and the others yet. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe this was a terrible idea. I begin to panic.

“Arina,” Andrei’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You look pale. Are you feeling alright?”

“Fine,” I say, taking a sip of water to hide my nerves. “Just... tired.”

We’re looking through the menu when I hear the chime over the doorway, and when I look up, my heart gives a little lurch. They’re here. Ilariy, Agafon, Lilibeth, Bogdan…everyone.

Tikhon follows my line of sight, and when he sees who has my attention, he gasps. “What the hell are they doing here?”

My brothers exchange tense looks, and from across the room, I see the Sokolovs freeze.

Shit. I need to settle them all down before this blows up.

“Tikhon, don’t do anything. I invited them here,” I whisper urgently, placing my hand over his. “Please.”

His eyes snap to mine, and his face turns red—“You set this up.”

“I had to,” I plead. “We can’t go on like this.”

Before he can protest, I stand and softly motion everyone over. Agafon looks skeptical, but Ilariy says something that has him convinced, and they all cautiously approach our table.

“Sokolov,” Agafon meets Tikhon’s glare.

“Letvin,” Tikhon responds coldly. “This is a surprise.”

“For us too,” Agafon looks right at me with a twinkle in his eye.

“Please,” I gesture to the empty chairs, “Sit.”

For a terrifying moment, I wonder which party will walk away and place a mental bet on mine. But then Ilariy pulls out a chair directly across from me, and the others slowly follow suit while my brothers remain seated, and I can’t believe what the hell is happening.

Our waiter approaches with an eager smile that falters when he senses the tension.

“Um, drinks?” he asks uncertainly.

“Whiskey,” Tikhon and Ilariy say in unison, then glance at each other with barely concealed hostility.

After we order, I take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“I brought you all here because I have something to say.” I sound more confident than I feel. “And I need everyone to listen.”

Everyone watches with tense postures, and I feel my courage waver until I meet Ilariy’s eyes, where he gives me the smallest smile that fills me with courage.

“I’m tired of being caught in the middle of this feud,” I continue. “I don’t want to have to pick between my family and—” I swallow hard, gathering my courage. “And the man I love .”

I hear murmurs around me as Tikhon reaches over, grabbing my hand, and his eyes look panicked. “Arina!” he chides me, like I’m admitting to a crime.

I shake his hand off.