Page 19 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

For a week straight, I found it impossible to stop thinking about our little taco dinner.

It had been fun, of course. But that’s not what stayed with me. Something changed in how I viewed Federico and his life after he opened up to me about his family, parents, everything.

He finally told me the truth. And for those few hours, I forgot to be afraid of him and his world.

And then I started wondering, had there ever been anything to be afraid of in the first place?

Perhaps what I needed most was to gain a deeper understanding of the world I had married into.

Maybe it was time to face his— our —life head-on.

The next morning, I barged into Federico’s office. He looked up, surprised to see me.

“Autumn!” He rose, his features softening. “Good morning.”

“Can we talk?” I said boldly, walked over, and took a seat. He hovered above his desk for a few seconds, clearly confused by the unexpected visit, but finally sat back down.

“How can I help?”

“I’ve been thinking,” I started, “I want to understand your business better.”

His eyebrows shot right up. “My business?”

“Yes. The Bratva stuff.”

Federico leaned back in his chair, studying me. “Why the sudden interest?”

“It’s not sudden. I’ve been thinking about it since our dinner. You were honest with me, and I appreciate that. But knowing what you do in theory is different from understanding it.”

“Understanding it won’t make it less illegal,” he pointed out.

“I know that. But I’m your wife, even if it’s just on paper. The other women in your family all know what’s going on. They’re involved, right?” I pressed.

“You want to be involved in criminal activities now?” His voice was skeptical, but there was a tilt of amusement in his voice.

“No!” I said immediately. “The less criminal ones. The parts that won’t get me arrested on sight, anyway.”

Federico’s lips twitched. “Most of what we do could get you arrested on sight.”

“Then show me the least illegal parts.” I leaned forward. “What do you do that’s considered safe waters?”

“Well.” He furrowed his brows. “We have casinos. Bars. Hotels.”

“Perfect!” I clapped my hands excitedly. “Casinos. Let’s start with that. I want you to take me to the casino.”

“You want me to take you where ?” Federico’s brow arched like I’d just suggested we honeymoon in prison.

“To the casino,” I said, folding my arms. “I want to see how you work. And don’t worry. I won’t shatter just because my mother had a gambling problem. The addiction wasn’t hereditary.”

He gave me a small smile—one part sad, the other still confused—and I knew I needed to nudge him just a little more.

I shrugged. “Look, I’m already here. We’re already married. I already know you disappear at weird hours and carry weapons. I’d just like to understand it. Be useful, maybe.”

That got a reaction. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t immediately shut it down.

I pressed on. “I’ve seen how your family operates. They’re not what I expected. They’re kind. Even Dante said something semi-decent last week, which I’m still recovering from. And you, with that taco stand…” I smiled. “You’re not just some scary mafia boss, you know.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t tell the world. They’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

“You are soft,” I said without thinking, and the moment I did, something shifted in his face. In my chest. My heart let out a little skip, as if at last I was speaking the truth.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck like the idea physically itched. But then he nodded.

“Fine. Just for a walkthrough. There’s a casino downtown that we own. It’s one of our cleaner operations. I’ll take you there tonight. And only because you said I looked soft.”

I sat up straighter, in disbelief. “Tonight?”

“Unless you’re busy?” His eyes danced with challenge.

“No, I—tonight works.” I stood up to leave before he changed his mind, feeling strangely victorious.

***

The casino gleamed like a jewelry box from the outside: a beautiful porch, valet service, expensive cars, and an actual red carpet.

“The Royal Flush,” I read the elegant sign as Federico helped me out of the car. “Subtle.”

He shrugged. “Caspian named it. He thinks he’s clever.”

“It is kind of clever,” I admitted.

Federico placed his hand at the small of my back as we approached the entrance. I was hyperaware of that light touch through my black cocktail dress.

The truth? I had shivers shooting down my spine.

“Remember,” he murmured close to my ear when we bypassed the line and walked through a private entrance, “this is a legitimate business. We pay taxes. We have licenses. The only thing slightly off-book is who owns it.”

“And where some of the money comes from and goes,” I added. “I’m guessing with so many people coming in, cash deposits aren’t scrutinized?”

“That too.” He looked at me, impressed, and for some reason, that one look filled me with pride.

Inside, the casino was stunning. It was the kind of place that only high rollers came to.

From the crystal chandeliers and dim lighting to the modelesque hostesses and free-flowing Dom Pérignon, everything whispered exclusivity.

Wall-to-wall carpeting created a hushed atmosphere, private couch sections promised secrecy, and soft live music blurred the edges of reality.

Here, patrons didn’t just expect the best—they paid for it as if money literally meant nothing.

“This is yours?” I whisper, taking it all in.

“The family’s. I manage security mostly,” he explained.

He guided me further into the casino, past tables of blackjack and roulette, past well-dressed patrons absorbed in their games.

I noticed how people responded to Federico’s presence.

Some with warm smiles, others with deference.

A few with fear. The staff straightened as he passed.

A few patrons raised their glasses in his direction by way of greeting.

“You’re like a celebrity here,” I observed.

“More like the principal at school,” he said. “No one wants to get called to my office.”

I let out a snort.

“Mr. Lebedev,” a professional-looking woman in a red dress approached. “We weren’t expecting you tonight.”

“Impromptu visit, Mira. This is my wife, Autumn.”

The woman’s eyes widened fractionally before she schooled her expression. “Why, Mrs. Lebedev! It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I said, feeling oddly formal.

“Everything running smoothly?” Federico asked.

“Yes, Sir. Numbers are good. No incidents this week.” She hesitated. “Although Mr. Dante is here tonight, handling that... situation we discussed.”

I felt Federico tense beside me. “Where?”

“High-roller room. With Mr. Liu.”

“Thank you, Mira.”

She nodded and melted back into the crowd.

“Problem?” I asked quietly.

“Nothing serious. Just some business Dante’s handling.” He steered me toward a different section of the casino. “Let me show you how the floor works.”

For the next hour, Federico gave me a tour that no regular patron would have ever received. He explained the security measures—the angles of the cameras, the plainclothes woven through the crowd, and the dealers trained to spot cheaters.

“Every game is slightly weighted in the house’s favor,” he explained as we watched a roulette wheel spin. “But not enough that people feel cheated. The real money isn’t in taking everyone for everything they have—it’s in keeping them coming back, spending consistently.”

“So it’s psychological?” I asked, fascinated despite my family history. Despite the pain and trauma my mother caused us. “Makes people…addicted?”

The truth was, I had always wondered how she could have been so foolish. That night, in some small way, I hoped to understand.

Federico tilted his head at me, as though he could read my thoughts.

“Yes,” he said, softly. “It’s a sad truth of the business, but the place is designed to reel and keep people in.

You see?” He pointed to the walls. “There are no clocks. No windows. The lighting keeps people relaxed, but alert. The music transitions so damn slow that an hour can pass by and people will think it’s the same track. ”

I studied the patterns, saw what he meant. “That’s... manipulative.” I couldn’t help the accusatory tone that came with my words.

“That’s business,” he corrected. “Every casino in the world does it. But, we also have a blacklist. Anyone who we feel is self-sabotaging or putting themselves in grave danger, we don’t allow back in.

We see the signs. Credit lines unpaid. Depressive mannerisms. In fact, we allow people to blacklist themselves. Not all casinos do that.”

I watched Federico as he spoke, the way his eyes softened when he explained how they were different. Almost as though he was trying to tell me something, like he wished my mother visited establishments like this rather than the seedy ones she did.

And the truth? I wished so too. If someone had to gamble, a place like this seemed like a better option.

Federico continued guiding me forward. We rounded a corner near the high-roller rooms, nearly colliding with Dante.

“Well, well,” Dante gave me a hug, then turned to Federico. “Did you finally bring your wife to career day?”

Federico didn’t miss a beat. “You’re still not allowed to speak to her without a warning label.”

“Relax.” Dante grinned at me. “Welcome to the circus. You ever dealt cards?”

“Uno,” I said. “Aggressively.”

That earned a real laugh from both of them.

“You’re lucky,” Dante said to me. “This guy’s got a brain under all that brooding. Stick with him. You might even end up running the place one day.”

Federico muttered something under his breath in Russian, but Dante just winked and melted into the crowd.

“Do all your meetings start with insults and end in compliments?” I asked.

“Only with family,” sighed Federico. “Come.” He placed his hand on my lower back again.

God. Why was it that every time he did so, I felt like I’d been electrocuted? In the best possible way, of course.

We ended up in a huge office filled with desks and computers, and massive screens.

“This is our nerve center,” Federico explained. “Everything gets tracked here—wins, losses, patterns, potential issues.”

I scanned the room, taking it all in. “It’s pretty high tech.”

“Did you think we kept the books in crayon?” he teased.

“Honestly? I wasn’t sure what to expect.” I picked up a spreadsheet, studied the columns of numbers. “This is a cash flow analysis.”

“Yes.” He sounded surprised. “You know accounting?”

“I took some online classes when I thought I might someday start a business of my own.” I scanned the document more carefully. “These numbers don’t match up.”

Federico stepped closer, looking over my shoulder. “Where?”

I pointed to a section. “Here. And here. The daily reconciliations are off by small amounts, but they add up. Either someone’s skimming or there’s an error in the tracking system.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a low laugh. “I’ll be damned.”

“What?”

“You just found something our regular accountant missed.” He took the paper from me with gleaming eyes. “Would you want to look at these more regularly? It would be... helpful.”

I blinked, surprised by the offer. “You’d trust me with your books?”

“They’re legitimate books,” he pointed out. “The interesting accounting happens elsewhere. But this?” He tapped the paper. “This is just good business.”

I considered it. Part of me thought I should say no, that I was crossing a boundary here. But another part—the part that had been bored and restless in that big house—was intrigued.

“I could come in a few days a week,” I said cautiously. “Just to help organize and check the numbers.”

Federico smiled at me like I had been the one to do him a favor, when it was the other way around.

***

Two weeks later, I had my own desk in the back office of The Royal Flush. It was small, tucked in a corner, but it was mine. I came in three afternoons a week, working through the books, finding discrepancies, and suggesting improvements.

It was the most normal I’d felt since marrying Federico.

One morning, I was focused on reconciling last week’s take when Federico appeared at my door, leaning against the frame with a smirk that made my stomach flip.

“You’re becoming a fixture around here,” he said. “The staff has started calling you Mrs. Boss.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m hardly the boss.”

“You fired two dealers last week for skimming.”

“I reported inconsistencies in their tables,” I corrected him. “ You fired them.”

“After you showed me exactly how they were doing it.” He came in, perching on the edge of my desk. “The point is, you’re good at this.”

I tried not to preen under his praise. “It’s just numbers. They don’t lie.”

“Unlike people,” he said wryly.

I looked up at him, caught by his expression. It was intense, the way he looked at me. “Are you okay with this? Me being here so much?”

“More than okay.” He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The casual intimacy of it made my breath catch.

And then, like he realized what he just did, he jumped off my desk. Muttered something about how he needed to be somewhere else and rushed out of the office.

It took my racing heart a solid ten minutes to calm down from the feel of his fingers brushing up against my ear.