Page 2 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

I hit submit on my fifteenth job application for the day and slammed my computer shut. My head ached, and my back felt like it had whiplash. I groaned and leaned back, sinking into Chloe’s couch, which also served as my pull-out bed these days.

It had been three days since I packed my bags and moved out of my apartment. Thank god I never looked back at my crazy ex and equally crazy roommate. Thank God for my best friend, Chloe, who not only demanded that I come live with her but also lent me three hundred—very much needed—dollars.

I needed a job, and I needed one fast. I hadn’t stepped out of the apartment since I arrived. Day and night, all I thought about, did, and breathed was job applications. So far, I had zilch to show for all my efforts.

Literally, I didn’t have one single interview lined up. Not a single call-back.

The universe was having a grand old time watching me spiral, wasn’t it? I’d gone from having a decent job, a boyfriend, and an apartment to being jobless, single, and technically homeless in the span of twenty-four hours. If my life were a movie, critics would pan it for being too damn depressing.

“Any luck?” Chloe asked, emerging from her bedroom with her curly hair piled high in a messy bun, looking annoyingly put-together despite just waking up.

“About as much luck as The Titanic,” I scowled. “I’ve applied to everything from receptionist positions to dog walker gigs. At this point, I’d happily scrub toilets if it meant a steady paycheck.”

Chloe plopped down beside me and placed her arm over my shoulders. “You know you can stay here as long as you need, right? No rush.”

I forced a smile, even though my insides twisted with guilt. “I know, and you’re literally a saint for letting me crash here. But I can’t keep sleeping on your couch forever.”

“It’s only been three days,” she reminded me.

“I know, I know,” I sighed. “But I’m cramping your style.”

“You’re my best friend!” she protested. “You’re meant to cramp my style.”

“I just… don’t want to become a parasite, you know?” I admitted, my throat hurting from how helpless I felt. She snorted. “Please. After that time in college when I had typhoid and you spoon-fed me soup for a week? This is nothing.”

That was Chloe—always downplaying her kindness.

But the truth was, I needed to get my shit together, and fast. She thought I didn’t know, but I’d overheard phone calls.

She had forbidden her boyfriend from coming over to crash because she didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable.

I mean, who even did that? I was putting her out, and she was acting like it was no big deal.

No matter what, this wasn’t a permanent solution.

In fact, it wasn’t even a temporary solution. It was just a painful one at best.

She probably saw the mental struggle on my face. “Hey, hey,” Chloe whispered, squeezing my shoulder as she watched me with concerned eyes. “Don’t worry, you hear? You’re my best fucking friend in the world. I’m going to help you for as long as you need. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, knowing better than to argue. Chloe truly would have walked to the world’s end for me. But the truth was that I didn’t want her to have to do that. “I just need to get back on my feet, you know?”

“I’m sure you will,” she said, jumping off the couch. “Well, I’d better get dressed. Need to get to work.” She reached her door and then turned to me one last time and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “By the way, any word from the car guy?”

I groaned, covering my face with a throw pillow. “No, and please stop calling him that.”

“Okay,” she shrugged. “How about the glorious rich man you could call ‘husband ’ instead?”

“That’s the one,” I deadpanned, throwing the cushion at her. She laughed and slammed the door shut before it landed smack on her face.

I sighed and settled back into the couch.

Talking about Federico Lebedev made my stomach do an uncomfortable flip.

Of course, it had also been three days since I scratched his car and turned down the most absurd proposal I’d ever heard in my life.

Ever since that bizarre encounter, every time my phone rang, my heart lurched at the thought that he might be calling to collect. To tell me how much I owed him.

And even though it wasn’t ever him, my mind kept replaying his insane proposition in my head at least half a dozen times a day.

I need a wife.

What kind of person proposes marriage to a complete stranger? A crazy person, that’s who.

Or maybe someone so obscenely wealthy and privileged that they’d forgotten how normal people went about the tradition of getting married. Maybe in their world, they want it, they get it.

“I still can’t believe you turned him down,” Chloe had said when I’d told her what had happened. “You said he was gorgeous, loaded, and practically offering you a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“I’d basically be a glorified escort.” I rolled my eyes at her.

“With a platinum credit card and a diamond on your finger.”

I threw a pillow at her. “I have standards, Chloe!”

“Standards are great when you’re not about to be living in your car,” she had teased, but her smile softened. “I’m kidding. I get it. It was creepy. Hot, but creepy.”

I sighed and opened up my laptop again, ready for the next leg of applications. It was only a matter of time before he would call about that car. I had his number somewhere. Toyed with the idea of calling to ask how much I owed him. I definitely wasn’t going to run from my mistakes.

But how could I call when I had no money to offer? It seemed better, I thought, to wait for him to call. To let him know I was serious about repaying him. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’d have some money to back my words up by then. Back to job hunting it was.

***

“We’ll be in touch.”

The café manager’s voice had that telltale flatness that meant I’d never hear from her again. I’d been through enough interviews to recognize rejection.

“Thank you for your time,” I said, trying to smile but wanting to cry.

I stepped out of the café, and tears sprang to my eyes. That was the second interview I’d landed this week, and I’d struck out again.

Apparently, my years of office administrative experience didn’t qualify me to buss tables or pour wine. Who knew?

My phone rang. For a heart-stopping moment, as always, I thought it might be Federico. But it was just a text from Chloe.

Chloe: How’d it go?

I typed back: About as well as the Titanic’s maiden voyage.

Her response was immediate: Their loss. Come home. I made brownies.

Instead of feeling relieved, I felt guilty.

God bless Chloe for being the best support system I could have asked for.

But I knew that each day I stayed, it only put more stress on her.

She was cooking for two, yet never asked for grocery money.

Her boyfriend was getting pissed whenever he dropped by, hinting at when I might leave.

Things would work out. They had to. I just needed one break, one yes.

***

Later, after dinner, I sat on Chloe’s couch and made a list of bills I couldn’t pay and apartment listings I couldn’t afford. My phone bill was due. So was health insurance. Car insurance. The next installment on mom’s loan. Fuck.

Just then, Megan called. I put aside the list, forced myself to sound cheery when I picked up. My little sister didn’t need to know how badly I was struggling. She had enough on her plate.

“Hey, Megs! How’s campus life treating you?”

Instead of her usual bubbly greeting, her breathing was shaky. “Autumn?” Her voice was small, fragile. “Is this a good time to talk?”

I sat up straight, my heart instantly hammering. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt, but—” She broke off into a sob. “Someone broke into my dorm room. They took the money.”

The money.

My brain took a moment to catch up, and then ice flooded my veins. The loan payment money. The five thousand dollars I’d been scraping together for months to pay off another chunk of our mother’s gambling debts to those Boston loan sharks.

“All of it?” I whispered.

“Yes,” Megan’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Autumn. I had it hidden in my desk drawer, and I was going to drop it off tomorrow like we planned, but when I came back from class—”

“It’s not your fault,” I cut in, even as panic rose in my throat. “Did you report it to campus security?”

“Of course, but they can’t do anything. I shouldn’t have had that much cash in my room to begin with.” She sounded harrowed, guilty.

“Autumn, I called Igor Petrov to explain what happened and ask for more time, but he said the deadline doesn’t change. If we don’t pay by Friday, the interest doubles. And he knows where I live. He said they’ve been watching me.”

My blood ran cold. Igor Petrov was our mother’s primary loan shark, a man who’d been bleeding us dry since her death two years ago. He’d agreed to leave Megan alone as long as I kept making payments, but if we missed one...

“Has he threatened you?” I asked sharply.

“Not exactly, but his guys were waiting outside my dorm yesterday. One of them said they could get me a job at a club that pays really well…” Her voice weakened, terrified.

I knew what sort of a club they meant. Never in a million years would I let Megan into such a place.

The anger made it hard to breathe. The rage, even harder. These monsters were circling my baby sister, the girl I’d practically raised after our father died and our mother disappeared into a world of drinking and gambling.

This was Megan. My baby sister. The one I promised to protest.

“Listen to me, Megan. Don’t go anywhere alone, understand? Stay with friends, stay in public places.”

“What about the money?” she asked, desperation in her voice. “I could take a semester off, get a job—”

“No,” I cut her off firmly. “You are not dropping out. That’s exactly what I’ve been working to prevent.”

I stared at the bills scattered around me, at my zero bank balance on my phone screen.

Even if I somehow landed a job tomorrow, there was no way I could come up with $5,000 by Friday.

Not legitimately.

“I’ll figure something out,” I promised, though I had no idea how. “Just focus on your classes. I’ve got this.”

After hanging up, I sat motionless, my mind racing through increasingly desperate options.

I could ask Chloe for a loan, but she was a grad student with her own mountain of debt.

I could sell my car, but it was barely worth two grand.

I could try to get a loan from the bank, but I had no assets to show for it.

Or...

The business card was still in my wallet. I’d kept it, telling myself it was just in case I needed to arrange payment for the car damage. Not because I’d been thinking about his offer. Not because I’d found myself wondering what life would be like married to a man like Federico Lebedev.

“This is insane,” I muttered to myself, pulling out the card and staring at the number.

But was it any more insane than allowing my sister to fall into the clutches of loan sharks? Than watching all her hard work and dreams disappear because of our mother’s mistakes?

I thought about Megan at eighteen, sobbing at our mother’s funeral, clinging to me like I was the only solid thing in her world.

I remembered promising her that I’d make sure she got through college, that she’d have the opportunities I never did.

That she wouldn’t end up stuck like me, barely scraping by without a degree.

“Fuck,” I whispered. I’d rather work three jobs and live in my car than be some rich guy’s trophy wife.

But this wasn’t about me anymore.

Before I could change my mind, I dialed the number.

“Lebedev,” he answered, and my stomach dropped to my toes.

“Hi,” I said, my voice embarrassingly small. I cleared my throat. “This is Autumn. Autumn Malone? I, um, damaged your car last week.”

“I remember.”

Of course, he remembered. I’d turned him down flat and walked away like he was some creep.

“Right. Well.” I closed my eyes, summoning every ounce of courage I possessed. “I was wondering if your... offer... still stands?”