Page 9 of Pregnant Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #13)

I couldn’t sleep that night. Not with the way Federico had looked at me. The way he’d refused to give me a straight answer.

There was a constant itch at the back of my brain.

I saw too much blood.

Bar fight, my ass.

I’d seen enough bar fights during my waitressing days to know what they looked like. Where was the black eye? The split lip?

Federico’s face was untouched. All I saw was blood on his jacket. A pool of dried blood. The kind that didn’t come from having been punched.

Federico was lying. The question was: about what?

Eventually, I fell asleep. But when I woke up the next morning, I thought again of last night. After showering and a quick breakfast, I asked the staff where Federico was.

He had left for work.

Bingo.

That was it. The perfect opportunity.

My mind had been oscillating between worry and curiosity. To understand what could have happened to put Federico in that frightful state.

And there was only one way I could think of to make that happen.

I waited until the housekeeping staff cleaned up and left, then headed straight to his office. Although Federico never indicated any part of the house to be out of bounds to me, somewhere in my heart, I knew he wouldn’t have appreciated me entering his office without him being present.

I looked left and right, and only when I was certain that the coast was clear did I creak open that door.

The door wasn’t locked.

Thank God.

My hands felt clammy, and my throat was dry. I knew this wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have been snooping around like some desperate housewife.

But I was worried sick, and he hadn’t given me a clear answer to the events of last night.

I closed the door softly behind me and, for a moment, stopped. Took in the scene.

His office?

It reeked of influence: beautiful wood paneling, emerald-green leather couches, wooden flooring, large wall-to-wall bookshelves, a sleek mahogany desk, a liquor cabinet, and a cigar collection.

It was the kind of place where important people did important things.

For a brief moment, I thought of walking out, of leaving it untainted. This was a place of good. Where businesses were built, and people were employed.

But I couldn’t force the sight of him injured, bleeding, out of my mind.

In and out, Autumn. I promised myself. I didn’t plan to linger.

I rushed to his computer. To understand what trouble Federico was in meant knowing what he had done. I needed to tap into his communications.

His computer was password-protected. No surprise there. But the drawers...

The top right drawer was simple office supplies and notepads. I opened the one on the left next and found something interesting—‘Bank Statements.’

I pulled it out, wondering what kind of companies he dealt with.

My eyes widened at the numbers.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

These were the kind of numbers you heard about when Elon Musk tanked a stock with a tweet. Or on TV shows about billionaires.

Transfers in the tens of millions.

Both in and out.

Who the hell had I married?

I scanned through the pages, none of the names ringing a bell, when I stopped short.

I couldn’t have read that right.

I traced back the lines to the name that couldn’t be.

My heart dropped.

Megan Malone.

My sister.

I stared at the transaction details, certain I was hallucinating.

Transfer to: Megan Malone

Amount: $100,000.00

Dated for three days after our wedding.

One hundred thousand dollars.

As promised, Federico had transferred the five grand to the loan sharks before our wedding. With the wedding being so recent, I hadn’t yet brought up the rest of the funds.

According to the contract we signed, he was supposed to pay off Mom’s debts directly and transfer $25,000 to Megan for her tuition next month. I thought I’d remind him a week or two in advance.

I never imagined he’d already done it. Just handled it—like it was nothing.

And the worst part? He didn’t even tell me. Not a word. Like, I wasn’t part of the deal at all.

And he sent four times the needed amount.

The paper shook in my hands. One hundred fucking thousand dollars. Enough for Megan’s entire education. Enough to change our lives completely.

I fell back in Federico’s chair, feeling like I’d been sucker-punched.

***

Later that evening, I heard Federico’s car in the driveway. I had been waiting all day to talk to him and rushed out of my room, running down the stairs.

I found him in the living room, mid-motion, tugging his jacket off his shoulders.

The move pulled his shirt taut across his broad, sculpted, annoyingly solid chest. I found myself staring before my brain caught up with my eyeballs.

Oh god.

Was I actually ogling him?

Internally screaming to abort the mission, I yanked my gaze up—

Right into his beautiful green eyes.

He arched a brow.

Of course, he’d noticed.

He broke into a smug, devastating half-smile. “Like what you see?”

“Oh, please.” I felt myself blush, and to distract him, rolled my eyes. “It looks like your ego finally outgrew your shirt.”

“Your mother should have washed your mouth with soap,” he dished right back.

I shrugged. “Who said she didn’t?”

His grin widened, the heat in his eyes growing like he was enjoying our little game far too much.

But I hadn’t come here to play.

I let the smile slip from my face. Straightened. “Either way, I’m not here to trade jabs with you, Federico.”

His expression immediately sobered, concern taking over. He motioned to a seat. “What’s up? Did something happen?”

I shook my head. Refused to sit.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” I blurted. “You sent Megan a hundred grand?”

“How do you know that?” he asked, freezing.

My mind scrambled for a lie. There was no way I was going to tell him I had been spying on him.

“She’s my sister?” I looked at him like he’d asked me how to boil an egg. “She told me, of course.”

But she hadn’t noticed. Not yet. If Megan had seen that kind of money land in her account, she would’ve called me in a panic.

She didn’t even know who Federico was. To her, that transfer—whenever she did notice it—would look like a bank error or some kind of scam.

And when that call came, I’d have to be ready. I needed another lie.

“Oh, right.” He loosened his tie, looking uncomfortable. “What about it?”

“Why?” I asked. “We agreed on twenty-five thousand for her next tuition. Why would you give her one hundred thousand?”

He sighed and walked over to the bar. Poured himself a drink. Motioned at the bottle. I shook my head.

He sipped and turned to face me, casually leaning against the bar. Rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Stuck one hand in his pocket. Picked up the glass with the other.

His eyes burned through mine.

God, he looked good.

Too good.

“You had mentioned your sister had some personal tuition loans in our contract that she intended to repay when she got a job,” he said finally. “I added extra for her to pay those off, with interest.”

I stared at him, stunned. “But why?”

“Tuition loans can bury people,” he shrugged.

“But that’s not your problem. The entire world takes tuition loans,” I protested. “Why give my sister an out?”

“It was part of our arrangement. I take care of your financial problems.” He sipped his drink. “All of them. Your sister’s problems are yours. Yours are mine.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“Would you have accepted if I had?” He levelled a look daring me to answer with honesty. “Or would your pride have gotten in the way?”

My cheeks burned.

He was right—I would have balked at such an enormous sum.

I would have been convinced that there was an even higher price to pay.

“Fine. But it still doesn’t explain why you chose me. I’m nobody,” I started. “You could have any woman in New York. You’re loaded. Very powerful. Very influential. So why marry someone who brings nothing to the table? No connections? No grace? Admit it, I’m far from the perfect housewife.”

Even as the words left my mouth, I hated how small they sounded. My voice stayed normal, but inside, I was withering—dragging myself through the familiar list of all the ways I was a failure.

A look of shock crossed his face. It stole the teasing edge from his mouth as he narrowed his eyes.

And that, somehow, was worse.

That look said How little do you think of yourself?

“Is that what you think? That I settled?”

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense.” I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “You married a woman who brings nothing to the table.”

He set his glass down and walked toward me until he stood inches away. Until my stomach turned.

“Nothing?” His voice dropped lower.

“What possible value could I have to someone like you?” I asked, my voice quivering now.

He met my gaze with his dark green, wild, and beautiful eyes. “You’re clean.”

“Excuse me?”

“In my problematic world, everyone has an angle. Every woman wants something. Status, money, connections. You never wanted any of that. You have none of that. You’re the kind of woman that men in my world would respect.” He nearly whispered the last word, “Admire.”

“And that’s it?” I pressed. “No other motive? Just... a simple wife?”

He laughed under his breath. It wasn’t unkind—it was incredulous.

His eyes flicked over me slowly, with certainty.

“Nothing about you is simple.”

My breath caught. I forced myself to look away before I crumbled completely. Before he saw how much his words got under my skin.

I needed space—to breathe, to think.

To study the facts.

In his world—the business world, where people tossed around millions as if it were spare change—it made sense that he’d want someone who wasn’t trying to gain from him. I didn’t understand that world. I’d never belonged to it.

And maybe that’s exactly why he needed me.

We stood there a little longer. In silence. For a brief, stupid moment, I had started wondering if maybe he’d seen something in me that day near his car.

Something real.

But that was fantasy. This was business.

“Right,” I said flatly. “You needed someone without motives. Got it.”

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“The money bothers you.”

I looked back. “No. The secrets bother me. If you send any more money to my sister, you need to discuss it with me first.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

***

I barely slept that night. I tossed and turned, playing the conversation over and over. The way he’d looked at me when I asked if there was another motive. The caution in his eyes when he answered.

Federico Lebedev was a man of consequence. Every action had a purpose. Every decision was strategic.

So why me? Why really?

He wanted a wife with a clean image.

But what was the point of having one when he kept me from his world?

By morning, I’d made a decision.

If I were going to be his ‘perfect image’ wife, then I wasn’t going to be a passive participant.

We had made a deal, and I wasn’t going to freeload off it.

I found him in the kitchen, reading the paper while the chef prepared his breakfast. I slid into the chair across from him.

“I want a job.”

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “A job.”

“Yes. If I’m going to be the perfect wife for you, then I need something to do besides lounging around all day.” I leaned forward. “I need to uphold my end of the bargain.”

He put aside his newspaper. Leaned forward. “I’m listening…”

“I don’t want to be a charity case. I want to contribute. To earn my keep.”

Federico tilted his head. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know yet. But whatever it is the other wives do socially, I need to do the same,” I met his gaze steadily. “I’m not going to be the desperate girl you rescued. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it as equals.”

“Equals,” he repeated slowly, as if trying the word on for size. Then he smiled—slow, genuine, maybe even proud. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”