Page 16 of Prince of Control (Bratva Heirs #1)

Chapter Nine

Baron

“What did you find out about that little fuck moving in on my wife?” I demand, falling into step with Anya as she heads out the door for class the next day.

Lara already left, giving me the polite but mostly silent treatment for the rest of last night and this morning.

Anya sends me a startled look.

Blyad’ . I let my emotions show through. I’m usually measured and controlled. It’s the reason my friends trust me to lead.

This frustration is a result of going to bed with blue balls and having to share the bed with a beautiful woman who hates me.

Lara’s hurting, I know that. She’s using anger and righteousness to glue herself back together. I’d rather she let me mend the shattered pieces, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

“His name is Denis Penkin. I’m still digging, but I haven’t found a connection between him and the Rostovs. He’s not part of the oligarchy, but his family does seem well-off.”

I grunt, dissatisfied.

“I also didn’t find his application to Thornecroft in the pool submitted last spring.” Anya raises her brows.

It takes me a second to process. “Meaning someone pulled strings to get him in here.”

“Right.”

“Last-minute strings.”

“Probably.”

Just like the ones my dad pulled to get Lara transferred and into the necessary classes on short notice.

“So he’s definitely a spy."

Anya shrugs. “I don’t know if I’d say definitely, but I thought it seemed suspicious.”

“Good work,” I tell her. “That was smart thinking.”

Anya flashes me a quick smile as she pretends to buff her nails on her shirt. “I know, I’m a genius.”

We reach the end of the block, and Anya points to the left. “I’m going this way.”

“I’ll see you later. Keep digging for me.” I walk north to my statistics class.

“Yes, pakhan ,” she calls over her shoulder.

I point in warning as we walk farther away from each other. “Don’t call me that.”

“Just accept it.”

Lara

After my last class, I walk toward Whisper’s End, the bar Denis named to meet him.

Like yesterday, I avoided Baranov House all day. I have time between classes or at lunch to walk back there, but instead, I ate at the food court and studied in the library.

I don’t really want to. I’m having a pity party for myself, and it’s definitely a party of one.

My phone rings as I’m walking with a Facetime call.

I check the screen and sigh. It’s my mom. She’s probably desperate to know whether I’m still alive. I stop under the shade of a tree and answer. “Mama.”

“Lara, thank God,” my mom exclaims in Ukrainian, her native language, and bursts into tears.

I immediately feel terrible for not taking her calls. I also still feel a little bad about ruining my wedding night.

And I’m homesick. Seeing my mom hits hard.

I sink onto a park bench under the tree, uncontrollably crying. “Ah, Mama,” I tell her, “this is why I didn’t call you yesterday. I knew you’d make me cry.”

My mom wipes her tears. There’s a clay smudge on her face. I can see she’s calling from her pottery studio. “Sweetheart, I was so worried. Are you okay? I’m so sorry for everything you’re going through.”

I let the tears out since there’s no stopping them now, and, surprisingly, they pass after just a few moments. When I can calm down and breathe, I show her the wedding ring. “Well,” I draw in a terraced breath. “I’m married.”

“I know, my love. Is he decent enough? What’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” I moan. That bit of regret over last night surges again, and I firmly remind myself that I am the victim here.

My mom wipes her tears and cocks her head at me, peering into the screen like she wishes she could climb through and hug me. “He must not be that bad.”

I frown, offended that she would defend him. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you sound conflicted. That means you like something about him. What is the conflict? Are you missing the guy you were dating in Paris? Abrasha?”

“Brash? No. He keeps calling, though.” I sigh. “The conflict is that I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be married. I’m scared for you and Papa and for me.”

“We’re safe. We’re all safe. Your father believed this was the best way to ensure our safety.” I hear the disagreement in her tone. “But tell me about Benjamin. I haven’t seen him since he was in preschool.”

“He’s…” I think of what I went to tell my mother. I return to my complaints. “Mama, Baron–that’s what they call him here–thinks he owns me. Owns me.”

“Mm.” My mom makes a noncommittal sound. “Bratva men are protective.”

“Not just protective. He said I belonged to him.”

“So what’s the good part?”

“There is no good part!” I exclaim, exasperated.

“I can tell there is. I heard it in your voice. You like him, despite your objections.”

“Like him? No.” I sulk.

My mom waits. “Is he good-looking?”

The image of him standing naked in the shower pops into my mind, and my body instantly heats.

I think of the bulge of his muscles. The confidence in the way he touches me.

“Yes,” I keep my voice neutral. “He’s handsome.

And…he is good in bed. Well, we haven’t done it in the bed, but he’s, um… he knows what he’s doing.”

My mom gives a light laugh. Seeing her smile relaxes the tight knot between my ribs. My mom is an artist–a fun-loving, wild, and wacky woman usually full of laughter and overflowing with love. That’s why her tears killed me. “Well, there’s something to be said for that. So does your fa–”

“Stop!” I cut her off. “I don’t want to hear that. Ugh.”

She chuckles. “Well, I will tell you that attraction was all we had at first, too. It started with sex. Your dad kidnapped me, and I seduced him.”

“What?”

“True story. And now here we are, madly in love twenty-five years later.”

“What do you mean he kidnapped you?”

“It’s a long story. I’d rather tell you another time in person.”

“Oh my God, Mama. You just smashed my entire reality into little bitty pieces.”

“The point is, as long as there’s chemistry between you, the most difficult situations can be worked out. I believe it was all meant to be. If your dad hadn’t wanted to kill mine, we never would have met, and I wouldn’t be with the love of my life. Maybe you and Benjamin are meant to be.”

I think about Baron. Not just the sex, but the way he washed my hair last night and brought me coffee this morning.

How he holds doors for me. The way he anticipates and takes care of my needs.

I could get used to a man taking care of me the way my dad does with my mom.

A man who acted like the world revolved around me, and he would rip the heart out of every dragon or man who tried to come near me.

I could get used to it, but not with a man I can’t trust. Not with a man who is literally holding me and my family prisoner.

I glance at the time on my phone. “Mama, I have to go. I have a date with a guy from Russia I met yesterday.”

“A date ?” My mom sounds appalled.

I roll my eyes. “Not a date-date. We’re just meeting for a drink.”

“That sounds like a date. Lyubimaya , Benjamin isn’t going to stand for that.”

The same sense of rebellion rises in me that made me agree to meet Denis in the first place. Benjamin Baranov thinks he owns me. I’m going to prove he doesn’t.

“I don’t care, Mama. I’m going to show him he can’t control me.”

I end the call with my mom before she can lecture me and walk to Whisper’s End.

Denis sits at an open laptop at a high-top table for two near the window opposite the door.

A beer and basket of fries sit beside him, and his books sprawl across the table.

He has a goofy, disheveled look, and his face lights up when he sees me.

If my mom could see him, she would know that there’s nothing about this guy that would worry Baron.

“Hi.” I greet him in Russian and slide into the chair opposite him. “How was your second day?”

He slaps the laptop closed. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would.”

Wow. This guy is like a puppy.

His gaze goes to my wedding ring. I don’t know why I didn’t take it off. Maybe I was afraid it would provoke a battle I wasn’t sure I could handle. “Is…that new?” he asks. “I mean, I didn’t notice a wedding ring yesterday. That is a wedding ring, isn’t it?”

I finger the thin gold band. No words come out of my mouth.

How do you explain to a stranger that you just got married to another stranger because your dad basically sold you off as a child? Is that something you share with a guy you just met? Probably not.

In fact, it’s probably not something I should share with anyone.

For one thing, I don’t like the way it makes me feel. My self-image doesn’t have room for the idea of me as chattel.

I draw a deep breath and sigh it out. “Yeah. I got married yesterday, actually.”

I must sense the storm that is Benjamin Baranov barrelling toward us because my gaze pulls to the glass door moments before he yanks it open. He stalks straight toward us with a scowl firmly in place on his handsome face.

My stomach draws up into a tight knot, regret for my choices worming past my justifications.

Not because I’m afraid of Baron–although I am, a little–but also because whatever this turns into doesn’t feel worth it.

I didn’t really want to meet this guy for a drink.

It was a pity meeting because he seemed lonely, but I don’t have the energy to spare right now for extra battles.

“Oh good.” My voice is flat. I don’t take my gaze off Baron’s approach as I speak. “Here comes my husband now.”