Page 35 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

Besides the Pakhan’s birthday, which he had to attend, he hadn’t stepped foot in the estate for over a month. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed the warmth and familiarity of it until he drove himself and Maeve there at Mikhail’s request.

The cat was already out of the bag. By morning, he’d woken up to his brothers in the room, scolding him for going on a mob hunt without asking for any kind of help.

Fedya knew from the moment Maeve called Viktor last night that his plan had been compromised, but he hated that he hadn’t been there when Maeve told them the truth.

He hated that he wasn’t there to defend her, to let them know she was not at fault for everything that had happened so far.

He hated that he wasn’t there to let them know that he didn’t deserve her, that he hadn’t been afraid to die—he never was—but that he had been afraid that he might’ve failed to protect the one person he could no longer bear to lose.

Though he had a feeling they knew that already.

As much as Fedya missed the estate, he didn’t particularly like being reprimanded like a kid in Mikhail’s office.

Her brothers had made sure their stuff had been moved from the safe house to the estate even before Fedya was discharged from the hospital.

A wing had been provided for them already, but Mikhail needed their attention first. It was a long-coming conversation anyway.

It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, but he wasn’t pleased with the hard look he was giving Maeve, who was standing right next to him.

“I know everything,” Mikhail started, shifting his gaze to his cousin. “I know the marriage was a complication.”

“I don’t have any intentions of letting her go,” Fedya said truthfully. “I’d rather you kill me than ask me to divorce her simply because you’re not in support.”

“I never said I’m not in support.”

Maeve took a shaky breath next to Fedya, shifting a little on her heels.

Mikhail sighed, glancing back at the towers of folders on his desk.

“I’ve moved both of you to the estate because it’s safer here.

Cormac might’ve known your identity this whole time.

I don’t think handing over his daughter to you was simply because of bad parenting.

He planted her there, and that ambush last night was clearly a part of his mind games. ”

Maeve stiffened beside him.

Fedya frowned. “She doesn’t know anything about it.”

Mikhail ignored his cousin, turning to his wife instead. It was intimidating to look at him, but Maeve did so anyway, just like she had that night at his party. “And you. Do you know what your father’s up to?”

“He hates you.”

Mikhail cracked a rare smile. “Yes, he does.”

“But I don’t know what he’s up to,” she added quietly. “He doesn’t tell me everything.”

“But he’s using you,” Mikhail said, pointing his pen at her. Fedya noticed Maeve’s eyes flick from the Pakhan to the pistol on his table. “Maybe without your knowledge. Maybe not.”

A muscle in Fedya’s jaw twitched. “Stop.”

“I’m not accusing your wife, cousin. I’m only asking a question.” To Maeve, he asked, “What do you know about your father’s movement with Aleksander?”

“Nothing.”

Mikhail smiled. “I don’t believe you, Maeve.”

“That’s enough,” Fedya snapped. He wasn’t usually disrespectful. In fact, he barely raised his voice at anyone, let alone the Pakhan. But he was annoyed, irritated, and couldn’t stand one more minute of Maeve quivering under his cousin’s gaze. “If you have any questions, ask me.”

Mikhail turned back to his cousin, unfazed by his behavior. “Do you trust her?”

“I love her.”

“Don’t annoy me, Fedya. That’s not what I asked.”

The beat of silence that followed was deafening. Fedya took a long, well-needed breath, held Maeve’s sweaty hand, and said, “Yes. I do.”

“Good.” Mikhail didn’t look convinced. “Trust is the backbone of any relationship. Are you aware of that, Maeve?”

Maeve nodded, licking her chapped lips. “Yes, I am.”

“Very well then.” He looked back at the opened folder on his table, but he was speaking to Fedya now. “I’m impressed by your efforts with The Butcher, but he’s our responsibility now. You’re not handling him on your own anymore, so leave it to us. Understood?”

“Understood.”

That was done and over with. Yet, Fedya couldn’t fight the sudden urge of restlessness that gnawed at his bones.

Rage—that was what he felt towards Cormac, for letting his daughter be in harm’s way.

He wanted to kill him, to take his life as soon as he could.

But he needed to be patient. It wasn’t a one-man mission anymore.

His entire family was now involved in this.

They were all working together to take care of the matter as soon as possible.

And at least he had Maeve on his side. He’d told her he loved her while they were at the hospital.

He wasn’t drunk on anesthesia. He’d told her the truth because he needed her to know it and to remember it no matter what she did.

He loved her even more as she tried everything to take his mind off her father’s ambush, adored her even more when she showed him the portrait she’d been working on that turned out to be the exact replica of him, and trusted her even more when she remained by his side every second of the day.

So, even when that ugly voice persisted in his brain, the one of Mikhail asking her if she knew the importance of trust in a relationship, he made sure to lock it deep in a cage in his mind, pretending like he’d never heard them in the first place.