Page 36 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

Yet, even after her father attempted to kill one of their own in that bar, they still welcomed her into their home. Of course, a few were skeptical—Mikhail, for example, was completely understandable. He led this empire. He had every reason not to trust her, or anyone, for that matter.

After Ilya told her they’d be moved to the family estate, Maeve expected to be treated like a prisoner.

But the walls of the estate didn’t feel suffocating.

She didn’t feel trapped there. She didn’t feel unwanted.

And maybe that was because of Fedya’s siblings, because of the bond she’d already created with them that still—surprisingly—waxed strong even now that they knew who exactly she was.

She was no international law worker in Naples.

She was Maeve O’Rourke, the first and only child of Cormac O’Rourke, and yet, despite that ugly fact about her, she was loved.

She wasn’t glared at or avoided like she feared they might.

Instead, they joked with her like they’d known her all their lives.

Viktor had personally handed her a steaming mug of tea after a particularly tense morning with a nod that almost made her cry.

Kostya still asked if she was sure she didn’t have a sister she didn’t know about.

Irina was still the closest thing to a friend she’d had in years.

And there was Fedya. Fedya, whom she loved even more every single day. Fedya, who was the father of the baby in her womb. Fedya, whom she still hadn’t told about her pregnancy or the messages from her father, simply because she was waiting for the right time.

The right time was starting to look like a poor excuse for her lack of courage. An excuse to prolong her inevitable fear that Fedya could hate her for withholding the truth about her father for so long.

It was starting to take too long, and now that she knew without a doubt that she was in love with him, that she was ready to build a future with him, she decided the right time would never exist.

Good news and bad news.

So three nights after the ambush, she curled beside him in the bedroom they shared, placed a hand over his, and whispered, “I need to tell you something.”

Good news first.

Hopefully, he thought it was good news.

Fedya shifted slightly, tracing her face with his fingers. His thumb lingered over the curve of her mouth. “What is it?”

It was now or never.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence was worse than approval or disapproval.

And Fedya went a little too silent for her own good.

Her heart began to race, her thoughts circling down to the fact that he probably did not think it was good news.

For a moment, she considered herself foolish for dropping the bomb just like that.

She had been thinking about herself alone all this time.

Just because he said he loved her didn’t mean he was ready for a child. It didn’t mean he was ready to start a family now, just because she was.

Oh god. She pulled away from him, feeling sick. But then his arm curled around her waist, pulling her closer. He was staring at her like she was something out of this world.

“You mean it?” His voice was soft, like gentle raindrops falling on her skin. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in pure astonishment. He looked like he was struggling to put himself together.

“Yes,” she nodded, biting her lip. “I took a test at the hospital.”

“You’re fucking incredible, Maeve.” And then he reached out, cupped her cheek, and kissed her like his life depended on it.

Slow and reverent, hard and fast. All at the same time.

It left her dizzy, dazed, and happy. His excitement was suddenly so contagious.

“Fucking hell, Maeve. Do you have any idea how happy you’ve made me? ”

“I thought you would be unhappy—”

He was smiling that dimpled smile. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it until she saw it again. “Why the fuck would I be unhappy about you carrying my—”

A knock came before he could finish his statement.

“I should get that,” he said, still smiling as he kissed her before slipping on a shirt.

Maeve sat up, happy and sad at the same time, because she was supposed to follow with bad news, news of her betrayal.

But he was smiling so damn hard, kissing her so damn hard too, even as another knock reverberated around the room.

Maeve watched from where she sat on the bed as Fedya opened the door.

She could barely see who was behind it since his broad back nearly concealed the entire door.

But then he turned around with a package in his hands—a small brown envelope, thick as if it contained a wad of cash.

He closed the door with a frown, and Maeve rolled off the bed.

“What’s that?” she asked, inching closer to him.

“I’m not sure,” he said, taking a good look at the envelope. There was no return name, no markings, nothing. The paper was coarse, sporting an odd stain.

Then he opened it in front of her, and the moment the box inside was unwrapped, Maeve felt bile rise so violently in her throat that she was surprised she didn’t throw up all over the floor.

Her hand flew up to her mouth as she stared at the disgusting content inside—a human tongue, bloody and severed, resting on a white cloth already stained dark red.

Next to it was a folded letter that Fedya read, cooler than a block of ice, as if there wasn’t a literal tongue in the box he’d just opened.

The smell made Maeve’s stomach lurch. She stepped back, fighting back a gag as she watched Fedya’s features darken slowly the further he read the letter.

“It’s from your father,” he said without looking at her, his fist clenching around the letter. “He says you’ve not done what he asked you to.” He was getting angrier with every word, and Maeve felt the color drain from her face.

“He says you and Margot have been keeping secrets from him, and now he’s taken out her tongue. He knows you’re pregnant, and now he wants me to deliver you to him to avoid bloodshed. He’s just openly declared war on our house.”

Maeve ran a shaky hand through her hair, meeting Fedya’s dark stare with teary eyes. “Fedya—”

“What did he ask you to do?”

Maeve’s skin prickled with regret. There was no use hiding anything now. It was right there in the open in the worst way possible.

Her voice was somewhere between a whisper and a sob. “He wanted me to spy on you.”

Fedya’s fist tightened around the letter. “Since when?”

“The first night.” She pressed a fist to her mouth. “When he called me.”

Fedya turned around, refusing to take a step towards her. His jaw clenched, and there was so much fire in his eyes. He’d never looked at her like that before.

“Tell me every fucking thing, Maeve. Every single thing I need to know.”

And she did. The moment she opened her mouth, the words wouldn’t stop flowing.

She told him all she’d been hiding from him, all she knew about her father’s involvement with Aleksander, even though it was limited knowledge at best. She told him how she’d wanted to tell him tonight, how she’d been scared, waiting for the right time because she didn’t want him to hate her.

She crossed the room, opened the drawer where she’d hidden the burner phone, and held it out to him. Fedya felt insulted—either by the fact that it had been right under his nose the whole time or by the fact that he’d trusted her enough not to suspect a thing.

“You knew Aleksander was there that night?” he asked, still staring at the phone in her hands.

“Margot warned me about it, but I didn’t have the time to tell you,” she said, wiping her tears away from her face.

“I didn’t know what he’d do. And I was going to tell you about this,” she continued, referring to the phone.

“I wanted to. I’ve had it since that night, but I didn’t respond to anything.

I made a choice, Fedya. I chose you. I just…

” Her voice broke, tears threatening to spill again.

“I needed time—time to tell you everything, in case—”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her voice had cracked pathetically as Fedya’s eyes moved from the phone in her hands to her.

He stared at her, his expression suddenly blank.

There was no anger anymore, but there was no relief, either.

The stillness within him was more frightening than any outburst.

She couldn’t take it.

“Please say something,” she whispered, curling her hands into fists by her sides.

She took a step towards him, but he abruptly turned around, crossing the room in two strides as he headed for the door. He opened the bedroom door and looked at the guard stationed in the hallway.

“Nobody goes in or out, except me,” he said flatly. “No other exceptions.”

Maeve followed behind him, stopping at the door. “Fedya.”

“You’re staying here until I decide what the hell to do,” he said, the iciness in his voice causing her to step back. She said nothing, bit down on her tongue, feeling her heart crack into pieces as she watched him walk away, slamming the door behind him.

She stood there for a few seconds, furiously blinking the tears away. But then the lingering smell of Margot’s severed tongue reached her nostrils again, and she was bolting to the bathroom, spewing out her guts and crying at the same time.