Broken Bride (Belaya Bratva 2)

I turned toward Gavril, taking in the stubborn jawline that was dusted with dark hair, following it up to the arrogant nose that had been broken at least once. Would our child have his looks or mine?

Sometimes, when I looked at Gavril, I saw the gorgeously handsome man that I couldn’t believe was mine.

Other times, I saw the dark side of him, the monster in my bed.

My fingers trembled as they touched his jaw, my eyes finally colliding with his, and I let him see the emotions in my eyes. Why try to hide them? I was in love with a man I didn’t understand, one that I couldn’t even guess how he was going to be from day to day.

“It’s beautiful, Gavril.”

Something akin to relief crossed his features. “I know you probably want to be part of decorating the nursery, so this is the only personal contribution I will make. Everything else in the room is your canvas.”

Another stutter of my heart. In these moments, I felt like he truly saw me as his partner.

As his wife. He saw Naomi, not Sveta.

I parted my lips, but no words would form. How could I go about day to day and ignore the boulder on my chest? How could I even trust that he would tell me the truth if I asked him about his businesses, about the women? Would he try to deny it?

I couldn’t go on with this torture inside, not without it starting to affect my health and my sanity.

“I have a question,” I said, not even bothering to use Russian.

His eyes narrowed, but I charged on, afraid that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to ever ask. “Will you always be truthful with me?”

I watched a flood of emotions cross his face, one of the few times he didn’t have his walls up to block me out. “Of course,” he finally said, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his forehead to mine. “You do not have to worry about that, Sveta.”

Another promise to Sveta. And just like that, he shattered my heart again.

I knew I shouldn’t care, but how could I not? Here I was, a living woman—the mother of his child—and the name that dripped from his lips was that of a dead girl.

So, I took the plunge, unable to hold back any longer. “What sort of business are you in, Gavril?” I asked hesitantly, switching back to Russian. “What businesses does the Bratva run?”

For a moment, Gavril went still, and I felt his body grow tense against mine before he raised his head.

The expression that I witnessed on his face was enough to send a tendril of fear snaking through my heart. His eyes turned cold, and so did his facial expression.

Just like that, the monster returned.

The man who had built the crib mere moments ago was gone. In his place stood a man I would never know or understand. He would never open his heart to me—never help me chase away the demons that plagued him.

To this man, I was neither wife nor equal. To this man, I was merely a means to an end. To this man, my love and my heart meant nothing compared to what was between my legs.

“Why?”

His voice was harsh and his arms tightened around me, as if to lock me in place.

For a moment, a thousand thoughts ran through my mind. Thoughts that were dark and frightening. He could do anything to me right now. He could squeeze his hands around my neck until every bit of breath left my lungs. He could punish me for questioning him like he’d punished me the first night he’d told me we’d be married. He could withdraw all warmth from me until our child was born.

He could hurt me in ways I could never imagine.

“You said you would always be truthful,” I countered softly, tamping down the panic that threatened to take over.

It was the last resort I had left, to twist his words and trick him into telling me what he was doing when he left the mansion. When I had begged him to use me, I’d wanted to test just how much I’d fallen for him. I’d wanted to test how dark his soul was.

Now, I needed him to prove it to me himself.

I needed him to admit it with his own mouth.

His jaw clenched and I swallowed past the lump in my throat, bracing myself for the worst. No one would ever know what happened to me if Gavril flew into a rage. “My business,” he finally said, his voice tight with anger. “Is my business, Sveta. It will be in your best interest to remember that.”

I felt the air leave my lungs in a rush, and the rejection was clear and immediate. It was just what I thought he would say. He wasn’t going to include me in his life any more than he had already. The pain threatened to overtake me, but I forced it back.

I shouldn’t have expected any different, but I had, and that was going to be my downfall with him, thinking that I was something more than what I truly was.

“I’m sorry.” I lowered my eyes in respect and hoped that he wouldn’t go any further than his angry words.

I hoped. Oh God, how I hoped. And it didn’t matter now. Gavril wasn’t going to tell me anything, and I wasn’t brave enough to call him out on it outright.

Not now. Not when he looked so unbelievably angry. I wanted desperately to erase the last few moments and forget that I had ever even brought it up.

He let out a breath, teasing the hairs around my forehead before his arms tightened on my waist. I allowed myself to lean into him, pressing my cheek against his thudding heart.

“I’m sorry,” I tried again, rubbing his back lightly with my hands. I didn’t need him upset, for I didn’t know what he would do otherwise.

He buried his face in my hair and I willed my breathing to slow, the panic starting to ebb away. This was a disaster. Everything. Our relationship, our fake marriage, this pregnancy. Nothing was right about it, nor would it ever be.

But I still loved him. Heaven help me! I still loved all the broken pieces of him, and it was going to be my destruction. Loving him was going to drive me crazy in the end.

After a few moments, Gavril’s grip on me loosened and I turned back to the crib, running a finger over the wood. Something bit into my finger, and I yelped as I pulled it back. A small dot of blood puddled on my index finger.

“Are you all right?” he asked as I stuck the finger in my mouth, the tangy metallic taste of my own blood bursting on my tongue.

“It’s just a splinter,” I murmured after pulling my finger out of my mouth. But even then, I couldn’t help but shiver inwardly.

Was this some sort of omen about what was going to happen with our future?

Was I going to see blood in my future, and whose would it be?

Mine?

Gavril’s?

Our child’s?