Shaking my head at the absurdity of his words, I pointed out, “No one knows about it.”
He laughed, although it lacked any humor. “Really? You’re in danger, because no one wants this”—he pointed at my stomach—“to be here alive and well.”
“You are….” Fury rushed over me, and I hated that I couldn't do anything about it right in the moment. I would have loved to throw something at his smug face.
“Right. And if you listen to me, you will keep your baby.”
I told him to go the fuck away, and I didn't want to see him again. Since my pulse rose, the heart monitor beeped loudly, and fortunately, he was ushered away.
A few days after, I asked my father for help, but he just laughed it off and didn't want anything to do with my baby.
After that, through my connections and Dominic, I found Vasya and begged him to take me. I was part of the brotherhood with my baby. We belonged to Radmir. Those were their laws!
He told me to go to hell and forget I even knew Radmir, and as far as he was concerned, Jake was no one, and God only knew who my baby belonged to.
I was desperate and didn't know what to do, but when a car almost ran me over, I understood that my life no longer mattered.
Jake was all that mattered.
And a month later, I got married to Alex Jordan, hating every minute of it. Back then the only hope keeping me alive was that Radmir would fix it all once he was out and understand my decision.
Over.
The marriage, the scheme, the lies… they were finally behind me, and I wouldn't have to pretend.
Tears ran down my cheeks as laughter burst from within me, echoing off the walls, and as the doors opened, people greeted me with confused expressions.
Blocking them all out, I exited the building and raised my face to the sun, enjoying the light breeze and warmth spreading over me as a sense of freedom washed over my soul.
My hands rested on the silver Orthodox cross at my neck, which I hadn't taken off in six years, not since Radmir placed it there after our first night together. He told me once that it was given to them once they became rightful members of the brotherhood, and they only gave it to their women, so everyone around would know who she belonged to. It was the ultimate sign of devotion that spoke about their feelings.
I’d never be free from some things, as heartbreaking as it was.
September 2017
Moscow, Russia
Radmir
The Kipelov’s song “Ya Svaboden,” which translates into “I’m Free,” blazed through the speakers in the empty Bratva headquarters gym as my fists punched the bag rapidly. The blood from my split skin smeared all over the leather as sweat dripped down my forehead and back.
Spinning swiftly, I kicked the thing with all my might, and it detached from the ceiling and fell with a dense thud, as I breathed heavily.
Fuck, those things never lasted very long, no matter how many chains I had on them.
My body ached in all the right places after the extensive workout. Swinging my arms from side to side and stretching for a bit, I removed the boxing gloves with my mouth and picked up a water bottle in the corner, spraying it on my chest as I wiped away the sweat with a towel. My back prickled, and in one move, I took a gun from my bag and spun around to face the intruder. All the Bratva members were busy drinking and fucking since pakhan brought his woman back.
Expecting some fucker who’d come to harm the Bratva, I frowned at seeing Vitya studying me through the ropes as he rested his arms on top of them.
“So are you gonna do anything else besides killing off people, getting reports about your woman and her son, and then spend all your time in the gym? You are a sovietnik. Maybe it’s time to act like one,” he mused, as annoyance rushed through me.
“I don’t remember asking your opinion on how to live my life.” Why the fuck did he speak like that to me? We had a hierarchy to follow, and as it stood now, he was the main enforcer, which meant my word was over his, and he had no right to come here and question my choices.
He snorted, hopped in the ring, and raised his shirt as my brows shot up. What the fuck was he doing?
Pointing at the scar on his stomach, he asked me, “Remember how I got it?”
Surprised with such a bizarre question, I nodded. “A fight.”
