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I finger a tiny T-shirt decorated with embroidered green leaves. “They’re adorable.” I have to admit that my baby will have all the things I never had.
“Eva told Andrei that you should be on a prenatal diet. It’s so exciting,” Sonya coos. “Have you thought of a name yet if it’s a girl?”
“What if it is a boy?” I ask.
“Andrei would have the right to name him. But you can pick the girl’s name.” Sonya pulls out a teddy bear.
“I haven’t thought about any names.”
Sonya reaches into another bag and pulls out a thick paperback book. “There are tons of baby names in here. We can pick our favorites. Let’s name the baby something modern and avoid that old-fashioned Russian stuff. Can you imagine if your child is named something like Vyacheslav or Olga?”
We spend the next hour picking out baby names while snacking on imported macarons off a cut glass plate. Andrei is doing all the things that he needs to do to take care of the baby and me, and as much as I don’t like to admit it, getting taken care of by Andrei is nice. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to indulge just a little in this fantasy come true?
The guard quickly snaps to attention when Andrei enters. Reality starts to seep back into my happiness. Andrei dismisses him from the room and stands over Sonya, who turns her attention back to the book.
“We were just picking out names, Andrushka,” she replies to his hard gaze.
He turns his attention to me. “Are you comfortable, my dear? Would you like anything from the kitchen? Mother has scheduled a manicure for you.”
“A manicure.” Sonya smiles. “Can I get in on that?”
Andrei smiles. “Of course. Anything for my sister and my wife.”
The words are meant to be kind, but Andrei still struggles with showing his softer emotions. Just like I have trouble showing my harder ones. I hold out my hand to him, and he takes it. Lifting it to his lips, Andrei presses a kiss to my hand. Once again, I’m transformed into somebody special to the most powerful man I know.
Smiling, I thank him for his generosity.
“Anything you want or desire is yours, my wife,” he whispers against my hand before he kisses it again.
And just like that, I feel my selfish heart falling in love with him again. I brush his hair with my hand and don’t care if I look like a fool in love. I am a fool being tricked back into this mess against my control. His dark eyes conceal what’s in his heart, but I see glimmers of what I hope is love.
“Andrei Vasilyevich?” Natasha stands in the door, and her mouth is a tight line.
Andrei pulls his hand away and instantly, a chill runs across my back. I stare coldly at Natasha, but her gaze is sterner than mine. She is here for business, and Andrei’s business is more important than love. He leaves me without a word and follows Natasha out the door.
I can never forget why I am here. It has never been for me to be his wife or a mother. It’s to serve a dark purpose I may never know. Andrei is a criminal; my father stole money from the Bratvas, and all of this resulted in my mother’s death. Andrei is right. I’ll never be Bratva. I’ll only be a pawn in his twisted game. And so will my baby.
“He’s delighted over the baby.” Sonya’s voice interrupts my somber thoughts. “He will be a good father. Andrei is determined to give his children everything.”
Of course. I can’t have just one child. I clear my throat. “I should probably have something healthy to eat.”
Sonya hurries away to summon the cook, and I’m left alone. I’m torn by my thoughts, but what can I do? So, I’ll do the next best thing and just accept the nice gestures. The baby clothes are scattered across the table, along with toys and rattles.
I pick up a pair of cute socks and gasp at the price tag. I could never afford all this stuff on my own, but my baby can. I’ll worry about it later, and silently hope that my child will be a girl who might end up like Sonya—someone who can grow up with just enough distance from the Bratva to receive the benefits, but one who might never endure the full force of this horrible life that revolves around betrayal, violence, secrets, and blood.
Chapter 14
Andrei
Natasha walks in front of me toward the office where Dmitri waits. He places his glass on the bar, a decanter of scotch beside it, and waits for me to be seated.
“We have another name,” he says. “Low on the list, but another Karamazov man. Do we continue?”
I nod. “Has anyone spoken yet?”
“They claim not to know anything. The men are older and less involved in the Bratva. Low-level men are too young.”
“But they might hear gossip,” I reply.
