Page 7 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
I look at him, then at the others. I keep my voice even when I say, “My husband is dead.”
“Yes,” he agrees, and his mouth twists because he enjoys stating the obvious when it serves him. “Which leaves a vacuum.”
I don’t respond because this isn’t a conversation. This is a declaration.
Viktor continues, unbothered by my silence. “A widow can’t remain unclaimed, not in our structure. You will remarry within the faction, and the transition will be smooth.”
“The question is when,” Sergei adds, too quickly, “not if.”
I feel Dominik shift behind me, just a fraction.
“I won’t,” I say.
The reaction is immediate. Several men stiffen. A chair leg scrapes against the stone floor. Sergei steps forward before Viktor can speak.
“How dare you,” he snaps.
Viktor exhales slowly and raises a hand, stopping Sergei mid-step.
“Refusal isn’t an option.”
I meet his gaze and hold it. “It is to me.”
Some of the men trade glances, lips twitching at the corners, eyes sliding back to me with thin smiles that don’t reach anywhere warm.
“The council has decided,” Sergei says, stretching his smile too wide. “You’ll marry, and the debts your husband accrued will be absorbed through the union. This protects you, and it protects us.”
“I don’t need your protection,” I reply.
That earns me laughter, soft and dismissive. That’s when the fourth councilman steps forward.
Vasiliev.
Broad, smug, his ambition runs ahead of his sense. He circles every vacancy like a scavenger, waiting for weakness to show. His gaze starts at my lips and holds there, slow and predatory, before sliding up to my eyes with mock courtesy. Then it travels back down, lingering on my breasts until I cringe.
“The debts your husband left behind won’t disappear,” he says, voice smooth but cold. “Someone must absorb them.”
“I’m not a buyout,” I reply through my teeth, fighting for calm.
He smiles, teeth too white, the expression dripping with gratification. “And aren’t you?” he says.
Behind me, I feel Dominik step closer.
“You want to settle this?” I ask. “Then settle it like men. Not like vultures.”
The moment tests patience.
“No one touches her,” Dominik says, voice flat, without raising it or dressing it up. “No one speaks for her without clearing it with me.”
The men turn to him, surprise flickering across faces that expected compliance.
Viktor frowns. “Your role is security, Volkov.”
“My role is what I’m told it is,” Dominik answers, and his gaze doesn’t waver. “And right now, I’m telling you she’s leaving.”
There’s a beat of tension, measured and dangerous, and I can feel the shift as the council reassesses, because Dominik doesn’t bluff and everyone here knows it.
Finally, Viktor nods, slow and tight. “This isn’t finished.”
