Page 80 of The Bratva Sinner

I don’t know if that was for his benefit or mine. I’ve never been held or cuddled and rarely hugged. My mother wasn’t an affectionate person. Knowing what I know now about her life, I can’t help but think she might have resented me. Because of me, she had to run.

She died because of me.

I almost go back inside. He needs this. I’ve seen him smile, fight, and rage, but never sit in a moment. I don’t want to disturb him.

But I cross the patio.

He hears my footsteps, stiffens, and turns.

"Couldn't sleep?" I say.

"No." He turns back to the bar. It’s not quite an invitation to sit, but it’s not a rejection, either. "You either?"

“I’ve been lying around for almost two days. Can’t do it anymore.”

“Want a drink? Might help you sleep.”

Or make me cry. I’ve seen what alcohol does to people. They cry. They get emotional. Or they get violent.

“No,” I reply.

We sit in the quiet for a while. I hear the soft neighing from the horses across the property. Nocturnal creatures move through the trees and bushes. It’s peaceful. I understand why he chose to sit out here, and I don’t want to disturb his peace with conversation.

He finishes the amber liquid in his glass. Normally, I’m very alert around any man drinking. But Maksim is different. I sense his control. More importantly, he makes me feel safe.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask softly.

He sighs. "Nothing useful."

I look out at the pool, and the light moving on the water.

“Feeling okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Not what I asked. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m okay. Really. What about you?”

He shrugs.

“How’s your brother?”

I know nothing about this man. I want to learn. He is my husband, after all.

“My brother thinks I’m making a mistake.”

I don’t flinch. “With me.”

“Nikolai is suddenly acting like he’s my therapist.”

That makes me smile. “You mean he thinks there is a reason you collect rejects?”

He turns to look at me. “You’re not a reject.”

“I’m not a therapist either, but even I can see you have a savior thing going on. Me. The horses. The women who work for you.”

He looks into the empty glass. Will he refill it? I don’t know how much he’s had, but I don’t want him drunk.