Bratva Daddy by Lucky Moon

Author:Lucky Moon [Moon, Lucky]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2025-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Clara

The leather squeaked under me as I shifted, trying to find the perfect position where I could see both the TV and Alexei through his office door. Three days since I'd signed the contract, and my body had already learned his rhythms—the way he paced during calls, how his shoulders tensed before difficult conversations, the particular shade of gray his eyes turned when he was pleased with me.

NY1 droned in the background, something about construction permits in Queens. Alexei had started letting me watch the morning news while he worked, a privilege that shouldn't have felt as significant as it did. "A little should know what's happening in the world," he'd said yesterday, adjusting the volume to exactly where he wanted it. Not too loud to disturb his calls, not so quiet I had to strain. Everything with Alexei was deliberate, measured, perfect in its control.

I pulled my legs up under me, the cashmere throw he'd draped over me earlier pooling around my waist. The morning had been good—better than good. He'd woken me with coffee exactly how I liked it, chosen a soft blue dress that made me feel pretty rather than displayed, and given me a kiss on the forehead that lingered just long enough to make my stomach flutter. These small intimacies had become my new currency.

Through the doorway, I watched him lean back in his chair, phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapid Russian to someone who was clearly disappointing him. His free hand moved through the air, conducting an orchestra of irritation only I could see. The thought of making lunch for him later made me warm—not the elaborate dinners he usually prepared, but something simple. Maybe that soup his grandmother used to make, the recipe he'd mentioned two nights ago while tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.

I was already imagining his surprised pleasure, the way he'd taste it thoughtfully before pronouncing it "almost right, but missing something," when my own face filled the television screen.

The remote slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, bouncing off the coffee table with a crack that should have brought Alexei running. But I couldn't process anything beyond the photograph—me at the charity auction six weeks ago, wearing the burgundy dress my father had chosen, smiling like I hadn't been dying inside.

"Socialite Clara Petrov's mysterious disappearance has led to complications for the Home & Hope charity," the reporter's voice cut through the static in my head. Professional concern layered over barely concealed excitement at having actual news to report. "Sources confirm the $180,000 raised at her recent auction has been frozen pending investigation into her whereabouts."

One hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Hearing it now made my chest constrict. Every dollar had been fought for, charm deployed like a weapon against New York's elite who'd rather spend that money on another vacation home. I'd smiled until my face ached, laughed at terrible jokes, let Harold Morrison rest his liver-spotted hand on my lower back for an uncomfortably long time because his check had five zeros.

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