THE BRATVA'S BROTHER'S WIFE

Chapter 1 —

 Alina

"Oh my goodness! I can’t believe this!" My thoughts refused to settle. 

The adrenaline rush in my stomach almost made my chest and stomach explode in excitement. I could not wait to see Boris face when I broke the news to him. 

One hand on the wheel. One hand holding up my whole future. The scan result. After three years, finally proof. I laughed at a red light like a crazy woman. The driver beside me stared. I didn't care.

Three years of injections. Three years of losing hope every twenty eight days. Three years of Larisa calling me barren to my face at the dinner table while Boris said nothing, or worse, begged me afterward to forgive her.

"She's just old fashioned, Alinochka. Give her time."

I gave her three years. Today, I finally had something to shut her mouth with.

I remembered the exact sound the clinic door made when I walked in this morning, too scared to hope out loud. I remember the nurse calling my name twice before I found the courage to answer. I sat alone in that clinic chair, too scared to hope out loud, too scared to drag Boris there one more time just to watch his face fall again. The doctor turned the screen toward me. A tiny flicker. A heartbeat.

"You're going to be a mother," he said.

I didn't cry. I laughed instead, this strange broken sound that came from somewhere three years deep, a place that had been waiting for permission to feel something good.

Now I was driving through morning traffic with that same laugh still sitting in my chest, picturing Boris's face when I showed him. He'd drop whatever was in his hands. He'd pull me into his arms right there in his office, secretary watching or not.

My phone buzzed on the seat.

'Where are you? Come by later, I have news' — Yelena.

I smiled. My best friend, chasing her own promotion for months. Maybe today was a day for good news all around.

'On my way to see Boris, will find you after!' I typed back, one hand still on the wheel, already imagining the three of us celebrating over dinner tonight, the way we used to. 

I shook my head, and cleared the text. I’ll just keep the surprise until I got there. No need to ruin it. 

I pulled into the compound of Sokolov Enterprises. Half the city's shipping ran through this tower, and quietly, so did the other business. 

I remembered the first time I understood what that meant. A dinner two years into the marriage, a man at the far end of the table who kept glancing at the door like he expected it to burst open. Boris leaned over and told me, very quietly, not to ask his name. I never did. I learned to smile instead, to pour the wine, to act like I hadn't noticed how certain men in this world flinched at loud noises.

None of that mattered today. Today was mine.

I turned the radio down, wanting to remember every second of this, clear and sharp, so I could tell my child about it one day. 'This is the morning I found out about you. This is the morning everything changed.'

Guards straightened when they saw my car. Staff in the lobby bowed their heads.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sokolova."

I barely nodded back. I was too busy holding my future together with one hand.

Boris's black Mercedes sat gleaming in his spot. Beside it was Yelena's car. She worked three floors below him. My chest warmed at the thought. 

"Maybe I'll tell them both together. They will be so happy to hear the news," I whispered to myself. 

I remembered introducing them, years ago, at a dinner I almost skipped. Yelena had squeezed my hand under the table. "He's perfect for you," she'd whispered.

I believed her instantly. Why wouldn't I? She'd never once given me a reason not to. She was the one who sat with me through every disappointment, who drove me home from the clinic when my hands shook too hard to hold the wheel, who never once made me feel broken for wanting a child so badly.

The elevator doors slid shut. My reflection stared back, tired, but happy tired. The good kind. The kind that comes from finally getting what you prayed for.

I thought about calling Larisa with the news, then decided against it. She'd twist even this into an insult. "Probably her last chance, at her age. No. Boris first. Then Yelena. Then, once I'd had a day to just be happy, maybe I'd tell the rest of them and watch her choke on it."

The elevator chimed. Doors opened onto glass and quiet and the low hum of important people doing important things.

I walked past the secretary without stopping. I never needed permission to see my own husband. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something. Then she looked down at her keyboard instead. A junior associate near the water cooler stopped talking mid sentence when he saw me, eyes darting away too fast. Even the intern by the printer suddenly found her shoes fascinating.

 I didn't care why everyone was acting up. I was too busy rehearsing the words in my head. "Boris, look. Look what I'm holding. Look what we made."

I reached his door. My hand was shaking, but not from fear. From joy. I pushed it open without knocking.

"Boris, look. Look what I'm holding. Look what we made."

The scan slipped out of my fingers.

My keys hit the floor beside it.

Because there, on his office chair, was the unmistakable shape of a woman's back arched over my husband. His hands were in her hair. Her mouth was on his neck.

My breath caught in my throat and refused to c

ome back out. A drop of tear escaped my left eye, before I could stop it.