Nine Months to Love (Safonov Bratva #2)

Chapter 1 Olivia

OLIVIA

“You’re Natalia Safonova.”

The woman seated across from me shrugs. “I was. Now, I’m just Natalia. The Safonova name carries too much baggage.”

She stands and moves to the window, gazing out at the manicured lawn. The afternoon light catches her profile—and suddenly, I see it. The proud cheekbones. The straight nose. Features softened by age but, if I squint, it’s there, undeniable—she’s cast from the same mold as him.

I stare at the woman I knew as Gen and try to process what she just said.

“You’re not— You can’t be… Look, Stefan’s mother is dead.”

“Is she?” She taps her lips with one finger. “Did you see a body? Attend a funeral? Or did you just take his word for it?”

My mind races. Stefan told me his mother had an affair with his uncle. That he took his revenge on both of them. I never asked for details. Never wanted them. Now, I’m starting to wish I had.

“He thinks he killed me.” She sighs like it’s all some big, silly misunderstanding. “It was easier to let him believe that than to correct him.”

“So you’ve been what? Hiding? Watching?”

“Living, dear. Living.” She turns back to me. “Building my own life, my own resources, and waiting for the right moment to take care of all the things that must be done.”

“And that moment is now?”

“That moment is you.” She returns to her chair. “You’re the first woman he’s ever cared about. The first real leverage anyone’s had on him in years.”

“I’m not leverage. I’m a person.”

“Of course you are, dear. A person carrying my grandchild.” Her eyes drop to my stomach. “That makes you very important indeed.”

The fake or not-fake or I-don’t-even-know FBI agents have disappeared into other rooms. We’re alone now, just two women in this staged domestic scene. It should feel less threatening without the men, but somehow, it’s worse.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“My son’s attention. A conversation seems in order, don’t you agree? I ought to have the chance to explain things before he does something irreversible.”

“You could have just called him.”

She laughs, genuinely amused. “You think Stefan Safonov takes calls from the dead? No, I needed something to make him listen. Someone.” She gestures at me. “You.”

“You know, I didn’t exactly dream of being ‘bait’ when I was a little girl.”

Natalia laughs prettily. “‘Bait’ is such an ugly word. It makes me think of wriggling worms on a hook. You’re not bait, dear. You’re… an incentive. A reason for him to hear me out instead of shooting first.”

My hands are still cuffed, the metal warming against my skin. “And if he doesn’t? If he comes in guns blazing anyway?”

“He won’t. Not while you’re here. You might get hurt.” She sounds so certain. “My son has many flaws, but he’s predictable in his obsessions. And you, my dear, are his current obsession.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I beg to differ.” She pulls out a tablet and swipes through photos. Stefan and me at the gala. Outside my clinic. In his car. On his yacht. “I’ve been watching for months. The way he looks at you... I haven’t seen him look at anyone like that. Ever.”

The photos make my chest tight. We look so happy. Real. It’s a good show we’ve put on, him and me. Such a shame that it had to end like this.

“None of that matters now. He lied to me. He was planning to take over my clinic.”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no sugar-coating. “He was. That’s what Stefan does. He acquires things. Controls them. It’s how he was taught to survive.”

“By you?”

“By his father.” Her expression hardens. “Matvey was very good at teaching lessons. Usually with his fists.”

I blink. “Stefan never mentioned—”

“Of course not. Why would he? It would make him seem weak, and that’s another thing Stefan does: He makes sure that no one ever sees him as weak.” She sets the tablet aside. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. You must be uncomfortable. Those cuffs...”

She stands and walks over to me. From her pocket, she produces a small key.

“I’m going to remove these. You’re not a prisoner here, Olivia. You’re a guest. Free to leave whenever you want.”

“Really?”

“Really.” The cuffs click open and fall away. “Though I hope you’ll stay long enough to hear my side of things.”

I rub my wrists, feeling the blood flow return. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“You shouldn’t. You should listen, evaluate, and make your own decisions.” She returns to her chair. “That’s all I ask.”

“Stefan said you betrayed his father. Had an affair with his uncle.”

“Both true. But, like most truths, incomplete.”

There’s not a drop of shame in her voice, no trace of defensiveness. I want to call her crazy, but it’s simply not true. She looks more calm, cool, and collected than anyone I’ve ever met. I’m the crazy one by comparison.

Natalia pours herself tea from a pot I hadn’t noticed before into china cups, delicate as eggshells. She offers me one and I accept, if only because I need something to do with my hands.

“Matvey Safonov was a brutal man,” she begins. “Brilliant in business, ruthless with enemies, but at home...” She pauses, stirs her tea. “At home, he was a monster.”

“He hit you?”

“‘Hit’ is such a small word for what he did.” She touches her collarbone absently. “The first time was three weeks after our wedding. I laughed at something his brother Vasily said at dinner. Matvey waited until everyone left, then taught me thoroughly not to embarrass him.”

The tea tastes like flowers and honey, but I barely register it. The nasty flavor of her story is all I can sense.

“I was so young and foolish. He had me pregnant within the year. I thought having Stefan would change things, make Matvey softer.” She shakes her head. “It made him worse. Now, he had two people to control.”

“Stefan never said—”

“Stefan was so young, sweetheart. I tried to shield him, but children see everything, don’t they?

” Her voice catches and a film of tears covers her eyes before she blinks it away.

“He’d watch from the stairs sometimes. Those big eyes taking it all in…

It broke my heart so many times that I stopped even trying to put the pieces back together. ”

I picture it—a small, frail Stefan, wide-eyed, alone, afraid in the shadows at the foot of the stairs as his father raised his fists over his mother’s cowering form… and I shiver in a way that goes deeper than skin, deeper than bone.

“Vasily was different,” Natalia continues. “Gentle like Matvey never was, kind like Matvey would never be. He’d check on me after Matvey’s episodes. Bring ice for the bruises. Eventually...”

“You fell in love.”

“I fell into survival,” she corrects firmly. “Love was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I didn’t even try dreaming of something that pure. But Vasily offered a life where every night didn’t end with a fist in my ribs.”

“So you had an affair.”

She nods, lips pursed, gaze distant. “Matvey was easier to bear when I had somewhere else to put my heart. I could take anything when I knew that there was someone else in my corner. That I wasn’t all alone.”

“How did Stefan find out?”

“He didn’t have to. Matvey knew. He’d known for months before he did anything about it.” Her hand trembles as she sets down her cup. “He was waiting for the right moment to maximize damage.”

“What kind of damage?”

She meets my eyes. “Matvey was going to kill Vasily. Kill me. Maybe even Stefan, for the sheer audacity of being a witness to his humiliation.”

“But Stefan said his father killed himself.”

“Did he?” Natalia’s smile droops sadly, like a wilted flower. “My poor boy. Still believing what he needs to believe.”

“You’re saying Matvey didn’t commit suicide?”

“I’m saying, as with everything else in our lives, the story is more complicated than Stefan knows.

” She stands and goes to the window again.

She’s as composed as ever, but as I spend more time with her, I’m starting to see an anguish in her that can’t be faked—and I start to wonder if maybe her story is more truth than lie.

“The night Matvey died, he came home drunk. Angrier than usual. He had photos of Vasily and me. He said he was going to make us watch each other die.”

My stomach turns.

“Stefan was sixteen. Already tall, already strong, but still just a boy.” Her voice fades to a whisper. “He tried to protect me. But Matvey backhanded him so hard he flew across the room.”

That’s another picture that ruins me. Teenage Stefan, a boy of gangly limbs and fierce protectiveness, trying to shield his mother, and wearing his father’s knuckles on his cheek as a result.

“That’s when Vasily arrived. He’d been following Matvey. Said he just sensed that something was wrong.” She turns from the window. “What happened next was chaos. Fighting, noise, things breaking, yelling. Matvey had a gun. Vasily tried to take it. Stefan jumped in. It’s all just such a mess.”

“Who pulled the trigger?”

“Does it matter?” She gazes at me. “Matvey died. The gun was in Stefan’s hands when it was over. He assumed what he assumed… and I let him.”

“You let your sixteen-year-old son think he killed his father?”

“Better that than the truth.”

“Which is?”

She looks at me for a long moment. “That I did it. That when I saw my son bleeding on the floor, when I saw Matvey pointing that gun at him, I didn’t hesitate. I took the shot.”

The room feels airless. The only sound is my pulse in my ears.

“But Stefan was holding the gun after—”

“He grabbed it from me. Immediately. Instinctively. Protecting me even then.” Her eyes are wet now. “I should have told him the truth. But he was already so angry, so cold. I thought if he blamed me for the affair but not the murder, maybe he could move on.”

“Instead, he spent years planning revenge.”

“Yes.” She wipes her eyes carefully, preserving her makeup. “By the time I realized what he was doing, it was too late. He’d already built his empire. Already become his father’s son.”

“So you faked your death?”

“I disappeared and left him to remember the past however he wanted.” She straightens. “It seemed kinder that way.”

“Kinder? You let him believe he killed his own father! You let him think you betrayed him.”

“I did betray him. Just not the way he thinks.” She perches back on the edge of her chair, puts her elbows on her knees, and leans forward to look me in the eye.

“Every day I stayed with Matvey Safonov was a betrayal. Every bruise I hid, every excuse I made—those damaged my son far more than any of his father’s blows ever did.

I taught him things that cannot be untaught.

I showed him love, and in his eyes, it looked like a horrible, horrible thing.

That’s the real betrayal. That’s what I took from him, Olivia. That’s what he cannot undo.”

“He’s not his father. Not with me.”

Her eyebrow raises. “Are you sure? What was he planning to do with you, dear? Love you? Or use you?”

I wince, but my voice still comes out on its own, insisting, “He says he changed his mind.”

“Or did he just change tactics?” She pats my hand reassuringly. “My son is very good at telling people what they need to hear.”

“Like you’re doing now?”

She smiles, acknowledging the hit. “Exactly like I’m doing now. The difference is, I’m admitting it.”

I drain my tea, needing the warmth. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing you’re not willing to give.” She refills my cup without asking. “Stay here tonight. Think things over.”

“And then?”

“Then, in the morning, you’ll have a choice to make. Go back to him, knowing what you know. Or walk away and build something real with someone who doesn’t lie to you.”

“You mean you.”

She shrugs. “I’d like that, but I won’t force it on you. I’m one option out of many. I won’t limit you to what I think is best. That would be repeating my past sins, and I swore not to do that again.”

But I’m still shaking my head, struggling to process the enormity of what all this might mean. “I’m pregnant with his child. Walking away isn’t that simple.”

“It never is.” She touches her own stomach, a ghost of memory, and perhaps of longing, too. “But staying with the wrong man for the sake of a child... that’s its own kind of prison.”

“Stefan’s not abusive.”

“Physical abuse isn’t the only kind, dear. He isolated you. Monitored you. Made you dependent on him. What do you call that?”

I want to argue but the words stick in my throat. How can I? So many things he did—guards and tapped phones, spiked fences and secretive eyes in the shadows—add up to a picture that cannot be denied.

She’s right in so many ways. I know she’s right. But it doesn’t change the way my heart accelerates when I think about him. Even here, even now, it hurts so wrong and so pure.

“You’re conflicted,” Natalia observes. “That’s natural. Stefan can be very compelling when he wants something.”

“And what does he want?”

“It’s long past time to stop asking that, Olivia. The question you ought to be focusing on is: What do you want?”

I don’t answer because I don’t know anymore. This morning I wanted Stefan. I wanted our baby and the future we were starting to build.

Now, I just want the truth. The whole truth. From everyone.

“I should warn you,” Natalia adds as she rises and drifts to the exit. Her hand lingers on the doorknob. “Stefan will say anything to get you back. Make any promise. He might even mean it at the time.”

“You don’t think he’s capable of change?”

“I think men like Stefan change for one reason only: when the cost of staying the same becomes too high.” She opens the door. “What if you’re that cost? Will he pay it? Will you?”

She leaves me alone with my cold tea and racing thoughts. Through the window, I watch the sun set over this fake suburban paradise.

Somewhere out there, Stefan is looking for me. Probably tearing the city apart.

Part of me wants him to find me.

Part of me hopes he never does.

I press my hand to my stomach, where our child grows obvious to all this chaos. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

The baby doesn’t reply. But then, I’m getting used to silence where answers should be.