Suddenly, he slammed his hand down on the glossy screen. “Dammit, Stefan Semenov’s been arrested.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a second, then standing abruptly and leaving his food unfinished. “I need to call my lawyers. I should have been notified immediately. I am so fucking tired of the Bratva morons I am forced to employ.”
Apparently, the Semenov family, longstanding Bratva blood, ran Ivan’s shipping business in New Jersey. Stefan was the youngest son. Trustworthy to a fault, but dumb as a box of rocks. He’d easily be manipulated by police. And if he was, the anvil would fall on Ivan and his cohort’s heads. Or so I had overheard from one of Ivan’s many business meals here. I heard a lot at these things. Men seemed to think that women were deaf to it all. That they didn’t hear the things they said. But we did. We heard it all and stored it away for future reference.
Before he was out of the dining room, Ivan turned around. “Nothing too showy. Evelina is not fond of women who dress like whores.”
“Evelina… Vasiliev?” I questioned, heart thumping erratically as I froze with the spoonful of egg whites halfway to my mouth. My mouth watered at the thought of eating the rest of Ivan’s steak once he left the room. Chef was under strict orders to control my diet, my image reflected upon Ivan. It wouldn’t do to have a fat wife.
“Yes,” Ivan said impatiently, “Eduard has set a meeting to bury the hatchet, as it were. I do not need to impress upon you the importance that all goes well. My marriage to you nearly cost me my business. It did not matter that I have been loyal for two decades to Eduard, that he has called me blood kin in the past. My reputation shattered because of you, Marisha. We dine at the Vasiliev mansion on Friday, and it is your chance to truly repay me for my sacrifice.”
I nodded, which was all I could do in those moments. I couldn’t speak, my mouth felt sewn together. Bury the hatchet… was not the choice of words I’d have preferred come out of my husband’s mouth. It sounded too murderous. And far too close to home when I considered the fate of my parents.
And repay him?
Hadn’t I been repaying him with my body, week after week, night after night? Hadn’t I been repaying him with my loss of identity? The loss of my education and future career?
I hated Ivan even more in that moment than I ever had before.
He knew the history of my family and the Vasiliev. He knew who had sentenced my parent’s execution, and mine too, and yet he was so casually slipping into conversation that we were to go to their house for dinner. Like they were nothing to me. Like I had no bad memories of what those awful people did, no nightmares of Eduard coming to kill me and slitting my throat while I slept.
But then, was I not as much a hypocrite and a traitor to my parents’ memory too? After all, I had done nothing but fantasize about Alexander Vasiliev since our brief encounter.
And I wanted more of him. The handsome Bratva prince.
My appetite gone, I stood up and left the uneaten food on the table for our staff to sort. The walls around me seemed to breathe as I walked down the hallway towards our room. And the room felt smaller than it should have, as if it were shrinking and would continue to shrink until I could no longer move. I gasped for air, a hand over my chest.
A panic attack.
I hadn’t had one since the day my parents died. Since the day the weight of becoming an orphan crushed me.
I sunk to my knees on the plush carpet, trying to control myself. In, out. In, out. I practiced the techniques the therapist had shown me. Why now? Why was I reacting like this now?
I’d seen Eduard and Evelina at the party. I’d made it through the event without breaking. I mean, I’d contemplated killing myself, but I hadn’t had an attack.
What was different?
I knew, I knew what was different. This time when I saw them, I’d carry with me the knowledge that I’d kissed their son.
Evelina’s words rang through my head.
You have not been held accountable for their actions, but you will be held accountable for yours. Tread wisely.
She’d warned me, and not an hour later I’d been drowning with desire, her son’s lips against my own, my body craving every inch of him.
But no one else knew what had happened. Only the Bratva prince and myself. Unless he bragged to someone. Unless he betrayed me. Unless it had been a ploy all along, a way to show them that I too was as traitorous as my parents.
He won’t do that, I thought stupidly. He liked me.
He liked me?
I might be scared, weak, in the prison of a marriage I didn’t want, but I’d never been stupid. I couldn’t rely on his protection. I could only cross my fingers and hope that our time on the rooftop was a passing fancy, something he’d never think about again. I wasn’t important, only the wife of a Bratva businessman. There were many of us. And so many women Alexander Vasiliev could find pleasure in… women who would present less complications. The playboy prince had seen me, wanted me, I was sure it wasn’t an act, or was that a wish? Nevertheless, he had kissed me, but perhaps that was all it had been, and all it ever would be. He was royalty, I was nothing.
Still, the memory of his mouth against my own, of his hands holding me against the trellis wall, stoked warm desire between my legs.
I hoped, no, prayed, that Alexander would not be there for dinner.
*
The days passed too quickly for my liking, and before I could blink it was Friday.
Ivan appraised me before we left, eyeing the cream dress I’d chosen. It was long sleeved and flowed around me as I moved, layers of satin and chiffon rippling in an almost angelic way. The slit down the bodice was narrow and revealed only the slightest curve of breast. A line of ribbons kept it from coming fully open and the revealing ‘v’ ended in a loose ribbon near my belly button.
“It’s… acceptable.” His eyes lingered on my curves, his gaze betraying how he craved my body. “You can keep the hair up. This time.”
The limo was idling in the driveway when we exited the house, our chauffeur Decatur leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. He gave a small bow as Ivan approached, and hurried to open the back door. I rarely focused on the men’s faces who worked on the property. They were all the same to me. Cogs in the machine that kept me prisoner.
We rode in silence to the Vasiliev mansion. If I hated how Ivan was in the Bugatti, how his hands groped and manhandled me whilst trying to drive at the same time, I disliked the limo even more. I hated it in fact, because in it, Ivan did not have to focus on the road. There was room to move, room to take more of what he wanted, room to fuck. If tonight went well, the sex would be fast and feverish. If things went poorly… Ivan would take his time and make it hurt. Unable to punish Eduard, he would punish me. The most recent bruises on my ass and hips had finally faded. My skin was milky pale and unmarked now. But the deep purple marks from his greedy touch never stayed gone for long.
I wish it wasn’t the limo. Even the Rolls would be better. Smaller, less room to move.
My heart felt like a dying, pathetic bird in my chest. Thrumming along, with little will to recover.
The Vasiliev estate was the size of a small town. The iron gates parted slowly, revealing a long drive lined with manicured bushes which circled around a fountain. There was a second entrance, for immediate family and personnel, which was shorter and less impressive. But guests came this way; I could only imagine it served to inspire awe and intimidation.