Before Ivan, before my parents’ transgressions, I was strong. I knew what I wanted out of life, and I was on the road to achieving my dreams. I was in college, majoring in social services. I wanted to help the world, do my tiny part to make up for the type of family I came from. Little did I know that my mother and father were also trying to change things, trying to grasp at a free life away from crime.
Now, they were free.
They’d accomplished their goal.
And left me behind to suffer the fallout.
Ivan’s hands were still vices, fingers digging into my skin.
“I cannot wear your favorite dress if I have bruises,” I whispered desperately. A little reminder, a tiny defiance. “I’ll have to wear something that covers my body.” Which he wouldn’t like, not in the least. He wanted the other men to want me, wanted them to see what he had, and they didn’t.
His fingers left my body and my own hands moved to caress the sore spots subtly.
“Get dressed,” he ordered, his tone dark as he gave me one last stern look before turning to quickly stride from our bedroom.
“I hate you,” I murmured to his retreating form, eyes welling with angry tears. When did I become so weak? How could I rewind time?
Ivan had never hit me with full force—hard fists slamming into my delicate frame, but he was a violent man all the same. His touches were always just a little too harsh. His words always clipped and his tone a thunderstorm. He took what he wanted if I didn’t give it freely and it was always so much more painful that way. He frightened me, not so much because of what he had already done to me, but what I foresaw him doing in the future. Because I knew sooner or later the cord of his patience would snap and then who knew what my fate would be.
I finished my makeup, swiping pale peach blush across my freckles, and crowing the soft but alluring look with a plum lip stain. Ivan’s favorite dress was hunter green, or ‘hunger’ green as he called it. I knew, inevitably, that donning the silk old Hollywood-style gown would lead to sex later. We would leave the party, only one of his hands would be on the steering wheel of the Bugatti, and his other hand would touch me anywhere he could reach.
And whether I liked it or not, his body would enter mine, planting his seed… his seed that I would never let flower. Thanks to the pills I keep well-hidden.
Another defiance.
My little way of belonging to myself. At least for now.
I adjusted the sleek corset, reaching down to hook the garters to the lace-crowned stockings. The silky green dress slipped over my body, falling to the ground in a waterfall that hugged my every curve.
Ivan would want my hair down, left in seductive red waves. But tonight, I pulled it up in a fashionably messy French twist with curls spilling around the top of my head. I searched through my jewelry until I found the gold hair pen with the bird with emerald eyes. It was my mother’s. I slipped it gently into the updo, knowing how the jewels would twinkle and catch light, matching the dress beautifully.
Taking a deep breath, I walked out of the room, shoulders straight and head held high. If Ivan noticed the hair ornament, he’d remove it. My family was a taboo subject, and things that smacked of them weren’t allowed. I was lucky he’d let me keep the vanity. Another thing he liked to throw in my face. I allowed you that piece of your parents, remember that. I can easily change my mind.
But I needed my little push backs.
The secret pieces of self that I held tightly against my aching heart.
I descended the stairs; Ivan was waiting at the bottom, his fingers flying across his phone. He only looked up when I stepped off the final riser.
He nodded, then twirled his finger. “Turn, let me see.”
I moved carefully, in a slow full circle, hoping his eyes would stay glued to my figure and not be bothered by my hairstyle.
“Take the hair down.”
“It looks better up,” I countered, lip quivering, already knowing that arguing was worthless.
He walked forward, shoving his cell phone into his inner jacket pocket. “I said take it down.” His fingers moved to the back of my head and roughly pulled out the hair pin. “And this,” he waved it in front of my eyes, “is not allowed.”
Ivan tossed my mother’s bird ornament to the floor. It rolled, clinking against the marble. One emerald popped out of place and the now one-eyed bird stared up at me longingly
My heart pounded, words struggling to be heard. A scream threatened to burst from my chest, but as usual, I crammed the scream down. Swallowing it into the pit of my stomach.
“Let’s go.” He took my hand and pulled me towards the door.
“Is Decatur driving us?” I asked, anxiety fluttering in my chest. If the chauffeur was taking us, it meant that Ivan would have both hands free on the way to the party, and on the way home. He treated me… like a working girl in the back of our car with the privacy partition, or in the back of the limo.
“I am driving.” Ivan said brusquely, continuing to yank at me.
I glanced back into the house, down at the floor to my mother’s broken hair ornament.
I was done.
I did not know why seeing the loose emerald stone sparkling sadly on the floor undid me completely. But it did.
My hate for Ivan was no longer something I could keep below the surface. I had to leave him, had to get away. Or the last bits of my soul would finally break.
Chapter Three
Alexander
The party was busy, families from all over New York had traveled to the Brooklyn Bridge Hotel to pay their respects. It was someone’s birthday. Perhaps an aunt, or an uncle, I couldn’t recall now who my father had said. It had to be someone semi-important. The cost of renting out the rooftop and lounge wasn’t cheap. And those who didn’t get the honor of staying in the hospitality suites would shell out several hundred for a basic room. Those who wanted a suite… it’d cost them more than a cool grand. Money well spent though. The views of the Brooklyn Bridge were dynamite.
Of course, a party was never just a party with the Bratva. Parties like this were always a perfect cover for the sort of business meetings better kept far under the radar. There would be one later.
But now wasn’t later.
The view inside the event space wasn’t half bad either. Maybe not Brooklyn Bridge quality, but thankfully here were plenty of eager women for Nikolai and me to get our hands on, because I wasn’t sure he’d forgive me for bringing him to another awful party filled with only old rich people. This time, I’d kept my promise. Pussy as far as the eye could see.
As Nikolai liked to frequently remind me, our days were numbered before we were one of the old rich husbands instead of the rich playboys. And neither of us wanted to waste a minute of the bachelor life.
He gripped my shoulder and squeezed. “You didn’t play me for a fool this time, Alexander,” he laughed.
I laughed back. “You play that part well all on your own, Nik.”
He raised his glass of vodka and smirked, knowing full well that I was right. Not that he’d ever admit it. I’d had to bail him out of enough scrapes thanks to his tomfoolery… and his wandering hands.
“Where’s that little sister of yours tonight?” Nik changed the subject, his gaze roving the crowd in search of Katya.