“You are welcome, Ivan. And so is your beautiful wife.” The Bratva Queen’s hazel eyes studied me, her coral lips pursed in a stern line. “Marisha,” she finally said, and I was shocked to be addressed directly. “Your parents were our bosom friends, once. I remember you from a little girl.” She smiled, her features softening only slightly. “You have not been held accountable for their actions, but you will be held accountable for yours. Tread wisely. The life of a Bratva wife is not for the weak.”
With those words, Evelina stood up. “I will go find Katya, Eduard. I wish to introduce her to the Fedorov son.”
Eduard looked at his wife lovingly, and he grabbed her hand before she was able to leave. “Do not leave me for long, wife.”
She smiled softly. And I could not tell if the exchange was sincere… or if Eduard Vasiliev was like Ivan. Controlling, with veiled threats behind even the most loving words. I’d only ever personally known the latter, but perhaps this was real love. Love like my own parents had once shared.
Evelina patted his hand and nodded. When he released her, she walked away, her posture regal and her perfectly bleached hair bouncing gently against her shoulders.
“Enjoy the party, Ivan.” Eduard turned, directing his attention back to those at the head table. Ivan and I had been dismissed, and I felt Ivan’s posture stiffen next to me.
Despite Ivan’s power and money, even he had not come away without blemish. Because he’d married me and asked the favor of mercy from the Vasilievs. I wondered if Ivan hated me as much as I hated him, in his own way that he wouldn’t voice. Still, he was among the most powerful, respected and listened to in the room. The snub from Eduard would only go unchecked for so long before he grew tired of it and demanded their respect once more.
Eduard may be the Bratva King, but there was always someone snapping at a king’s heels seeking power, and Ivan had the sharpest teeth of all.
“Marisha, Vesna should be here somewhere. Find her for a drink. I have things to discuss with important people.” Ivan released me and walked towards another table near the windows which overlooked the bridge. I refused to stand even a second longer so close to Eduard, so I moved quickly towards the edge of the room, towards the door that led to the rooftop lounge.
Ivan would ask me later if I found Vesna. He would ask me what we talked about. But I needed air. I needed to breathe. Maybe I would get away with lying that I had spent my free moments with the other Bratva wives. The event space was large, with private rooms attached. Ivan would only have focus for business. He would not think of me again until he was ready to depart. And then I would need to do my job again—the prize at his side, pretty to see and pretty to fuck.
Pushing out into the cool evening seemed to lighten the heavy weight pressing against my body. The anger I held just below the surface—rage at my parents for being part of the Bratva life, rage at them for trying to do the right thing and failing, rage at them for making me have to choose between death and a loveless union.
The sun was nearly set, and the lights were beginning to flash to life across the Brooklyn bridge’s metal structure.
I beelined for the steel and glass half wall that separated the rooftop from open air and I gripped it fiercely. I was in an isolated spot, next to the building and nearly hidden by a trellis of climbing ivy. I willed the steel and glass to hold me together as I clenched it. I begged it to lift me up and keep me from my breaking point, the same way it kept people from falling over the edge.
Falling over the edge.
To plummet to the ground below.
And die.
I leaned over the wall, breath coming in little gasps now.
The man I’d just faced, the man who loathed everything I represented, was a murderer. A sociopath who sentenced my parents to death…who would have killed me too. Death by association. Death by bad blood. Death, death, death! A sob caught in my throat, but I squashed it down.
He was a murderer, as so many of the Bratva men were, yet, I was the damned one. It seemed so unfair that I should be punished, and he should be free to do as he wished.
There was a little ledge at my feet which held back a half-foot wide line of planter. The flowers living there were sprays of tiny purple blossoms crowning spring green stems and leaves. I lifted my feet and balanced my gold heels on the lip of the mini retainer wall.
And I leaned further out, closing my eyes and feeling the way the breeze gently brushed against my cheeks and eyelashes.
How would it feel to fall? I wondered bleakly.
Would it be like flying? Would it be peaceful?
I could escape that way. There wouldn’t be any more nights of giving in, of stripping myself down to the bone so that I could dissociate as he took my body for his pleasure. I licked my lips and remembered how sore they’d been last month after he forced himself inside my mouth.
A little higher. I could put my knees on the half wall.
And then it would only take a seconds’ decision. To shift my weight. To lean forward.
I didn’t realize that I was crying until the hot, salty tears touched my lips and I tasted them. I hated crying. Hated it to my very core. Yet, I found myself hiding away more and more to keep Ivan from taunting my grief.
I missed my old life—the freedom I had had. I mourned it almost as much as I did my parents. My parents weren’t bad people. They weren’t.
Just like I, they were born into Bratva service. It was never a choice to leave. They worked hard, so that I could go to college. But even then, looking back, I would have been pulled into the world. If I had finished my degree and then gotten a job in social work, I might have been of use to the family. And I couldn’t have said no. There was never any escape, not while you were still alive. I was a fool to think so in the first place. And so were they.
This wasn’t the place for tears, and I was glad that there were only a few partygoers roaming the large rooftop space. No one came near me. They were all caught in their own conversations, the outside world a blur.
If I only lifted myself to kneel on the top of the railing… The dress had a slit nearly to mid-thigh. I wouldn’t have to rip it to climb. The breeze on my face dried the tears in salt tracks. I stopped crying. I was on the cusp of a choice.
I heard the doors to the lounge open with a slight whine, but I ignored the sound. Someone was entering, someone was exiting.
Exiting.
I could exit.
Now.
So easily.
New voices filtered to me.
Whoever they were sounded happy.
Rich, booming male voices. Followed by sweet, flirtatious giggles.
Swallowing, I did not let myself start crying again, even though the sound of the happy people sent pangs through my chest. Desperately, I wanted real companionship. But that would never happen, unless I could leave Ivan. And leaving him felt impossible. Not felt. It was impossible. Seeing Eduard Vasiliev reminded me of that. The only way to leave the Bratva was in a body bag.
So that was what would happen.
I had no real family. No one would miss me.
I pulled my dress to the side, still balancing my heels on the planter, and I lifted my leg higher.
Chapter Five
Alexander
There were beautiful women who belonged in the Bratva life and then there were beautiful women who were there to do my bidding. The two women Nikolai and I had started talking to were most definitely the latter. Beautiful and eager to please, but with barely a brain cell between the two of them. That was chauvinistic of me, that was just the way things were. They knew it, accepted it and loved it, and who was I to try to dissuade them.