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I fell back into my seat as it settled over me.

Somehow, my life had shifted from constantly pinching pennies and considering the buying of brand name bread a "luxury" to one where I hadn't needed my own money…for weeks. Everything I needed had been taken care of by Pavel.

Clothes, food, shelter.

My grandmother.

It was strange to go from being forced to grab naps on the bus between two jobs to spending my days sleeping in, wearing beautiful clothes, working on dream projects like the boutique art gallery with my new friends…

Friends! I had friends now. Real friends. Not coworkers who were forced to scratch through a miserable slog together like army veterans bonded over a shared horrific experience.

If it weren't for the other wives, I might have spiraled over how pathetic it was that I could completely ditch my phone for weeks without worrying about missing a single phone call or text.

I'd been so in my head over the circumstances around how I'd met Pavel and the way he had snatched control over my life that I hadn't really taken the time to truly appreciate the ways he'd made my life better.

All those mornings I was spiteful and irritated when he told me I should just rest and relax (a four-letter word) and wait for his return when I asked what I was supposed to do all day. I chafed at his dominance and my quiet submission without realizing how badly I needed someone to take care of me for once.

I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and started.

If I looked past the fear…I looked…healthy.

Gone was the sallow tinge to my skin that came from countless days without sunlight or fresh air. My cheeks had filled in. There were no more dark circles under my eyes. Even my hair had taken on the lustrous sheen that only came from eating a nutritious diet and getting decent sleep instead of scarfing expired gas station sandwiches washed down with cheap wine.

Without my noticing it and defying all common sense, my tattooed, violent mafia enforcer husband had somehow forced a happy, balanced life on me.

Sucking in a deep breath, I raised my chin. I was no longer an alley cat eking out a meager existence in the shadows.

I was Mrs. Pavel Motherfucking Ivanova.

Owning the power in my new persona, my gaze narrowed. "I hope you assholes are prepared for the shitstorm my husband is going to unleash on you when he finds out what you've done."

The men exchanged a look before the one in the passenger seat banged the caged wall separating us. "Shut the fuck up, whore."

Whore.

Even the dancers who worked at the Velvet Dream were never called whores by the police. I should know, I'd witnessed enough of them getting pulled in for questioning. And had been sent by Lou on more than one occasion to bail them out in time for the dinner rush.

Something was definitely not right about this.

I forced the panic down.

All of this…whatever this was…would be over soon.

There wasn't a doubt in my mind that Pavel would tear the city apart until he found me.

He may not love me…

I swallowed past the pain that thought caused. Unpacking that emotion was for another day, perhaps one where I wasn't shoved in the back of a police car.

So he may not love me…but he was possessive of me, of that I was certain.

I was his little kitten. Hiskotyonochek.

He would rescue me.

He would.

If for no other reason than I was his wife now. His wife. And although I was new to all this, I at least knew from the other girls that being his wife meant something in his world.