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Chapter Twenty-Six

ERIN

“It’s not a big deal.”

I stare at Demyan as I sit in the middle of the bed, watching him get dressed. This is the third day he’s going out. And from the early hour, I’m betting it’s a repeat of the previous two days.

He won’t be back until after midnight.

“I can pretend everything you do is legal, Demyan, that you’re not some kind of crime boss and the fact Max’s death wasn’t in all the papers and on TV, and that there aren’t armed men crawling all over your fortress.

I can even pretend that you canceled all our activities outside your fortress for the foreseeable future only because you’re overly cautious about Sasha. ”

I look at him, willing him to look at me, but he doesn’t.

Yet from his deliberate movements—because I’m learning to read Demyan—he’s utterly focused on me.

“However, I’m not about to believe you when you say your right-hand man, Ilya, moving in here isn’t a big deal. He’s in the mansion. Not even Olga or Magda are in here.”

“Because they come in each day. ”

“What’s going on? Is this over Max?”

Finally, he turns. “Yes.”

“So we’re in terrible danger?” Fear grips me. “If Sasha’s in danger, then I should be far away from here. This isn’t our fight. Demyan; he’s only two. Send us somewhere, a long way from Chicago.”

“No.”

“We’ll be back when this is over. You should send Alina with us.”

His expression doesn’t change, but the temperature seems to drop and the air pressure increases. “No.”

“Demyan…”

He starts swearing in Russian. At least, it sounds like swearing.

But he comes over to me and he deliberately flips down the thin straps of my lingerie, pulling it down so my breasts are on display to him.

I go to grab the sheets, but he pulls those away, too.

“If you’re forcing me to be late, then I want some eye candy.”

And my traitorous nipples harden.

“Ilya’s just working from here; it’s easier.”

There’s nothing in his tone to say he’s lying, but I can feel the lie down deep in my bones.

“I’m getting close to bringing down Max’s murderer,” he says, “so Ilya here, working, means you are all safer. That’s all.”

He closes the gap and kisses me slow, leaving me spinning, then he’s out the door before I can hit the ground again. “Bastard,” I mutter. I know he’s lying.

It’s the truth, but also a lie because he’s hiding something.

What I should do is really push, but that was as far as I dare go. This morning, he was in a good mood. But he can turn on a dime right now, and his temper worries me .

What if he just decides to get rid of me and keep Sasha?

I swallow, getting up and showering. Asking him to send us away was stupid. It’ll put the idea in his head. As in sending me away.

After all, Alina plays ball with him. I don’t. I don’t know how. I don’t know how a crime boss’s future wife is meant to be.

I don’t even know if he’ll still want me if I push him too hard. And the thing is, I’m falling for him. Hard. I don’t think it’s in love yet. That takes total trust, letting him in, and it frightens me he wants me to rely on him, trust in him when this doesn’t feel like it’s reciprocated.

It’s been me and Sasha against the world for two years and when Toby cheated, he hurt me on such a base level it was like a seismic shift.

Not even the fact he and the woman split and he’s with someone else, according to Kara, searching for another me because he knows he burned that bridge and would have to go through his sister to even get near me, not even that helps.

He opened an internal rift.

And I don’t know how to close it.

I don’t even know who to talk to about it.

Demyan would think I wanted him. I’m already scared he might go after my brother; I don’t want him to do something to Toby.

I don’t want Toby. I don’t have feelings either way about him anymore.

But I don’t want to be responsible for someone’s pain, someone’s death, Kara’s heartache.

The closest person to talk to here would be Alina. But she’s his sister. And she’s grieving.

“Fuck.” I dress and stare at myself in the mirror, the sounds of a waking Sasha coming through the monitor on the bathroom counter.

I look drawn. Tired. I look like I need a good meal.

Demyan’s shift from me as prisoner to being ordered to marry him to a fancy prisoner with Sasha and his sister is one I could take as a learning curve on his side. He’s learning, he’s trying to protect his family.

Or I could see it as Demyan being one step from sending me back under lock and key in that room.

With a sigh, I pull my blonde hair back into a ponytail and head off to see my son when someone speaks through the baby monitor.

“Good morning, little man. It’s dyadya Ilya.” The man chuckles, and remarkably, so does Sasha.

I hurry into the room as he speaks Russian to Sasha as he changes him, entertains him, and then dances him in the air to uproarious screams of laughter.

The black-haired man, who’s maybe Demyan’s age and just as handsome, looks strange, and suddenly I realize what it is.

His green eyes dance and a smile adorns his mouth as he hangs Sasha upside down.

My son’s screaming with giggles. “No. Eelya. No! I’m not a sack!”

“You are. Potatoes. And it’s dyadya.”

Sasha makes a mess of the word, and Ilya sighs dramatically, plopping Sasha on his shoulders. “You can call me uncle in English.”

“Unca in English,” Sasha yells.

And my heart swells. The only dampening thing is the thought Demyan might be angry at this. At how Sasha takes to the grinning, full-of-fun man.

“Hey Erin, I thought I’d help out. Demyan’s going to be very late tonight.” Though he still grins, some of the light turns hard in his eyes. “Say good morning to your mama.”

“I’m taller than you, Mama!”

Ilya starts to pull him off to hand him to me, but Sasha grips his hair.

“C’mon, Mama’s waiting,” Ilya says .

Sasha pulls hard on his hair, hard enough to make me wince. I’ve been a victim of his little boy enthusiasm before. “Noooo!”

“You don’t pull hair, Sasha.” I smile at my son, even as I struggle to look stern. “Say sorry to Uncle Ilya, and maybe he’ll take you down to breakfast.”

He pulls his hair harder as he tries to lean around. “I sorry, Unca Eelya.”

“Come on, monkey,” Ilya says, “let’s get you fed.”

The week passes and I’m finding Ilya to be that guy who tried to give me some personal time by tending to Sasha. He’s fun and easygoing, and both Sasha and Alina adore him.

He somehow manages to get her out of funks when she starts sliding into them by engaging her in mundane work or putting her on give Erin some rest days.

And Demyan…

I barely see him.

To talk to, that is. When he does come home, he smells of booze and smoke, and once of perfume that I can’t bring myself to ask about.

But he wakes me and takes me hard, pounding into me. He’ll hold me down and fuck me so brutally it’s close to pain, but so good it makes me moan and thrust back against him. He uses my mouth, my pussy, my ass.

And he’s always gone by morning.

The only thing that doesn’t make me hate myself for giving in to him— for wanting what he hands out—is as I drift off, he’ll hold me, kiss me softly.

And once, when he thought I was asleep, right before he slid out to dress and disappear again, he whispered, “It won’t always be like this, Lyubimaya , my love. You’re perfect. ”

And I tell myself that’s enough.

It has to be.

“I’ll be all right, Erin,” Ilya says, handing me the coffee. “I promise.”

I wrap my hands around the mug and blow on the steam. “You sound like Demyan.”

In the living room/makeshift office, the laptop next to me, I look at him. I talked him into giving me something to do.

It’s small, I know that, just basic clerical business for a small bar Demyan owns in Back of the Yards. I’ve balanced books before and it’s that simple. But at least it’s something I can do to feel useful.

“No one can promise that. He…” I dart a look at him. “Demyan’s so distant and harsh at times. There are nice moments, don’t get me wrong, but I hate that he doesn’t seem to trust me.”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, just watching Sasha as he plays on the floor. “Demyan’s Demyan. But the fact you’re here means something. He doesn’t let people in.”

“H-he told me his father wasn’t nice.”

“His father was a bastard. A cold, cruel man. Violent, harsh—harsher than him. And all his love went to Alina. Demyan… he took everything out on him. Shaped him.”

“That’s what worries me,” I say.

But he sighs and looks up. “Demyan has some unlearning to do, but he has a protective shell. And he’ll die for those he loves. Kill for them, too.”

He tells me more about his father, how his mother died when Demyan was young, and how his father turned against him. Blamed Demyan for her death.

“I’ve known him since school. I know his sister was his saving grace. He could have punished her for coming along and getting the love Demyan was denied. Many would have, but he loves her, too.”

“I think you’re his saving grace, too,” I say.

“Don’t discount yourself or Sasha.”

He’s right about Sasha, but me? I don’t know.

There must be something on my face because Ilya says, “One thing I think you know about him is his penchant for grudges. Wrong him and he’ll hold a grudge forever, but do right and you’ll never have a more loyal or caring person in your corner.”

I swallow hard.

His words are meant to comfort me, but they don’t.

Because I did something to him. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t vindictive, and Demyan never gave me his details.

If Tom wasn’t my brother, then this would have played out the same way, only then I’d never have even had an option of whether to reach out.

In Demyan’s eyes, I wronged him.

And you can’t really wrong someone more than keeping their child from them.

The cruelty of his keeping Sasha from me for those painful days, of showing me the video to twist the knife… that’s what happens when you wrong someone.

And Demyan’s dangerous. Ilya just said so.

What if I’m not forgiven, not really?

“Erin.” Ilya’s smile is a welcoming, reassuring thing. I know he’s deadly, too, but he’s so much softer, and he’s fun. Sasha blooms around him, especially now that Demyan’s not here much and that weighs on me, too. It— “Stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just…” He breathes in. “Just know he cares. I’ve never seen him let someone in so quickly like he has you. Both you and Sasha mean the world to him. You… you affect him in ways I’ve never seen before. And it’s incredible to see.”

I set down my mug and smile back. “Time to get some of this busy work you’ve given me done.”

The following evening after dinner we’re drinking wine and laughing and it’s good, so good to see Alina smiling.

She looks at us. “Sasha’s asleep. Who wants to play poker?”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “You’ll be broke by the end of the first round.”

“Really?” She dumps a bag of poker chips on the table. “Put your mouth where the chips are, baby.”

“Fine.” He just drinks his wine and grins.

“I don’t have any money,” I say. “So?—”

Alina looks at me. “We’re not playing for money, just the chips and the pride.”

“Damn right,” says Ilya.

He shuffles the deck of cards Alina produces and we start to play. I’m terrible at it. The last time I played was with Max at college, but I keep that to myself.

Ilya regales us with boarding school stories of Demyan. From when he was smaller all through secondary, and a picture emerges of a boy who goes from playful to serious young man and my heart hurts.

And then Ilya leans forward. “Did I tell you about the apple incident? Once I dared Demyan to steal an apple from the headmaster’s room.

But he stole all of them. And when he got caught, he denied it.

Pockets bulging with apples and he did such a good job, he got me detention.

He pinned it on me. Said he didn’t see me sneak the apples into his pockets. ”

We laugh as he builds on the scenario, making it more and more outrageous, Demyan seemingly more pious and Ilya more villainous when it was the other way around.

I’m laughing so hard picturing it, I almost fall out of my chair. Ilya catches me when a voice speaks behind us.

Quiet. Deadly.

Turning the room to ice in moments flat.

“What the fuck?” Demyan.

But Ilya just motions him over. “Don’t be like that. They believe you about the apples. Well, maybe Erin needs some convincing…”

Demyan storms over and grabs Ilya by the throat, hauling him out of his chair and sending chips, glasses, and cards scattering to the ground. He slams his friend against the wall.

“Demyan!” Alina tugs at him, but he shoves her away.

He squeezes harder, and Ilya turns a funny color. “What the fuck are you doing, making a move on, my girl? Already, my son asks for his dyadya .”

I shriek, and Ilya makes a strange sound, his feet beating the wall. I grab at Demyan and he goes to shove me, too, but I stand my ground. I wiggle between them. “Calm down.”

His eyes glitter as they find mine. “You protect your lover, Erin?”

“For God’s sake, Demyan,” Alina says.

I shove at him, and this time he releases Ilya and grabs me. “Are you going to strangle me, too?” I snap. “Your sister’s right there. We were playing a game, the three of us. So please calm down!”

Ilya grabs him and shoves him from me. “Nothing is going on, Demyan.”

The two exchange words in Russian, and then Demyan gives me a look like he hates me and turns on his heel, storming out of the room.

Alina hovers, lost, frantic, she starts to go after her brother, then turns to me. But Ilya helps me and we all set everything back.

“Something harder.” Alina grabs a bottle of bourbon and three glasses, shakily pouring three full cups of it. I drink mine, ignoring the burn.

Ilya puts his hand on my arm, then takes his and drinks it down, refilling them all. He checks over Alina, his gaze taking her in and then back at me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine. You?” Then he looks again at Alina. “And you?”

She nods. And he just sighs.

“Don’t worry, Erin. I’m tough. Besides, it’s not the first time Demyan’s lost his shit and it likely won’t be the last.”

I think he says that to reassure me.

But it doesn’t.

It scares me.

Because if Demyan can lose his temper like that at his friend, what’s stopping him from doing it when it’s just me and him? Or worse.

What if he takes out his temper on Sasha?