Page 5

FOUR

Inessa

S omething is moving beside me, and the sheets smell different, making me spring up from sleep. Clutching the sheets to my chest, a little giggle gets my attention, and Viktor is laid beside me, fidgeting over the sheets I’ve pulled up. I’m not in a bed, and I stare around the room, trying to make sense of it. I also wasn’t dressed in a t-shirt when I fell asleep in a bathtub like a teenager at a house party. He’s still giggling when he speaks.

“You make funny noises when you’re sleeping. It sounds like a train.”

Hopefully, it drove his dad crazy, and he’s decided to fuck off. Laying back down, I look at the time and decide the kid is going to occupy me.

“Why are you awake so early?”

He’s a well-adjusted kid and manages to find happiness around all these crazy fuckers.

“My show finished already, and Vlad gave me breakfast. I wasn’t supposed to wake you up, but you kept making noises.”

He ends in a choked giggle again and starts snorting as my face heats.

Remembering the way Vlad looked at the innocent child has protectiveness rising, and I reassure him before he can get scared again.

“It’ll be our secret. I won’t tell him.”

He turns serious and sits up as he crosses his arms, and his voice comes out stern.

“You can’t tell lies to the Vor. You’ll be punished.”

Vlad is a fucking dick who threatens a child using their title when he’s too young to have any understanding.

I test his knowledge making it seem like I’m agreeing with him.

“Do you know what a Pakhan is, Vitya?”

He nods, hanging on to my every word, and I try to make it sound less serious than it is.

“Well, I’m the granddaughter of the Pakhan.”

His mouth forms a small O and he fills with excitement declaring, “I’m going to be Pakhan when I’m older.”

It’s cute when I don’t assign reality to it. In his little mind, it’s the equivalent of normal children wanting to be royalty or an athlete. It’s not brutal and dangerous, just the highest spot that others revere.

The door is pushed open with too much force as Storm Vlad makes his way in, and his son hides under the sheets. He throws a bag I recognize as mine onto the bed without any care, and his voice is deadly, calling him out.

“Viktor?”

When he doesn’t move, Vlad stomps closer, the ungraceful ass, and drags him out, holding his leg.

I can’t hide my disgust. It coats my words, and my nails are digging into my palm.

“Do you need to manhandle him? He’s a child.”

I’ve seen the way people have treated children. The bruises fade, but the scars are left on their souls. It doesn’t mean shit if they’re born into our world or not. A child is innocent until they choose not to be. Viktor’s scowl doesn’t drop, and it’s even more intense than yesterday as Vlad focuses on me. If he grabs me, I can handle it, a little boy who barely comes past his hips can’t.

He drops him on the bed, and I move without thinking, cradling his head so he doesn’t get hurt and sitting him up. Giving him a smile, I check him to make sure he’s physically okay, and he bounces up, running away from the asshole glaring at me. There’s no warning as the bed dips, and I’m pushed back with a hand over my mouth. His piercing, icy eyes drill into me with nothing but retribution as the deadly tone latches on to me, and he leans into me.

“Do not interfere with my family.”

Biting into his palm to get him off me, he smiles, but there’s no joy, and it doesn’t soften his features. His fingers dig into my cheeks as he hardens with rage.

“Get the fuck up and get dressed. You won’t be around my men half naked.”

He doesn’t allow me to move of my accord and pulls me up with him. Once I’m upright, he lets me go and storms back out, tapping away on his phone.

I need to invest in a knife, or pepper spray, anything that will help me when he does that shit again. Grandfather said that there wouldn’t be any physical harm, but I don’t trust any of them. I know he loves me in his own old-world stern way, but the rules of the Bratva take precedence, and the Vartanovs are royalty. There’s only one Vor in their family but they carry as much fear and respect as Grandfather does when he holds the title. I have no desire to be crowned in marriage with the devilish Vlad, and I have to remind myself that the clause exists to allow me a life once we’ve fulfilled our duties.

Changing into my own clothes shouldn’t be an issue, but I linger, liking the feel of Vlad’s t-shirt. It’s not because it’s his. It’s just soft and smells nice. He probably has good detergent.I count to a hundred and allow myself to hide, surrounded in the only good parts of him before I drag myself out of the bed. My bag has been packed, and I look through the items I’ve been given, knowing my mother hasn’t been involved because the clothes are actually mine and not some twin costume to match with her.

Once I’m ready, I poke my head out of the door, expecting some guard to be watching my movements. It’s empty, and I go down in the elevator, poking my head out on each floor. They’re all set up the same. Even the furniture is exactly the same. Each floor is like its own self-contained apartment, apart from the ground floor, and the commotion can be heard through the glass doors before they open.

As soon as they open, it’s violent. The voices and the atmosphere. I don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m entitled to information and get it myself by keeping close to the wall as I step out of the elevator. The large foyer is tiled in dark granite and contrasts against the stark white walls. The large room with a bar in the corner is in view as I hide in an alcove beside the stairs. Vlad is huge and dressed in another impeccably tailored suit as he switches out vodka for whisky, and his shoulders tense at whatever his father is saying to him. He gets even bigger as a car rolls up to a stop, and Dima rushes into the house.

He sees me and slows slightly, his brows coming together before he walks with purpose to the bar and stops beside Vlad. I’m not close enough to hear them and mentally prepare myself to be admonished like a child when the tension in Vlad’s shoulders increases, and his head turns towards the front door with pure death on his features. I sink back into the wall, self-preservation telling me to run while my legs refuse to move. He walks towards me, his long legs eating up the distance, and abruptly turns, walking straight out of the door.

I’m about to run when Valentin walks through the door a moment later. He isn’t looking at me. His attention is solely fixed on a limping Vitali. There are bruises all over his face, his hair is matted to his scalp, and he grits his teeth as he’s forced to put weight on his injured leg. I don’t owe my loyalty to these people as my future in-laws, I owe it to them as they belong to the Bratva, and it wavers on the next person through the doors.

My heart drops seeing Klea being dragged by Vlad’s hulking frame. His fingers are wrapped around her bicep so tightly that the skin digs in, cushioning the digits. She’s young and delicate. In the instances she’s helped at Steorra there’s always been a smile on her face, matching her pixie features.Now, there are tears in her eyes, and she tries to calm her breathing, but her chest rises and falls too quickly.

The bastard doesn’t hide his violence, and the poor girl looks on the verge of sobbing as he addresses Vitali with disgust.

“You should have been left there to rot. If you need the help of a little girl, you’re of no use to me.”

He’s a vile, poor excuse for a human. Even the devil would hold his fucking tongue at the state Vitali is in.

Every moment I spend around the Vartanovs makes my stomach churn. Cruelty runs in their veins as their parents share the same opinion.

“Weak khui.”

Their father’s cursing makes me grimace. His youngest child has clearly been tortured, and he can’t even muster up a single iota of care.

Vlad flicks his fingers, silently commanding Valentin to take the injured party away without looking at either of them.When he turns to Klea, I can’t remain hidden in the shadows like a coward. I straighten my spine and keep my shoulders straight, focusing on each step. He can speak to his family however he wishes, but I’m not going to allow him to hurt her. It’s my one rule in life to do some good, never hurt the innocent. Maybe it will undo some of the bad karmic debt I’ve accumulated due to my association with my family.

He turns his head, his jaw ticking and rage intensifying at the sound of my steps. I’ll take his rage—if it goes too far, I’ll stab him in his sleep. Plugging authority into my voice, I cut him off.

“Klea, thank you for coming. I appreciate how quickly you were able to find Vitali for us.”

She’s too expressive, giving away the ruse rather than taking the lifeline she’s offered. I don’t allow anyone to intervene. I turn into Maximoff’s granddaughter and meet each of their eyes, daring them to fucking stop me.

“Come, I’ll walk you out.”

I’ve been in plenty of rooms with men who need a magnifying glass to locate their dicks and a jet to reach the top of their egos. None of them have ever looked at me the way Vartanov senior is. He may be close to the Vory in Moscow, but we’re in New York, so he can put his balls back in his wife’s purse before whatever punishment he’s dreaming of ever comes to fruition.

Klea stands and takes rushed steps as I stay behind her. She doesn’t turn around as we reach the doors, and I ignore the sound of dress shoes behind me. I don’t leave her side until she gets in her car, and her hand shakes as she attempts to start the engine. She sinks into the seat and quickly locks the door before she manages to fight the tremor and peel out of the driveway kicking up stones in her haste to escape.

Watching her retreat to safety, I keep my spine straight and chin in the air at the overbearing presence behind me. It will never make me slump. All these idiots care about is power and hierarchy therefore, I’m the strongest with my proximity to the Pakhan. I don’t need to turn to know it’s not Vlad but his dickhead father as the smell of smoke reaches me.

His hot breath touches my neck as he sneers, “A wife must be seen and not heard. Your only job will be to open your legs, not your mouth. Remember that when you’re given my name.”

He can keep his fucking name and choke on it.

I turn to leave, and his fat, meaty fingers wrap around my bicep in a bruising grip. Looking from his hand to his eyes, my voice is steel, lacing the threat with my reminder.

“I suggest you remove your hand. This is New York, and you’re a guest of the Pakhan.”

His hate grows with each syllable, infusing me with strength despite his fingers tightening. There’s no sign of pain on my features. He can try as hard as he wishes. I’ll never allow a man the pleasure of hurting me.

He continues staring at me, waiting for me to crumble, and I allow my arm to remain limp as he tightens his fingers, digging them into the muscle. It’s slow and heady watching him realize it’s not an idle threat, and I smile back at him, allowing him to see how much I’ll enjoy it until he drops my arm and takes two steps back. I take measured steps going back inside. They’re all fucking crazy, a fucked up strand of DNA that’s been passed down within their genes filled with misplaced authority. I’m not a pawn to be used. I’m at the fucking top and refuse to bow.

Seeing Vlad makes my anger grow. Why is someone so heinous wrapped in such a beautiful package? His character is the ugliest to exist, while his face was crafted by angels.

Stupid prick.

His eyes go to my bicep, probably unhappy it’s not broken or that his father got there first. They flick over my shoulder. His jaw tics, and I expect him to grab my face again. He takes an approach I don’t expect. He holds my hand, gently pulling me into an office. His palm isn’t just warm. It’s boiling and comforting like a heating pad as he reduces the tug against my arm and stays in step with me.

Why are you still holding his hand? Let go.

He kicks the door closed once we’re inside and turns me to face him. His hand is still in mine as he crouches down, scanning me like a freak.The psycho changes, becoming human and softening his voice.

“What did he do?”

Not giving me time to answer, he turns me around and inspects my back. I’ve lost my voice at the weird ass behavior. It doesn’t come back when I’m turned around again, and he lowers slightly to grip the hem of my dress.

Pushing at his shoulders, I sound hysterical to my own ears.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Whatever is going on in his head is fucking with mine, and he doesn’t attempt to reprimand me for my language. Staring through the door like he can see who’s beyond it, anger that’s not directed at me leaches into his tone.

“Did he touch you?”

The question is deeper than physical, but I can’t pinpoint the specifics. I don’t know why I do it, but I downplay his father’s actions, and my voice is too low.

“He just grabbed my arm.”

He takes half a step back and crosses his arms over his chest. Biceps have always been my weakness, and my eyes are locked in front of me. They’re biteable and I want to press my finger into them to test his muscles. Snapping his fingers in front of my face, there’s a mix of humor and impatience staring back at me when I look up.

“What did he say?”

I go back into my trance when he folds his arms again. It loosens my tongue, and there’s no emotion replaying the conversation.

“I should keep my mouth shut and my legs open when I take his name.”

The beautiful view in front of me is disturbed as he unfolds his arms and delicately holds my chin in a way that I wouldn’t think he was capable of. That softness doesn’t reach his voice as he traces my bottom lip, and his piercing eyes bore into my soul.

“You’ll take my name, and you don’t talk about fucking with anyone but me. Especially that suka.”

I don’t focus on him insulting his father. I can’t stop where my thoughts lead, given all his commands like I’m some whore who’s failed her training.

“I thought I was supposed to ‘fix my problem’?”

His lips lift a fraction, and his laugh is more air than sound as he keeps stroking my lip.

“You got my gift. Work your way up in sizes until you’re ready for me.”

My skin is on fire, not just my chest or cheeks. But every part of the organ covering me is bright red. Having sex toys delivered to you should be something you anticipate, not a gift randomly given with a sarcastic note. I stroke his bicep to distract from my embarrassment and give into my desire in the smallest way, and smile without any joy. I can’t help myself feeling him flex under the material and squeeze for nothing but my own pleasure as I drop my voice.

“Oh, lapackha, maybe I want to use them on you.”

He doesn’t even pause. He leans closer to me until our noses are barely touching. His voice lowers and fills with gravel that causes electricity to travel through my spine.

“You want to be fucked, to lay back and feel pleasure selfishly without putting in any work. You’re not dominant but a true fucking princess, meelaya .”

The air in my lungs freezes, neither of us moving as my eyes dart in a triangle between his eyes and lips.

He’s beautiful. It would be pointless denying it. A strong jaw, sharp features, and dark inky hair that contrasts against his light eyes. But he won’t be satisfying. There’s too much arrogance around him. Vlad does the same as his phone rings, and he keeps the closeness as he answers before it cuts off. There’s no greeting, and he suddenly steps back, filled with anger and moving around me without any information as he storms out of his office.

It’s a good reminder that this is what my life is going to be. Any instance where we might get closer or get to know each other will always be overtaken by his violent needs. I refuse to be in a marriage of inequality, it’s an agreement like anything else in business and he can’t just banish me like I’m his subordinate.