I sigh and lean back in my chair. My gaze steadies in the corner of my office in resignation.
“It doesn’t matter. Whoever Viktor chooses. Maybe he has a niece or one of his higher ups has a daughter.” All I need is a woman from the Russians to agree to this.
Even if I knew the women of the Bratva, I wouldn’t have a preference. Women all the same. What difference does it make who it is?
“Viktor has a daughter. What if that’s who he chooses?” he asks curiously. “You couldn’t trust her. There’s no way his daughter would just abandon him and become loyal to the Syndicate.”
“His daughter is young. There’s no way he’d have her marry me.” At thirty-seven, I don’t feel old. But for a girl in her twenties, that’s a ridiculous age gap. “But you do make a good point. There’s no way to prove the allegiance of a Bratva daughter. I’d have to keep her at arm’s distance. I’d never trust her.”
He relaxes in his chair, sagging unprofessionally in relief. If he were any other of my men, I’d scold him for such lack of composure in my presence. We have a standard and reputation to uphold as Syndicate members. And I will not have my men looking lazy.
But it’s Stefan, so I don’t give him shit about it.
“So that’s that? You’re really getting married?” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. I just nod. “Fuck, man. I never thought I’d see the day.”
My gaze remains locked on the corner of my office. I spiral into thoughts about what this means. Into the horror of what I’m about to do.
Because, Stefan, neither did I. I never thought I’d be here.
I’m not meant for marriage.
But I’m willing to do anything to save my family, my Syndicate.
So really, how big of difference can one woman make on my life?
Chapter 3
Katerina
I’m researching business hierarchies for my end-of-term paper, but I can’t stay focused. All I can think of is Sergey’s creepy remarks and wandering eyes.
He knows I’m his. Not yet, but I will be.
I don’t know how much longer I can live like this. Belonging to men. Whether it be Viktor or Sergey, it doesn’t matter. I’ll always only be property in their eyes. A pretty smile and punching bag.
I want to run away. I want to sneak out and leave this all behind. I need to.
But I can’t.
I know Viktor would find me. He’d prowl through all corners of the earth to get me back, if only so he could enact his revenge. His fury over embarrassing him by leaving would be unmatched.
But that’s not the real reason I stay. I’d gladly risk his wrath if only for a moment of freedom. A taste of life outside this cage.
But I won’t leave. I can’t leave. Not until I get my own revenge. Until Viktor is dead. Until I kill him.
It’s not even about freedom. I know the minute I kill him, I’ll have signed my life over. The minute he’s dead, his precious Bratva will end me. But I also know in those last minutes, the sweet taste of vengeance will satiate me. I’ll finally avenge my mother. I’ll be deserving to sit at her side in the afterlife. I can tell her it’s over, that he got what he deserved.
Vova runs to the door and crouches in a fighting pose, ready to attack. Knowing what this means, I quickly grab him and throw him in the closet before Viktor is on the receiving end of his wrath.
My door flies open so quickly it slams against the wall. And there he stands, in all his sinister glory.
“Katerina, I have an important man coming over for a meeting. You are to look presentable if you leave this room. If I see a single hair out of place, you’ll feel it for a week. Do you understand?” he demands.
I mull over what he’s saying. He seems almost… uneasy. His hands tremble, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His face is an even lighter shade than his regular pallor. I momentarily wonder who could be coming over that causes him this much distress, then brush it away with my indifference.
I must be quiet for too long because before I know it, Viktor has me by the throat. His tight grip is sure to leave a mark. There’s no warning. He’s restricting my airflow. I resist the urge to struggle, knowing it’ll only worsen his wrath.
“Katerina, do you understand? I will lock you in this room for a week without meals if you embarrass me! This is no trifling matter.” He’s so pissed that his spit hits my face as he speaks.
