“You forced me into your house, Viktor. Remember? I didn’t ask—youtold. You ordered. I had no say. You weren’t honest with me about who you were when we met, and now I’m in a situation I have no control over whatsoever. And my life and my daughter’s life are in danger because ofyou! Believe me, if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t.”
“But you are here.” Viktor’s words are frigid and sharp as a knife. From the chill that runs down my back as he steps toward meagain, I almost feel like he’s holding one. “You live inmyhouse; you carrymychild. You aremineto protect.”
I gasp as though he’s punched me in the gut, and I can’t regain my breath for one heartbeat, then another, and another.
“I am not your possession!” I finally retort, stepping back. This isn’t the Viktor who held me, who whispered sweet words. This is the Bratva boss, the man who controls everything around him. “I am a person, Viktor. With my own feelings, my own needs. And if you can’t see that, if you can’t give me an actual relationship with actions and not just meaningless words and gifts, then this isn’t going to work.”
Viktor’s face darkens, and his eyes flash as every enormous inch of him towers over me. “You think you can just walk away? You think you can deny me access to my child? You will not make demands of me, Leah. You will understand your place.” His voice is soft, but it’s a terrifying softness. “I decide what works. And thiswillwork.”
The air crackles with tension, heavy and suffocating. Viktor’s words, his tone, are a stark reminder of who he is, that I’m now part of his dark world. He’s not just a man who struggles with intimacy; he’s a man who expects obedience, who sees control as his right. And in that moment, the glittering bracelet still sitting on the dresser feels less like a gift and more like a chain.
A cold, clear thought settles in my mind: I can’t be near him right now. I need to protect myself and Eliza from this kind of suffocating control.
Without another word, I turn and walk out of the bedroom. I don’t look back. I walk down the silent hall, past the closed doors, until I reach Eliza’s room.
The nightlight casts a soft glow over her sleeping form, her small chest rising and falling rhythmically. I slip into bed beside her. The soft, comforting scent of her shampoo fills my senses as she sighs and cuddles up to me. And for the moment, I feel a sense of peace with my child in my arms.
I listen to Eliza’s gentle breathing, the sound of the occasional car passing below, or one of Viktor’s guards walking the halls.
My own heart still pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Viktor’s words echo in my head:You are mine to protect.You will understand your place. I decide what works.
It’s not just a lack of emotional connection; it’s a terrifying assertion of power. Thepakhansees me as something he owns, something he can control, not a partner, not an equal. The realization chills me to the bone.
How could I have been so blind? So foolish to think that a man like him, in his position, could ever truly be vulnerable, truly open? He’s built an empire on control, on dominance. Why would he relinquish that for me, for us? The “I love you” feels like a cruel trick now, a momentary lapse in his carefully constructed facade, or worse, another tool of manipulation.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every creak of the house, every distant sound, makes me tense. I imagine Viktor in his room, seething, perhaps already plotting his next move to reassert his authority.
Because I’m pretty sure no one says no to thepakhanof the Antonov Bratva.
20
LEAH
Although I haven’t communicated with Viktor very much over the past week, he made it clear that I’m expected to attend a large gathering for the Bratva. I don’t pretend to know what it’s about or why it’s happening. Iliya told me it’s a yearly meeting of all the most important people in the organization, from both the US and Russia, and wherever else the Antonovs have a presence.
I’m looking at myself in the mirror, and I don’t recognize myself. Viktor sent a team to get me ready for tonight. It took hours to create a flawless mask of sophisticated composure with makeup, to put my hair into an elegant chignon, and for a seamstress to adjust the gown in deep blue to fit my ever-expanding middle.
The blue, I realize, is nearly the color of Viktor’s eyes and the blue on the Antonov crest, yet another way he’s showing the world that I am his.
The dress of flowing silk and organza drapes beautifully over my baby bump, designed to conceal rather than accentuate. The necklace and bracelet Viktor gifted me hang on my wrist and around my throat, dazzling and cold.
Looking back at me in the mirror is a stranger: regal, elegant, untouchable. I feel cold despite the warmth of the room and the beautiful reflection in the mirror that should enchant me.
“Leah.” Iliya sticks his head into the room. I turn my face to him, and his eyes widen for a split second as he takes me in before he looks quickly away. “Are you ready to leave?”
I almost want to say no, to rip my dress off, take my hair down, and wash all this makeup off, so I can spend the evening with my daughter. But things are rocky enough as they are.
“I’m ready.”
The venue we pull up to is the grand ballroom in a historic hotel transformed into a lavish spectacle. Chandeliers drip with crystals, casting a warm, golden glow over a shifting kaleidoscope of well-dressed men and women. The air hums with hushed conversations in multiple languages, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing in an unobtrusive corner. Tables are laden with exotic foods, and servers in formal wear circulate with expensive champagne.
The wealth and the power of the Antonov Bratva, and of Viktor in particular, are on full display tonight. It’s a world away from the one in which I live; a world I don’t understand and don’t belong in.
But Viktor does. He looks every inch the master in a bespoke tuxedo that showcases the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his body, making him appear even more like an elegant, refined predator. I watch as everyone in the room shows him deference and gives him a wide berth. This is Viktor’s world, and he is very clearly the king.
So what does that make me?
He turns in that moment, and much like Iliya, his eyes widen for a split second before he masters the emotion. The guests, tightly packed, somehow open and close around him, making a clear path for him to the stairs, which he climbs to reach me. It’s a real fairy-tale princess moment; I just don’t want anything to do with it.
