“Well, Alexander was quite insistent that you be here. You’re one of us now, he reminded me,” she said with a smile, not realizing the danger she’d just put me in with her words. But I knew, and I felt Decatur stiffen at my side.
When I straightened back up, I caught sight of Ivan over her shoulder. His face was enraged, his tie loosened to hang awkwardly. He’d blame me for that, for him looking disheveled in public. It would be my fault, because anything that went wrong for Ivan was somehow my fault.
As he approached, his expression only grew fiercer. He didn’t even seem to see the woman I was talking to, and the words he spoke as he approached enforced that fact.
“Goddammit, Marisha. I’m supposed to be at a fucking meeting. A dealbreaker kind of meeting. The whole fucking thing is going to go under, because I had to come here and deal with you. I’ve only just struck this goddamn deal between Eduard Vasiliev and the Italians! My head is on the fucking chopping block!” He stomped forward, hands lifting to grip my upper arms. His fingers dug into my skin, short manicured nails slicing at the freckled paleness.
Evelina looked between Ivan’s fierce grip on my arm and me, her smile falling as she watched him manhandle his wife. My cheeks flamed with shame.
“Ivan, I just came earlier to tour the gardens. Some of the other wives were here.” I stuttered out the words, feeling weak and wishing that Evelina Vasiliev wasn’t here witnessing my humiliation.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Marisha.” He shook me harshly, causing my vision to blur.
I couldn’t believe he was acting this way in public. Even if Decatur had told him that I’d come early, even if he’d told him that he’d found me sitting alone at a joint mixer, none of that was bad enough to warrant this kind of rage. It wasn’t me causing this tantrum—I was just the pressure that popped the cork. This business deal going wrong must be devastating. Money and lives lost. I was going to suffer the consequences of it too. And they’d be even more severe because he was losing control in front of everyone and making a mockery of the event. As soon as he realized his surroundings, realized who the woman was standing near me, he would swallow down his anger until we were alone, and then it would come back. Volcanic. A killing force.
Would this be the time he goes too far and hurts me beyond bruises?
“Mr. Zolotov,” Evelina’s voice cut into the chaos, and Ivan froze, his face going blank in surprise. He blinked, looking around the room, taking in all of the beautifully dressed women who were staring slack-jawed in surprise at the commotion he’d caused. “This is highly improper. This is a fundraiser. A fundraiser for the women’s shelter. And you are acting like a brute and terrifying my guests!” She picked her words carefully, but her tone was clear.
Ivan still hadn’t registered who was speaking, but he released me and turned slowly to face the woman who was standing as tall as a regal goddess, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
“Mrs. Vasiliev,” he stuttered out in surprise, hands reaching up to tighten his tie.
It almost made me happy that Ivan was taken aback by her presence, though he’d known she was helping host tonight’s gala so his surprise shouldn’t have been too great.
“Please leave, Mr. Zolotov. Not only is this a dinner for female attendees only, but you have proven the very need for a women’s shelter against abusive spouses.” She turned from him, nodding curtly at two men standing on either side of the exit to the pavilion. They strode towards us, and it was obvious that they were heavily armed.
“We’re leaving. I apologize profusely for causing a scene or any offense.” Ivan grabbed a hold of my wrist.
“Your wife is more than welcome to stay,” she said looking back at us, her eyes still narrowed and her mouth cut into a thin line of disapproval.
Ivan forced a smile but there was nothing pleasant about it.
“I’m afraid my wife will need to leave with me.” He tugged on my wrist and we started to walk away. Decatur followed silently.
I heard Evelina Vasiliev speak quietly to her daughter as we moved away, my eyes watering as Ivan’s nails dug into my skin. He was so angry. Angrier than I’d ever seen before. If he found out what else was going on…
This thing with Alexander had to stop. It had to stop now.
Or I’d never survive.
Chapter Seventeen
Alexander
I stretched my shoulders and reared my fist back, landing it on the jaw of the Italian prick that thought he could mess with my family. I hit him again, the satisfying crunch of bone breaking the silence of the room. Nikolai and I had been beating Stefano Muselina for thirty minutes now, until he’d fallen silent, barely acknowledging the pounding of our fists on his flesh. We’d shown him exactly what happened when you messed with Bratva royalty.
“I think our point is proven, Alexander,” Nikolai said, cracking his bloody knuckles, then placing a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded in agreement. “Towel,” I ordered, and Karik handed one over to me. I wiped it down my sweaty face and bare chest before cleaning my hands on it and dropping it at Stefano’s feet. I crouched, gripping his face in my hands and lifting his lolling head up so he could look me in the eye. “The next time you get the idea that maybe you can handle something on your own, remember who you’re fucking with,” I gritted. I stepped back, letting his head fall back down, his chin hitting his chest. I nodded to my men to uncuff his wrists and let him fall to his knees.
“Orders,” Stefano whispered through swollen, battered lips. After collapsing to his knees, he’d rolled onto his side and balled into a nearly fetal position. “I only do what I am told.” His accent was thicker than normal, as he choked on the blood filling his mouth.
“What did you say, Stefano?” I knelt down again, head cocked curiously to one side. “You only take orders from one man, and I know that my Father did not tell you to take it upon yourself to fuck with our business.”
“Mr. Zolotov’s orders,” he mumbled out, coughing and spitting up a spray of wet crimson. “He said he wanted to impress you by moving things forward.”
“Ivan…set you on this path?” This was the most information Stefano had given us since we’d picked him up on the street and taken him to our warehouse for a lesson in Bratva loyalty.
