It was a loveless existence, and my moments of small defiance were always laced with fear.
Because the truth was, I was tied to Ivan indefinitely. If not… if Ivan abandoned me, who would protect me?
I didn’t want to be that woman. The one that required a man to keep her safe, but the Russian mafia world was one where I did not belong—not on my own, not as a free and valued individual with such a black mark upon my name—and as such, I needed to tread carefully. In time, I could only hope that the stain on my reputation would fade. Though I knew it would never wash out completely.
We were nearly to the table when movement caught my attention. Two men, tall and beautifully suited—though neither wore the sort of bespoke suit Ivan favored. They were both attractive, one more so than the other. And that second man, who seemed to be surrounded by an aura of unbridled sexual heat, mesmerized me.
Dark brown hair shorn short on the sides, but longer at the top where two parallel braids snaked from his crown and down the back of his head. His beard was neat, oiled, hints of defiant curls fighting through the brushed straightness. Thick, manicured eyebrows were set over piercing brown eyes.
Brown eyes that flecked with gold when he looked at me, catching me staring at him. His mouth quirked, mustache rising a fraction as he acknowledged me. I felt flame enter my cheeks, rushing down in a wave of heat to warm my lower, wetter places. I clenched my thighs together, a thrill running through me.
I looked away quickly.
Ivan would kill me if he caught me so much as looking at another man. I had to be careful. I reached up and pulled my long coppery hair over my shoulder. The curls bounced, obscuring my peripheral vision so I wouldn’t be tempted to find his face again. But god, the temptation to push the strands back away so that I could see those eyes one more time…
My lungs stopped working for a moment, every iota of my concentration fixated on not focusing on that man. That man who just with the mere glimpse of him promised passion unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
My breath rushed out in a nearly inaudible gasp as Ivan pulled me towards him and we came to a stop. I hadn’t realized that I’d fallen behind. I’d never felt this way before.
Heart beating.
Palms sweaty.
No, I had. Once before.
When I received the news of my parents murder, and I found out my own head was next on the chopping block.
Though this was different. Exciting, not terrifying.
Ivan’s hand moved to the small of my back, positioning me just right at his side, framing his body with my own. When he pulled away, he paused to grip my forearm for a second, squeezing to gently remind me to stay quiet. Pretty as a picture, and pictures didn’t need to speak to be appreciated.
Ivan lowered his head in a show of respect, but lifted it again quickly. Ivan bowed to no man, and I knew that even this small show of inferiority burned his pride. “You honor us with your invitation, Eduard.”
Those sitting at the table grew silent. Eduard said nothing. He only had eyes for me. His face was blank; dark gaze like empty pools. Even the silver streak in his midnight hair seemed to blink at me with accusations.
My heart beat wildly, for a far different reason now. It was a racehorse begging to be let free. But I stood straight, shoulders back, trying not to shrink away from the table and embarrass Ivan. It was Evelina Vasiliev that broke the awkward silence and saved me from myself. A moment longer, and I felt I could not resist escaping, even if it dishonored Ivan and brought me pain later.
“You are welcome, Ivan. And so is your beautiful wife.” The Bratva Queen’s hazel eyes studied me, her coral lips pursed in a stern line. “Marisha,” she finally said, and I was shocked to be addressed directly. “Your parents were our bosom friends, once. I remember you from a little girl.” She smiled, her features softening only slightly. “You have not been held accountable for their actions, but you will be held accountable for yours. Tread wisely. The life of a Bratva wife is not for the weak.”
With those words, Evelina stood up. “I will go find Katya, Eduard. I wish to introduce her to the Fedorov son.”
Eduard looked at his wife lovingly, and he grabbed her hand before she was able to leave. “Do not leave me for long, wife.”
She smiled softly. And I could not tell if the exchange was sincere… or if Eduard Vasiliev was like Ivan. Controlling, with veiled threats behind even the most loving words. I’d only ever personally known the latter, but perhaps this was real love. Love like my own parents had once shared.
Evelina patted his hand and nodded. When he released her, she walked away, her posture regal and her perfectly bleached hair bouncing gently against her shoulders.
“Enjoy the party, Ivan.” Eduard turned, directing his attention back to those at the head table. Ivan and I had been dismissed, and I felt Ivan’s posture stiffen next to me.
Despite Ivan’s power and money, even he had not come away without blemish. Because he’d married me and asked the favor of mercy from the Vasilievs. I wondered if Ivan hated me as much as I hated him, in his own way that he wouldn’t voice. Still, he was among the most powerful, respected and listened to in the room. The snub from Eduard would only go unchecked for so long before he grew tired of it and demanded their respect once more.
Eduard may be the Bratva King, but there was always someone snapping at a king’s heels seeking power, and Ivan had the sharpest teeth of all.
“Marisha, Vesna should be here somewhere. Find her for a drink. I have things to discuss with important people.” Ivan released me and walked towards another table near the windows which overlooked the bridge. I refused to stand even a second longer so close to Eduard, so I moved quickly towards the edge of the room, towards the door that led to the rooftop lounge.
Ivan would ask me later if I found Vesna. He would ask me what we talked about. But I needed air. I needed to breathe. Maybe I would get away with lying that I had spent my free moments with the other Bratva wives. The event space was large, with private rooms attached. Ivan would only have focus for business. He would not think of me again until he was ready to depart. And then I would need to do my job again—the prize at his side, pretty to see and pretty to fuck.
Pushing out into the cool evening seemed to lighten the heavy weight pressing against my body. The anger I held just below the surface—rage at my parents for being part of the Bratva life, rage at them for trying to do the right thing and failing, rage at them for making me have to choose between death and a loveless union.
