Page 58 of Bratva Sacrifice

Piotr doesn’t hesitate even an instant as he makes for the door. But his dark eyes land briefly upon me as he leaves, and there is such a wealth of animosity in them that I feel myself take a reflexive step back, away from that burning hatred.

It was Alexei’s decision to put him in the pit. But Piotr blames me for it absolutely. Whatever happened to him there, he holds me entirely responsible. Even though I begged Alexei not to kill him, he holds me responsible.

“Is—is Piotr okay?” I ask as I close the door behind me.

Alexei shrugs. “This should not concern you,” he says. “If he is not, this is only his fault.”

I really don’t think Piotr agrees with that assessment. I think I’ve made an enemy of him, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling. Maybe he’s not foolish enough say as much to Alexei, but he doesn’t care if I know how he feels. Maybe he wants me to know.

The bars of my cage squeeze a little tighter. Who am I, really? To Piotr, I think I might just be…Alexei’s pet. A temporary amusement. He’s never said otherwise. So maybe Piotr is only biding his time in hateful silence until I cease to amuse. Until Alexei is done with me.

I don’t know what happens to me then. It’s just another in the long list of questions I don’t ask.

“Katya,” Alexei prompts again, and he thumps his fist against his chest to summon me closer. And suddenly my heart is hammering against my ribs. I wonder if I’ve made a monumental mistake, coming here to bargain with a man who doesn’t need to bargain with me. Who could, at any moment, decide I’m not worth the trouble I cause.

I don’t want him to be done with me. I want to stay. But I need the terms to change.

As I approach, Alexei reaches out and pulls me down onto his lap and wraps one arm around my waist. He buries his face in my hair, drawing in a deep breath. Like he’s pulling the scent of me deep into his lungs. Like it comforts him to hold me like this.

I feel the tension in him dissolve slowly. Whatever they were discussing, he and Piotr, it wasn’t pleasant. He murmurs against my neck, “What brings you here? Usually you are reading this time of day.”

I fight a wince. “I finished all my books,” I tell him.

“All of them?”

“I’m a fast reader.” It sounds sulky. Petulant. Resentful, because I am. But I don’t want to be. It would take so little, and I could be happy.

Alexei gives a little huff of a laugh. “Okay, Katya. Tomorrow, we buy you more.”

I draw in a short breath. “I want more than books,” I tell him. “I want a computer. A phone.”

His hand clasps my hip. His smile is so patronizing it stings. “Who will you call, Katya?” he asks. “Your Papa? Your boss at that coffee shop?”

Maybe no one. But I want the option. I just need my cage to have a door. I just need the choice to be mine.

I’d choose him. I’d choose him. I only want him to let me do it.

My hands knot in my lap. “I can’t sit around every day doing nothing,” I tell him.

“You don’t do nothing,” he says, and his voice has a bit of an edge to it. “You swim. You read. This is like—vacation, yes? Many people would wish they were so lucky.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right—for so many people, a luxurious life is the dream. A life with no bills and no responsibilities and no stress.

But it isn’t my dream. It’s not the one I’ve worked for. The one my mom gave to me.

“I want to teach,” I tell him. “It’s almost the end of summer. School will be back in session soon.” I was going to teach third grade. I had a job lined up. Now, I don’t even know if it’s still waiting for me. If I’ve been out of contact for so long that I’ve missed critical teacher preparation days. If they’ve hired someone else to fill the spot I abandoned.

It shouldn’t be such a big deal, should it? Those hours I’m on my own, when he has mobstering to do...I’d just be spending them in a classroom instead of lounging by the pool or reading in bed or binge-watching TV. Probably he wouldn’t even notice most of the time.

“I told you,” Alexei says tersely, a muscle flexing in his jaw, “we discuss this later.”

“It is later.” And soon it might be too late entirely. “Alyosha—”

“For fuck’s sake, Katya,” he says irritably. “I do not have time for this today.”

My heart sinks. “Will you ever?”

Alexei hisses out a curse in Russian, and then he’s nudging me off of his lap. It’s a dismissal. Perhaps it’s not as sharp or short as the way he dismissed Piotr, but it’s still a dismissal. Like I’ve overstayed my welcome. Ceased, already, to entertain. “Go,” he says shortly, his jaw tight and tense.