Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (106)

“I had an easy time of it,” Bogdan explains. “But only because Isaak stood in front of me like a human shield most of the time. When I say ‘human shield,’ I’m not exaggerating by the way. I mean he was literally a human shield.”

I frown. “Do I want to know this story?”

“There are many. But I’ll tell you one. I can’t remember what I was meant to be learning. But I do remember that I failed. Over and over again. Papa’s go-to means of punishment was to leave a cut on the skin. Deep enough that it would leave a scar, but not so deep that you’d need stitches or anything like that.”

I wince at the casual way Bogdan conveys this story. Almost like he’s speaking of an everyday family moment instead of disgusting, abusive behavior.

“I knew I was going to get punished and I was scared. But I’d watched Isaak go through this enough times. I wanted to take my punishment as bravely as he did. So I stood there, bottom lip trembling, waiting for my cut. Papa drew his knife and came towards me. But just before he cut me, Isaak interrupted. He pushed Papa away, hard. I just stood there in shock and stared.”

Bogdan’s eyes are hazy as he remembers.

“No one ever touched Papa. Especially not the way Isaak had. Aggressively, angrily. I think Papa was equally shocked. Isaak got right in front of me and told Papa that he wasn’t going to let him touch me. I was sure that Isaak would get his ass whipped because of that. But instead, Papa gave him a choice. Either he stepped aside and let me take my punishment. Or Isaak would take it for me.”

My eyes go wide. I know immediately what Isaak chose.

“He took it.”

Bogdan nods. “He did… and all the ones that followed. Half those scars on his arm belong to me.”

“Oh God…”

Bogdan gives me a shrug. “I know that story sounds horrific to you.”

“Only because it is.”

He smiles. “Did I mention that I was six at the time? Isaak was ten.”

“Your father sounds like the devil incarnate. Why did he even have children?”

“He got married because he needed a wife to give him children. And he needed children to carry on his legacy. I don’t think he ever looked at Isaak and me and saw ‘sons.’ He saw us as vehicles to drive forward his name.”

“And doesn’t that hurt you?”

“I can only speak for myself,” Bogdan says. “And yeah, it hurt when I was younger. Before I understood this life. Before I accepted it. But in the end, I didn’t miss out on much. Sure, Papa wasn’t much of a father. But Isaak more than made up for it.”

I shiver a little despite the fact that the water is still warm. The relationship Bogdan is describing reminds me so much of Bree and me.

I’d clung to her the same way that Bogdan had clung to Isaak. I have no doubt that Bree would do anything for me, and I believe the same of Isaak and Bogdan.

It’s the one thing I can fully and completely relate to.

“You have every right to be pissed, Camila,” Bogdan says. “But you’re seeing him wrong. You think he’s controlling because he gets off on the power trip. He’s controlling because he’s trying to protect the people closest to him.”

“And you’re implying that I’m one of those people?”

“He’s never been so singularly interested in keeping one woman around for this length of time,” Bogdan tells me. “Honestly, he’s purposefully shied away from anything meaningful with a woman since he was twelve.”

“Twelve?”

“That’s when he, uh… became sexually active.”

I shudder. “Jesus.”

Bogdan laughs at my reaction. “It’s the Bratva. You mature fast.”

I lean back against the tub, realizing that Isaak has probably with a legion of women. I don’t know how I feel about being on his list.

But I am surprised to realize that I don’t regret it.

We sit in silence for a while. Bogdan doesn’t excuse himself, and I find that I actually enjoy his company. It’s nice to have a conversation that’s not solely combative.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask after soaking in my thoughts for a few minutes.

“Of course.”

“Why are you even bothering with this?”

“With what?”

“Sitting here and talking to me,” I explain. “Checking up on me. Giving a shit.”

He smiles. “Because my brother won’t do it, even if he wants to.”

I frown, unsure how to process that. So I decide to put it aside for later. After this ordeal is over—if it ever ends, that is—I’m going to need a shit load of therapy.

“I heard part of your conversation earlier,” I tell him. “I heard that Maxim’s been trying to contact Isaak.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

He looks calm, completely unrattled, but I sense something change. He doesn’t stiffen or anything, but somehow I know he’s not going to bend on this topic.

That doesn’t stop me from trying, though.

“What did he say?”

He shakes his head and gives me a knowing smile. “Oh no. I’m not saying a word.”

“Because of Isaak?”