Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (114)

I shrug. “Sure.”

“Vitaly used to bring women home. I wanted so badly to hate them. Not just because they were younger or more beautiful than me, but because they were extensions of him. He paraded these women through my own home, my own bedroom, as a way to punish and control me. Everyone knew; the maids, the staff, all Vitaly’s men. The boys knew, too, though they pretended they didn’t for my sake. But I will never forget how it felt to watch those women leave after hearing their moans for hours on end.”

I feel nauseous. “That’s horrible. But I don’t see what it has to do anything. It just proves my point, really.”

She waves a finger. “Precisely the opposite. Tell me: have you ever seen Isaak lay a finger on another woman?”

My body goes ramrod straight. I think about Marissa. I see her beautiful face and her flirty eyes and I picture Isaak’s body stretched out on top of hers.

And the image makes my stomach turn. The bile rises to my throat and no matter what I do, I can’t get rid of the image now that it’s managed to worm its way into my head.

“If you’re trying to tell me that Isaak has real feelings for me just because he’s courteous enough to fool around behind my back or keep it in his pants for a little while, then I’m afraid you’re wrong. He’s using me, just like Maxim used me. Isaak has no reason to be faithful to me. We’re not really married.”

“Why don’t you ask him then?” Nikita suggests. “Ask him what he feels when another woman looks at him the way they all look at him.”

My stomach twists again, because now I want to know. It never struck me that there might be other women in his life, fleeting one-hour encounters that satiate his lust and give him no grief or vitriol.

But now? Now, the thought’s in my head and I hate how sick it’s making me.

“No,” I say stubbornly. “I don’t need to ask him because I don’t care.”

It’s such a bald-faced lie that I’m scared she’s going to call me out on it. But she doesn’t. She just stands there calmly, reading me in the same way that Isaak does.

“He can fuck anyone he likes,” I continue. “I’ve got a life to get back to. I’ve got a—”

I’m so worked up that I only barely stop myself just short of saying the word “daughter.” I wonder if she noticed.

“I’ve got a family to get back to. I want to see my nephews grow up.”

Nikita nods slowly. “If that’s what you want, Isaak will not stop you leaving the moment you’re safe.”

Safe. The word makes me want to laugh. And Isaak Vorobev isn’t the antidote for that.

He’s the poison itself.





43





Isaak





“Well?”

Bogdan shakes his head. “Another letter.”

“What does this one say?”

“It’s short. More of the same thing, really. He wants her back, and he repeats his offer.”

“To walk away from his so-called claim,” I snort.

“What if he’s serious?” Bogdan asks.

“Don’t be fucking na?ve,” I snap. “That bastard is trying to lure me into a trap that gives him the upper hand. You may not remember playing with Maxim when we were boys, but I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“He hated to lose. He used to throw loud fucking temper tantrums. He only stopped because Yakov walked in one day and hit him over the back of the head. Told him to take defeat like a man.”

Bogdan grows thoughtful as I recount the story. “He was a good man, wasn’t he?” he asks. “I don’t remember much of him, but I always remember he was kind to me.”

Of course Bogdan would remember that. Kindness was in short supply in our home growing up. When you experience it, however little, it sticks out.

“He was kind. But weak.”

“He was the worse don,” Bogdan agrees. “But the older I get, the more I wonder if he was the better man.”

I know what it means for Bogdan to admit that out loud. He’s always been fiercely loyal to our father. Only the revelation of his betrayal could have loosened Bogdan’s tongue.

I lean back in my seat and stare at the open map sitting on my desk. Circles and pins surround five different locations around the city.

“We’re going to need all our men for an attack on this scale,” Bogdan points out.

I nod grimly. “Bring them all in. I’m not trying to make a statement this time. I’m ending this fucking war. I’ve given Maxim passes before because of his last name. But that time has passed.”

“I’ll get everything organized.”

There’s a soft knock on the door. I know it’s Mama even before she walks in, looking troubled and detached at the same time.

“We’re busy,” I say brusquely.

I’m sure I’ve been a disappointment to her as a son. I was never one to run to her when I was scared or grab her hand when I stumbled. She wanted to be a mother, but I didn’t need one. Perhaps that’s why she’d clung to Bogdan when he was born.

But in due time, he’d been taken from her as well.

The Bratva is a greedy beast. It’s not kind to those who don’t understand its ways. Mama was the perfect Bratva wife. But only because she was forced to be. It was the only way for her to survive.