Vlad
She’s dangerous.
I know what she’s up to. She’s trying to wrap me around that pretty little finger of hers.
It’s what she excels at.
I know this trap. It’s the one all women work. They use their beauty, their sex appeal. They weave a web to ensnare you and then your balls are in a vise.
That’s how Mika’s mother got herself to America. How my mother ingratiated herself to Victor. How Sabina nearly got me killed.
And yet it’s impossible for me to refuse. I’m already addicted to being near her, and all the more if she’s playing nice.
I sit beside her and watch her drain her seltzer. I could’ve sworn she wanted wine, but maybe she can’t with the diabetes. I go and get the seltzer bottle and refill her glass and she murmurs her thanks and takes one more sip.
I watch her, fascinated as always by her beauty. Her poise.
She looks out the window, although there’s nothing to see but inky blackness. “Where are we going again? Volgograd?”
“Yes.” I don’t elaborate. It entertains me to watch her work.
“Is it a big city?”
“Small city. One million people. Good place to live.”
“Tell me about it.”
There it is. A simple command. One I should resist, just to shut her down, but I can’t. Not when she fixes those big brown eyes on me and leans slightly forward, lips parted, waiting.
I sip my wine. “Volgograd was formerly Stalingrad. Before that, Tsaritsyn. It’s in southwest Russia on the banks of the Volga river. It’s beautiful in summer. You will like it.” It’s stupid. I don’t know why I think I have to sell it to her, but I find I want very much for her to like my city.
She looks away, the reminder that it will be her home probably stings.
“You have room for Mika there?”
There she goes with her concern for Mika again. If she’s asking, she must think I have a small place, like the one in Vegas. It amuses me to think she might be surprised by my estate.
“Yes, Alessia,” I say mildly. “There is plenty of room.”
Her lips form a shape, like she’s going to speak, then changes her mind. She tries again. “What… will I do there?”
I consider. “What did you do in Chicago?”
The light is dim, but I think she blushes. “My ma had surgery a few months ago, so I’ve been helping her out since I graduated in December.”
I can’t stop the smile. “You don’t have to make an excuse to me for not working. I knew you were a kept princess. It will be no different in my house. Your brothers will supply the money to keep you in the style you’ve grown accustomed to.”
Pain flickers over her face, but she hides it quickly. Looks away.
It shouldn’t bother me. When you take a woman as tribute, you can’t expect her to kneel at your feet and thank you for it.
When she turns back, her jaw is set, eyes challenging. “I need the Rosetta Stone for Russian.”
I nearly choke on my wine. “You wish to learn Russian?”
She nods, determination emanating from her.
It’s a wise choice. If she can speak the language, she will not be so helpless in Russia. It would be easier for her to escape or get help. But it’s clearly a long game, and not an easy one. I admire the hell out of her for even considering it.
“Of course you can have it. You will have everything you need, zaika.”
“Everything but my freedom?”
“Da.”
Her chin wobbles slightly, but she recovers, stares out the black windows.
“What did you study in college, Alessia?” Now I’m the one making conversation.
She turns back to me. “Early childhood education.”
I arch my brows, surprised. I expected something inane like art history, or English literature. Some liberal arts degree with little application.
“You wish to teach?”
“Yes. I love children.”
Of course she does. I look over at Mika, now asleep on his bed. No wonder she takes such an interest in him.
Knowing she has this humanitarian side, this reverence for children, stirs something in my chest.
“You want children?” Suddenly the image of her pregnant with my child floods my imagination. Draws out some primitive caveman protectiveness. I never wanted children, but the idea of knocking her up, of creating a family with her flips my world on its head.
But she flinches at my words and looks away. “I can’t.”
My disappointment is as ridiculous as the idea of having children with her was to begin with. But maybe I’m just feeling her pain. She’s clearly deeply wounded by this.
“Why not?”
She doesn’t answer.
“The diabetes?”
A tiny nod, but she’s still looking away.
Oh, Alessia.
Surely people with diabetes have children. I make a note to research it, but a chill creeps over my skin. Alessia must have had the best doctors money can buy. If she believes she can’t have children, it’s with good reason.
I shouldn’t feel pain over it.
It’s just as well considering our marriage won’t be a long-term one.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter and she darts a glance my way. The vulnerability I glimpse on her face tears me up.
Alessia
Damn Vlad. My eyes get hot and watery under his sympathetic gaze, and I have to look away again.
I wish he weren’t so damn observant.
I haven’t told anyone about the stage 3 kidney failure. Not any of my brothers, especially not my mother. So I haven’t had to face this moment before, of revealing my sharpest disappointment in life.
Desperately needing to change the subject, I turn back to him and draw a breath. “What about you, Vlad? What is your job in Russia?”
“I am derzhatel obschaka. Bookkeeper for the bratva. I’m the money guy. I move money, launder money. Hide money. I had reached out to your brother not to cause problem, but to offer solution. Clean his money, too. But then my mother died in Moscow. I had to fly back to Russia, and Ivan, my idiot compatriot decided killing your family was a better option.”
I blink at him, surprised at this information. I don’t want to find Vlad so likeable. Knowing he’s not a drug dealer or sex trafficker or hitman, but more of a white collar thug, doesn’t hurt his case. Knowing he has a mother-had a mother-makes him all the more real. Normal. Human.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say.
Something fierce and raw appears on his face. Unexpressed grief. I get the feeling he hasn’t been offered condolences. Or the loss is still too fresh. Or there are unresolved issues there. He drops his head and lets it hang. “My mother-da. I still don’t believe she’s gone. It’s strange to go back and know she won’t be there.”
I reach out and touch his arm. He looks up, shocked. Like I branded him.
But his lips twist into a bitter line. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I shouldn’t miss her. She was a manipulative bitch, like every woman in my life.”
I remove my hand, recoiling. Because I sense he somehow lumps me into that category, too.
I know I’m right when he narrows his eyes at me. “You can stop your game of trying to win my sympathies. Lie down on your bed. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is your wedding day.”
My stomach lurches and I’m suddenly nauseous. I surge to my feet and square my shoulders, throwing the rest of my water back in my throat. “Where’s my toothbrush?” I demand like the spoiled brat he seems to think I am.
I fully expect him to tell me to go fuck myself, but he reaches in his satchel and produces it-the toothbrush and travel toothpaste in a small ziplock bag. Still taking care of me.
I shouldn’t like it. Shouldn’t want any sort of attention from the man who’s captured me and wants to force me to marry him.
I grab the bag out of his hand and march away to the bathroom, working hard to steady my breath and my nerves.
He won’t win this game. Sooner or later I will escape. My brothers will find me.
And he’ll be the one on his knees begging for mercy.