Maria
The wrought iron gates loom in front of the SUV, casting long shadows across the cobblestone driveway. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I mentally prepare myself for what comes next. I step out of the SUV and gaze up at Sorokin’s castle. My knees shake the closer my feet carry me to the oak door.
The imposing door swings open, and an old servant greets me. “Welcome, Maria Zakharovna,”
I nod politely and enter. The door shuts behind me, and the lock clicks in place, echoing through the mansion. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in response. The ancient tapestries and impressive paintings I gawked at on my first visit leave me cold as I walk further into the melancholy.
I’m shown into the dining room, where Sorokin waits.
“Maria Zakharovna,” he says with an air of surprise as he rises from his seat at the head of the table. “You’ve come alone. How brave.”
“Thank you,” I reply evenly, though my stomach churns at the thought of what lies before me. “I’m a woman of my word.”
He studies me for a moment before nodding slowly, offering nothing but a cold smile.
“Do you know what might happen next?”
“I don’t,” I admit, as my voice fades.
“Very well. Follow me,” he commands, leading me through the ancient halls of his estate. As we ascend the stone staircase, memories of warnings about losing my innocence flood my mind, and I realize this is where it all ultimately leads.
We reach a small bedroom, sparsely furnished but elegant. Unlike the rest of the house, the furniture is a light beech, but the rug and drapes are deep in color and complicated in design. My eyes are drawn immediately to the modest bed in the corner of the room. It’s too small for two people. Puzzled, I glance at Sorokin.
“I …” I murmur, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I thought that?-”
“I have no lurid intentions for you, Maria Zakharovna,” he replies solemnly. “I too am a man of my word.”
Relief washes over me at the knowledge that at least I’ll be spared that indignity. I remind myself that this time, being here was my choice.
It hardly makes it much better.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion.
Sorokin pauses by a painting hanging on the wall and motions for me to join him. It depicts a young boy dressed in Renaissance clothing, whose expression is proud and solemn.
“You are more than just a pawn for Mikhail Ivanov,” he says.
I frown, trying to make sense of his words.
He sees my confusion and continues, “The old tsars often demanded their boyars send sons and heirs to the tsar’s household as wards. Those children would rise in status through the tsar’s name, but both sides understood the implicit threat.” He pauses for a moment to let the words sink in. “Because the tsar could always kill the child should a boyar dare to step out of line.”
A shiver shakes my spine as the implications become clear. I may be spared from certain indignities, but my presence here is to control Mikhail.
“Your unborn child is no different,” Sorokin adds, his gaze remains on the painting. “As long as Mikhail Ivanov knows that you and your heir are here-no matter how well-treated-you will continue providing leverage for us to ensure he falls in line.”
“Us?” I ask, unable to disguise the tremor in my voice.
“The other Bratvas,” he answers simply, as though this should have been obvious. “Mikhail Ivanov has proven himself unpredictable, and we cannot afford any more surprises.”
“So is that why I’m being treated so kindly? As a reminder of what he can lose if he defies your wishes?”
“Precisely,” Sorokin nods. “The best leash is one as soft as velvet, but that squeezes as tightly as any other.”
“I see,” I whisper, seeing the resignation in the eyes of the boy from the painting. “I’m his leash.”
“Correct,” he confirms without remorse. “One that will ensure Mikhail’s compliance with our demands.”
I swallow hard. I’m no longer Maria. I’m a tool, a means to an end. And as long as I remain here, I will serve as both a symbol of love and a threat of revenge.
“Remember your place,” Sorokin warns, his voice deadly even. “You may be a woman of your word, but your life-and the life of your child-depends on Mikhail Ivanov’s obedience.”
And with that, he turns and leaves me alone in the room.
I sink onto the edge of the small bed, feeling a cold grip around my heart. My hands instinctively cradle my belly as I fight back tears. Thoughts of revenge swirl inside my head like a storm.
I approach the window, drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal a view of the vineyard where Mikhail and I made love. My fingers trace the cold glass, and I imagine Mikhail’s green eyes filled with worry for me and our child. He’ll do anything to protect us, even if it means submitting to Sorokin’s twisted demands.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, holding my baby bump. “Forgive me for doing this to you.”
Tears threaten as I remember our last night together, how Mikhail’s lips pressed against my forehead, and he promised me what I wanted.
For the future we want to build together. That’s what matters most, Maria. And I will do anything for that.
But now, I have been removed from that hope. I’ve always been a pawn in a game of power and revenge, and it’s my unborn child who will pay the price.
“Please understand,” I plead. “I would never have chosen this for you, my baby. But I had no choice.” I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “My baby.”
A sudden knock at the door startles me, and I quickly wipe away my tears. I refuse to let them see me cry and give them satisfaction. With a shaky breath, I call out, “Come in.”
The door opens and reveals Sorokin’s servant. His expression is a stoic mask, as if waiting on women being held captive is part of his duties.
“Lunch is served,” he announces curtly.
“Thank you,” I manage to reply.
As we walk down the stairs, I know that every moment I spend within these walls will be a test that I must endure for the sake of my future family. Despite it all, a small flame still burns within me. My love for Mikhail and the fierce need to protect our child fuel it.
Sorokin warned me to remember my place. And I will.
But I also remember who I am.
I am the daughter of Zakhar and mother to the heir of the Ivanov Bratva. Mikhail loves me. I will be his wife someday, and we will raise our child together without fear.