Eileen
The Karpov mansion is impressive.
It’s a sprawling property with a generous Victorian-style home built on three levels, surrounded by lush gardens and sinuous stone-paved paths that make the whole thing look like something out of an Alice in Wonderland tribute.
I feel small as I step out of Anton’s Lexus, parked at the bottom of the mansion’s front steps. There’s an artesian fountain right behind us, a skirt of evergreen blossoms reaching out from the bottom.
“Andrei and Laura have the east wing; we’ve got the west,” Anton says, watching my awe leave my mouth hanging open. “The northern part of the building has everything else. Home offices, a fully equipped gym, a massive kitchen, two living rooms, a study, a library slash reading room, tearoom, dinner hall, and too many bathrooms for me to count.”
“Holy smokes.”
“I know it’s enormous and may seem intimidating, but it’s always welcoming and warm. There’s plenty of natural light and friendly staff around every corner. Your every need will be taken care of. It’s your home now, too,” he says.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Come on in, Mrs. Karpova.”
“Donovan-Karpova.”
“That’s a mouthful, baby. It’s in the official documents, but you can’t expect me to say the whole thing every time.”
I relent, taking a deep breath and welcoming the fresh morning air. We’re on the north side of Chicago, where the suburbs thin out and the atmosphere feels a lot cleaner. Hell, I could get used to this. The long drive from the city is actually worth it. “Okay, Mrs. Karpova it is,” I tell my husband.
“Come on, Mrs. Karpova. We’ve got a bed to break in after I give you a tour of the place,” he says. “Ian here will handle our luggage.”
As if summoned, Ian comes down the white marble steps with a pleasant smile. “Welcome to the Karpov residence, Mrs. Karpova,” he greets me. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, too, Ian.”
“Like Mr. Karpov said, allow me to handle your bags. Please, enjoy your new home. There will always be someone around to assist you, should you need anything.”
I give him a slight nod and let Anton guide me up the steps, his arm lovingly wrapped around my waist. As soon as we enter, I feel as though I’ve just stepped into a fairy tale come true.
“My God, it’s like a museum,” I gasp.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Anton says as he gives me the ground-floor tour. “What you see here was only recently brought in—for you.”
“For me?” I’m breathless.
The hallways are adorned with generous satin drapes and a perfectly polished French marble floor. Busts and Baroque-style statuettes mark each of the floor-to-ceiling windows. There are Persian-inspired tapestries mounted on the accent walls in each of the common rooms, with dark wood furniture and plush seating everywhere.
“For you,” Anton says.
“Oh Anton,” I whisper and pull him into a kiss. “You really didn’t have to.”
“I kind of did,” he replies. “I promised you a home where you would feel safe and happy. And what did your favorite poet say?”
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever. I can’t believe you remembered that.”
I told him about my love of John Keats when we were still in Paris on our honeymoon, lounging in the morning sun on the rooftop terrace of our hotel.
“I remember everything,” Anton replies.
The more I see, the more I learn about the mansion—its history and the events that took place within these walls—the more fascinated I am by the Karpovs and by the Bratva overall. I was never one for romanticizing the Chicago mob, I was, after all, raised by them. The Russian mafia, however, seem to have a certain class, a particular style in both their personal and so-called professional fields.
“We Irish are a tad simpler,” I chuckle as we stop in the kitchen. The sheer size of it practically takes my breath away as I look around at the seemingly endless maze of dark red stone counters and grey wooden cabinets. “You might as well open a restaurant here; you already have everything you need.”
“Yet when there’s an official Karpov function with up to two hundred people attending, you’d be amazed how small this kitchen seems.” He plants a kiss on my temple, then pours each of us a glass of iced tea from one of the four giant fridges.
He gives me a curious look. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just… it sometimes feels too good to be true. This thing between us.”
“Hey, we got lucky. There’s no use in looking a gift horse in the mouth.” He pauses and checks his phone. “Andrei wants to meet in my office. I have to go for a bit.”
“That’s okay.”
“Let me take you to our suite upstairs first, so you can relax and get comfy. As soon as I’m done, I’ll join you.”
“And we can try that bed.” I give him a wink.
“We can try that bed.” He smiles and kisses me softly.
Three hours fly by.
Laura is kind enough to take me on a tour of the rest of the property, allowing me a unique opportunity to learn more about the Karpovs and their business dealings across the city. It’s just as I suspected—dark money that partially finances social projects across Chicago, while the bulk of it is split between further shady investments with just enough legitimate fronts to keep the government at bay.
“What’s your place in all of this?” I ask her as we take a seat on a bench in the back garden. It’s so nice outside; I don’t want to go back in just yet.
“I’m a Bratva wife, first and foremost,” Laura says with a wry smile. “I represent Andrei wherever I go, so I have to look the part. Not that I mind. Besides, Andrei spares no expense for this particular endeavor. A Karpov lady has to look her best.”
“And then I came along,” I chuckle.
She gives me a sad look. “You’ve been misled your whole life, Eileen. It’s not about how thin you are. You’ve got more style and class in your pinky finger than your stepsister does in her entire body. Trust me, you’ll have no trouble fitting in whatsoever.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Besides, the Karpovs like their women shapely. More to love, they say,” she laughs lightly. “Andrei, however, had to understand that my metabolism is a bit different.”
“He tried to fatten you up?”
“And then some.”
We’re both laughing now.
“He loves me for me, not just for my body,” Laura sighs deeply, her eyes sparkling with affection as she gazes out upon the garden. “And it feels good to know that no matter what I look like, my husband will always lay the world at my feet.”
“So tell me, what’s a day in a mob wife’s life like?” I ask.
“I’m going to guess it’s not much different than a mob daughter’s life,” Laura replies.
I shrug. “My dad was always strict, and we always had protection, but he didn’t interfere too much in our daily activities.”
“That’s basically how it is here, with just a few exceptions. Usually, the Karpov wife doesn’t leave the premises for the first few weeks. You live here, you breathe here, you get accustomed to the rhythm of everything, and then, slowly but surely, you start attending public events at your husband’s side.”
“Are you serious?” I gasp, suddenly feeling as though I had just been kicked in the gut.
Laura nods slowly. “I hated it. I was this close to jumping out the window one time.”
“Anton can’t keep me here like some kind of caged animal.”
“You’re a Karpov now, and it’s only temporary.”
I shake my head, refusing to accept such a thing. “No, this can’t be. He didn’t say anything about that and neither did you before now.”
“It’s part of the process. Had I not gotten over that stage myself, I would’ve warned you. But I came out with a different perspective. I embraced my role and my new life. Andrei understood that I was his, and that he was mine; there was a mutual respect between us,” she says.
“Laura, I can’t live like that. I have plans. I have things I want to do. My café project. I finally have the freedom and the opportunity to build something. What exactly is expected of me? To wait home for my husband every night, barefoot, with dinner ready?”
“Anton should be the one having this chat with you, not me,” she decrees, a look of discontent shadowing her face. “I’d be irritated, too, if I were you.”
“My God, you are serious.”
“For what it’s worth, everything is done this way in order to protect you.”
I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around everything I’ve just learned. I try to reconcile the beauty of my new home with the metaphorical shackles now clasped around my ankles.
“He can’t keep me prisoner in my own home,” I say, a shiver running down my spine. “We just came back from our honeymoon. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“But it does. Not only are you the wife of the head of the Bratva, but you’re pregnant. Like it or not Elieen, that makes you a target. There are people out there who would harm you and your child to unseat Anton, including your ex-fiancé.”
I shake my head. “No. Sergei might not be happy about the broken engagement, but surely he’d never hurt a child?”
“He absolutely would if it’s Anton’s child. And he’s not the only one. I know you’re not naïve, having grown up in the lifestyle. You have to believe this is for your own good.”
I reject the premise altogether and abruptly excuse myself. Too angry to speak or listen to reason, I resort to spending the rest of my evening in our suite, seated by the window with a cup of tea, trying to figure out how to get out of this place.
I’m asleep before Anton comes back.
“My meetings took longer than I expected,” Anton says the next morning at the breakfast table. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I snap and set my tea mug down. “You couldn’t even be bothered to answer my calls or messages.”
“I did.”
“Only to tell me that you’d see me in the morning.”
He stills by the chair he just pulled out and gives me a long, pensive look. I measure him from head to toe. He’s tired. The top buttons of his shirt are loose, and his five o’clock shadow has grown thicker. Clearly, he hasn’t slept all night.
“Please, forgive me,” Anton says and takes his seat next to me. He covers my hand with his atop the table. “We’re dealing with a few loose ends regarding our marriage, Eileen. I need to make sure you’re safe.”
“Well, from what Laura tells me, you intend to lock me up in the house for supposedly that very reason.”
“I’m trying to avoid that. or to at least shorten the induction period,” he replies. “I don’t want this part any more than you do. But it has to be done. Our family is a complex matter. Our enemies are ruthless. Eileen. The last thing I want to do is anger you in any way.”
“I’m not angry; I’m hurt.” I sigh deeply. “You don’t trust me enough to let me handle my own life?”
“No, I don’t trust the monsters beyond these doors to leave you alone,” he corrects. “I trust you, Eileen. You’re my wife. It’s going to be uncomfortable for a while, and I hope that when it’s all over, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“What if I want to go back to my father’s?”
He shakes his head slowly. Judging by his calmness, I already know what’s coming. “I think you know that’s not an option now. Your father wouldn’t allow it any more than I can.”
“So then, I am really a prisoner here while you go out and stay gone for hours, leaving me like a silly bird in a cage.”
“It’s not like that,” Anton says, pulling in a deep breath as I tug my hand away from his. “Eileen, I promise, if it were safe for you, I’d let you out—”
“You’d let me out? Oh, gee, thank you, master!”
“Dammit, woman, will you listen to reason for once?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He gives me a confused look. “Tell you what?”
“That I’d be a prisoner in my own home for the first few weeks after arriving. We had a great honeymoon; we were getting somewhere. You had plenty of opportunities all the way up to the minute I set foot in this house to tell me the truth.”
“I never lied to you.”
“A lie by omission is still a lie.”
“It was for your own good,” Anton replies.
“No, it was so you could manipulate me into thinking this could be a happy life.”
He takes another deep breath. “I was hoping you’d trust me to keep you safe.”
“I do trust you to keep me safe but keeping me safe and taking away my freedom doesn’t have to be the same thing,” I protest.
“Dammit,” he hisses and takes out his phone. He unlocks the screen and shows me a photo that turns my stomach inside out, instantly freezing every drop of blood in my veins. “This came in the mail for you yesterday at this address. Ian intercepted it before the day’s correspondence was brought up to our suite.”
“Oh, God,” I whisper.
It looks real enough.
A pair of bloodied knit baby boots. I think I’m going to be sick.
“What is this?”
“It’s a direct threat, Eileen. The first of many we’ll receive. All it takes is for one person to make it past your security detail at whatever shop or event you wish to attend. One moment of distraction for a knife to slip through.” He gently places his palm over my belly. “This is our baby, and you’re my wife. I owe you everything in my power to keep you both safe. And I’ll do precisely that, even if it ends with you hating me.”
“You still should have told me.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You’re right. You deserve full disclosure, the whole truth. This is it. Someone’s making direct threats, and until I figure out who it is and neutralize them, I need you to stay put, Eileen. It won’t take long to find out who is stupid enough to threaten my family. That, I can promise.”
“I wanted to go out and tour a commercial space that’s for sale,” I mumble, lowering my gaze. “For my café.”
“Right, we talked about that back in London.”
“There’s one available on Upton Boulevard. I can’t go see it?”
Anton shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, babe. There will be others. Chicago’s flipping real estate like it’s a stack of pancakes. We’ll find you the perfect space when it’s safer. Until then, we need to be careful.”
“This sucks.”
I still hate my predicament, and I know I won’t be able to sit still for too long, but at least I can understand why they want me to stay behind closed doors.
“At least you and Laura can keep busy together,” he offers a sympathetic shrug as he pours himself a cup of coffee, “with all the social events coming up.”
“What events?”
“The Karpovs’ weekly tradition of Friday night poker, for starters. Then there’s the big families’ brunch on Sunday.”
“The big families’ brunch? Does that include the Kuznetsovs?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow at him.
“No. I’m personally inviting and vetting each member of the families. The Kuznetsovs are off the list for this month’s brunch. Sergei needs to either prove his loyalty to my family or declare war. Hopefully, this move will force him into picking a side. At least then I’ll know where he truly stands.”
“Do you think it’ll work?”
“I’m not sure. But I am sure that you’ll pull through this with your chin up and your lovely smile lighting up every room that you walk into.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better about any of this.”
“I know, Eileen. But don’t make me ask you to trust me again. That’s not how this works,” Anton replies.
The tone of his voice has changed. It’s heavier. Darker. It commands my attention and my obedience.
His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me against him. He crushes my lips with his, reminding me of our bond. I am his. He is mine. And I will submit to him willingly, because I chose this.
