THREE DAYS LATER
I stare at my father’s face.
His eyes are sad, his posture stoic. He gazes down on me with sympathy like I haven’t seen since the day he died.
But there’s something lacking from the likeness I’ve scrawled on the wall opposite my bed. I let loose a deep sigh of frustration.
It’s been three days since I was forced into this marriage.
Three days since I last saw my pretend husband.
Three days since I lost my future to the monster who held my family hostage and threatened to kill my brother.
Just three days and three nights, and yet it has felt like a lifetime. I’ve cried until I didn’t have tears to cry. I’ve teetered on the brink of madness.
The only thing that brought me back from the edge is drawing.
My fingers are pretty much raw, bloody stumps, since I’ve been using my nails to keep the point of my charcoal pen sharp without any other tools available for the job.
The fresh air might have helped stave off my depression. But when I was shoved into this room by an unfeeling Pyotr, I discovered that the balcony door was sealed shut.
I attempted to break the windows, but everything I hurled at them bounced off like they were rubber. I guess unbreakable glass comes standard in the houses of men who make women disappear.
“I’m next, Dad,” I whisper to the sketched picture of my dad. “I’m pretty sure I’m next.”
I wait for him to answer back, but he stares at me with his lifeless eyes and says nothing. I close my eyes and slump back on the mattress.
When the door opens, I don’t even look up. I’m used to the maids and guards moving in and out at will with meals or fresh linens. I leave the trays of food mostly untouched, but I haven’t been able to stop myself eating altogether. Apparently, my willpower is just not strong enough to withstand the bite of hunger.
“Love what you’ve done with the place.”
I open my eyes in alarm to find Yulia standing on the threshold with a tray of food.
“What are you doing here?” I ask bitterly.
She steps in, kicks the door closed behind her, and sets the tray down on the table by the window. Then she surveys the once-blank walls of my room.
I’ve managed to cover the bottom half of the walls with my cartoons and sketches. Some of them make sense. Some of them don’t. Some are accompanied by speech bubbles and coherent narratives, but most of them are just doodles. The manic scratchings of a girl slowly going insane.
“You really are talented,” she remarks.
I laugh. It’s an ugly, broken sound. “What does it matter anymore?”
She sighs and takes a seat at the table. “Care to join me?”
“I’m good.”
“Really, Olivia, I’m not the enemy.”
“Aren’t you?” I scoff. “You’re enabling his behavior. In my book, that makes you complicit.”
She sniffs as if maybe there’s a shred of remorse lurking somewhere in there, but her composure never breaks. She’s immaculately dressed, even now, in cream silk pants and a thin beige wrap sweater.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I understand what you must think of me. But I have lived in this world for decades now.”
“And that means you can’t change?”
“He’s my son,” she says again. “What I can do for you is limited.”
“Bring me food and give me useless advice, you mean? How noble. Truly a resistance fighter.”
I know I should take it easy on her. She’s only trying to help me. But my anger hasn’t had an outlet in three days. Plus, I’m starving and the smell of fresh croissants wafting from the tray she brought in is making my head spin.
“You need to eat,” she tells me, as if reading my mind.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s only been three days and you’ve already lost weight.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed the time. Feels like I’ve just been on a little mini-vacation.”
The corner of her mouth twitches in what might be a smile before she quickly extinguishes it. “All expenses paid, too.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t particularly feel like bantering with the woman who birthed a psychopath, but the only alternative is staring at the ceiling and cursing my fate.
“Where were you all this time?” I ask. “I was surprised not to see you front and center at the ceremony. It was really a lovely affair.”
“I was out of town,” she explains. “I came back this morning to learn about what had happened.”
“Guess that makes me your daughter-in-law. Should I start calling you Mom now?”
“You are at liberty to call me whatever it is you want. Even if it’s not flattering.”
I almost smile at that. I can’t deny that having someone here talking to me does help quell the mania I can feel creeping in around the edges.
I exhale, but it doesn’t help. Not in the slightest. “Did you find out what happened to my brother?”
“He wasn’t harmed, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Okay. Okay then.” Lie or not, it makes me feel some relief. At least I can pretend, until proven otherwise.
“Lyubimaya,” she says gently, “starving yourself is not going to help anything.”
“Says you. I think it might.”
“Try a croissant,” Yulia insists. “They’re fresh from the oven.”
I can tell. The smell is teasing my nose and making my stomach growl. I dig what’s left of my nails into the wooden bedpost, but it doesn’t distract me from the hunger.
So, with a frustrated growl, I force myself to my feet and shuffle towards her. The tray is laden with croissants, butter, assorted jams, and a plate with scrambled eggs, fat sausages, crispy potatoes, still-sizzling bacon.
“You went all out, huh?”
“I had to convince you to eat somehow.”
“How do you know if I’m eating or not?” I ask. “You’ve been out of town.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I run this household, Olivia. Who do you think the maids report to?”
“I would have thought they reported to the Head Asshole in Charge.”
“He doesn’t concern himself with the less-important work,” she says. I notice a little twinge of humiliation in her tone. “He delegated those jobs to me when he took over as don.”
“Where is his father?”
“He had a stroke many years ago,” she tells me. “At the time, Aleksandr was in Russia dealing with our business interests there. It was a sensitive period and he couldn’t return right away. So I took over for my husband.”
“How enthralling.” But I can’t help the tiny bit of genuine interest that seeps into my voice. This woman has seen things, done things. She knows how this world works. Maybe I can learn enough from her to find my way out of it.
“It was the most exciting four years of my life.”
“Aleks was in Russia for four whole years?”
“He moved back and forth. But there was another Bratva that was threatening our territory. He needed to make sure our business interests were stable before coming back here.”
“And he did what he set out to do?”
She smiles. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
I stare at the croissants as though I’m having the conversation with them, but I still don’t make a move to pick one up. Resist, says the stubborn little asshole inside of my head. Don’t give up the fight.
But it’s getting harder and harder to stay strong. They look like buttery little pillows.
“It must have been hard for you to step down after having that kind of power,” I mumble just to keep my lips moving.
She shrugs. “It was never meant for me. I was just holding the throne for my son.”
“Still…” I can see something like regret in her eyes. “You never hoped he would just stay in Russia?”
“That would certainly have made your life easier. Mine, too, in a manner of speaking. But no, I knew he’d never stay. We are Russian, but he was born and raised here. He was always going to come back.”
“Not exactly what I asked.”
“I didn’t want to be the one solely in charge, Olivia. But I did—I do—want a seat at the table. I think I deserve that much after everything I did to keep this ship above water while he was gone.”
I nod. “It’s a reasonable ask.”
“Maybe to you. But in this world, it’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” I blink. “You did the job already.”
“The men weren’t aware that I was acting on my own,” she explains. “They believed Aleksandr was relaying instructions from abroad.”
“And Aleks didn’t mind that?”
“He was young and he had a lot to deal with in Russia. He nearly died while he was over there.”
“How?”
“A battle with the enemy,” she says. “He took a bullet to the chest mid-fight.”
“And someone got him out of there?”
She shakes her head. “No one got him out, Olivia. He just kept fighting.”
“Is this supposed to scare me?”
She looks almost hurt by that. “I’m not trying to scare you, Olivia. I’m only trying to help.”
I try to tell myself I have nothing to feel bad for, considering the position I’m in. But I do feel like a bitch. It’s not in my nature to turn away from kindness.
I blame Aleks. He’s not even in the room and he’s bringing out the worst in me.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I know your hands are tied. I’m just—”
“Frustrated,” she says. “I know you are. But, if I may be so bold as to suggest it, eating might help.”
She gives me an apologetic smile, and with that, I can no longer resist the temptation. So I reach out and grab a croissant. I can’t be bothered to fuss with the butter, so I just bite right into it.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe.
She laughs. “Good, aren’t they?”
“Orgasmic.”
We sit in silence as I demolish five of the seven croissants sitting in their dainty little breadbasket. I wash them down with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Feel better?” Yulia asks when I’m finished.
“Much.”
She nods. “Good. You know, darling, this doesn’t have to be horrible for you.”
I push myself off the chair and take two steps back. So much for the good vibes provided by the croissants.
“If you’re actually trying to suggest that I accept this marriage, then you’re delusional.”
“He can be cruel,” she continues. “But he can also be fair.”
“He abducted me because my brother was doing his job, then he forced me to marry him because my brother didn’t do what he wanted. Which part of that is ‘fair’ in your eyes?”
“It’s the way the Bratva works.”
“Well, it’s not how my world works. Or anyone else’s. So you can understand why I don’t want to give up on it just yet.”
“You are married to him now, dear.”
“So then we’ll be the first people in history to get divorced,” I seethe sarcastically.
“But think of the opportunity that this marriage could give you. You’d have real power. The ability to control your fate.”
I snort. “As if he’d give me that kind of freedom.”
“He can be reasoned with. He’s not all monster.”
“No, just part monster,” I say. “That’s so much better.”
“What I’m trying to say is that he will not hurt you if you don’t give him a reason to.”
“So I’m expected to be the obedient little doormat, am I?”
She shrugs. “There are worse things in life.”
“Worse than being turned into a glorified housekeeper?”
It’s a cruel barb, and unnecessary. As misguided as she is, she does think she’s trying to help. I shouldn’t attack her so viciously. Not like it’s gonna do anything positive for me, anyway.
Yulia freezes for a moment before she regains her composure. “I found my place in this world. It was more than I ever expected from my life.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
She nods sadly. “I was born poor. I grew up poor. When I caught Aleksandr’s father’s eye, everything changed for me. I got to experience a different kind of life. The kind of life that gave me more than just the gnawing futility of uncertainty.”
“Very poetic,” I say. “But can you honestly sit there and tell me you were free?”
“Freedom is overrated when you don’t have options, Olivia.”
“Maybe it was for you,” I say. “But I do have options. I have a life in New York. I have a career and friends and family. But my career is crumbling because I’m trapped here, my friends are probably wondering why I disappeared, and my family is worried shitless about me. Aleks is ripping every single option away from me.”
She nods in sympathy. “You’ll have your friends and your family back one day.”
“You really think he’ll let me see them?”
“He will,” she says. “When he can be sure of your loyalty.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “How could I ever be loyal to someone like him?”
She cocks her head to the side. “Sometimes, it’s just about appearances, Olivia. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
I stop short as understanding hits me sideways. “Are you telling me to fake it?”
“Like I said, I will try and help you any way I can, in the ways I’m able.”
“Does he know you’re up here with me?”
“Yes. I was sent to tell you the rules. About what it takes to be a Bratva wife.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh goody, I was hoping to hear the do’s and don’ts. This should be fun.”
“Loyalty and obedience,” she says, ignoring my sarcasm.
My eyes haven’t even finished rolling before I’m rolling them again. “Shocking.”
“You will be expected to maintain decorum in front of his men and his business associates.”
“When would I even meet them?”
“There are dinners and events to go to. As his wife, you will accompany him.”
I frown. “I’ll opt out, then.”
“I doubt you’ll be given the choice.”
“This just keeps getting better and better,” I snap. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“He is don,” Yulia says, her expression ironing out into deadly seriousness. “In this house, his power is absolute. Don’t cross him, Olivia. He’s not the merciful type.”
“Now, you are trying to scare me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little,” she admits. “But you’d do well to heed my advice. Whatever he does, you cannot and should not question it. It is expected that he will most likely have other women—”
“Whoa, hold up,” I blurt. “It’s expected?”
“It’s common, at least. Many dons partake in… extramarital affairs.”
“And their wives are fine with it?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she says with a tired sigh. “More that they have to accept it.”
“Did you?” She stops short, and I instantly feel bad for asking. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “I did accept it. Whenever I was relegated to my bedroom in the opposite wing of the house, I told myself that it was for the best.”
I stare at her in horror. “He would bring other women here? He would sleep with them in your bed?”
“His bed,” she corrects. “Everything was his. Still is, in many ways.”
“So you’re telling me that if Aleks decides to sleep with a bunch of different women right in front of my face, I’m supposed to just pretend like I don’t see it?”
“Precisely.”
I snort. “Yeah, that’s never gonna happen.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Why on earth would I be okay with that?”
“Expecting loyalty and commitment from a partner only comes when feelings are involved,” she says. “I didn’t think that was the case for you and Aleksandr.”
At those words, my skin starts tingling with warning.
“It isn’t the case,” I say firmly, despite the fact that my cheeks are raging with color.
“Then why should any of this matter? I am simply giving you the instruction manual for a peaceful life.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. I have no answer, no defense. No way of getting myself out of this other than to feign indifference.
“It… it doesn’t matter,” I say. “But… if I have to suffer in this sham of a marriage, then so does he.”
“You weren’t listening, were you? He is don. He has all the power, Olivia.” Yulia smiles sympathetically. “The way you get ahead is to think smart and behave smarter. But if you take any one piece of advice from me, take this one: a woman can’t get anywhere in the Bratva life without a strong man to back her.”
I snort. “Noted. Very progressive of you all.”
“And in the absence of a strong man,” she continues, “you have to be shrewd and sly and devious. You have to make him think he’s in control.”
“I’d like a third option,” I grumble.
“Then run,” she says simply. “But be prepared to keep running. Because if you leave, he will look for you. And he will never stop looking.”
A part of me wonders if she’s playing reverse psychology on me. If she’s here trying to earn my trust and manipulate me on behalf of her son.
But there’s a desperate look in her eyes that I believe is sincere. She’s just as trapped, just as stuck as I am.
Besides, I have to trust her. There’s power in numbers, right? There has to be.
I can’t afford to do this alone.
