Before he was out of the dining room, Ivan turned around. “Nothing too showy. Evelina is not fond of women who dress like whores.”
“Evelina… Vasiliev?” I questioned, heart thumping erratically as I froze with the spoonful of egg whites halfway to my mouth. My mouth watered at the thought of eating the rest of Ivan’s steak once he left the room. Chef was under strict orders to control my diet, my image reflected upon Ivan. It wouldn’t do to have a fat wife.
“Yes,” Ivan said impatiently, “Eduard has set a meeting to bury the hatchet, as it were. I do not need to impress upon you the importance that all goes well. My marriage to you nearly cost me my business. It did not matter that I have been loyal for two decades to Eduard, that he has called me blood kin in the past. My reputation shattered because of you, Marisha. We dine at the Vasiliev mansion on Friday, and it is your chance to truly repay me for my sacrifice.”
I nodded, which was all I could do in those moments. I couldn’t speak, my mouth felt sewn together. Bury the hatchet… was not the choice of words I’d have preferred come out of my husband’s mouth. It sounded too murderous. And far too close to home when I considered the fate of my parents.
And repay him?
Hadn’t I been repaying him with my body, week after week, night after night? Hadn’t I been repaying him with my loss of identity? The loss of my education and future career?
I hated Ivan even more in that moment than I ever had before.
He knew the history of my family and the Vasiliev. He knew who had sentenced my parent’s execution, and mine too, and yet he was so casually slipping into conversation that we were to go to their house for dinner. Like they were nothing to me. Like I had no bad memories of what those awful people did, no nightmares of Eduard coming to kill me and slitting my throat while I slept.
But then, was I not as much a hypocrite and a traitor to my parents’ memory too? After all, I had done nothing but fantasize about Alexander Vasiliev since our brief encounter.
And I wanted more of him. The handsome Bratva prince.
My appetite gone, I stood up and left the uneaten food on the table for our staff to sort. The walls around me seemed to breathe as I walked down the hallway towards our room. And the room felt smaller than it should have, as if it were shrinking and would continue to shrink until I could no longer move. I gasped for air, a hand over my chest.
A panic attack.
I hadn’t had one since the day my parents died. Since the day the weight of becoming an orphan crushed me.
I sunk to my knees on the plush carpet, trying to control myself. In, out. In, out. I practiced the techniques the therapist had shown me. Why now? Why was I reacting like this now?
I’d seen Eduard and Evelina at the party. I’d made it through the event without breaking. I mean, I’d contemplated killing myself, but I hadn’t had an attack.
What was different?
I knew, I knew what was different. This time when I saw them, I’d carry with me the knowledge that I’d kissed their son.
Evelina’s words rang through my head.
You have not been held accountable for their actions, but you will be held accountable for yours. Tread wisely.
She’d warned me, and not an hour later I’d been drowning with desire, her son’s lips against my own, my body craving every inch of him.
But no one else knew what had happened. Only the Bratva prince and myself. Unless he bragged to someone. Unless he betrayed me. Unless it had been a ploy all along, a way to show them that I too was as traitorous as my parents.
He won’t do that, I thought stupidly. He liked me.
He liked me?
I might be scared, weak, in the prison of a marriage I didn’t want, but I’d never been stupid. I couldn’t rely on his protection. I could only cross my fingers and hope that our time on the rooftop was a passing fancy, something he’d never think about again. I wasn’t important, only the wife of a Bratva businessman. There were many of us. And so many women Alexander Vasiliev could find pleasure in… women who would present less complications. The playboy prince had seen me, wanted me, I was sure it wasn’t an act, or was that a wish? Nevertheless, he had kissed me, but perhaps that was all it had been, and all it ever would be. He was royalty, I was nothing.
Still, the memory of his mouth against my own, of his hands holding me against the trellis wall, stoked warm desire between my legs.
I hoped, no, prayed, that Alexander would not be there for dinner.
*
The days passed too quickly for my liking, and before I could blink it was Friday.
Ivan appraised me before we left, eyeing the cream dress I’d chosen. It was long sleeved and flowed around me as I moved, layers of satin and chiffon rippling in an almost angelic way. The slit down the bodice was narrow and revealed only the slightest curve of breast. A line of ribbons kept it from coming fully open and the revealing ‘v’ ended in a loose ribbon near my belly button.
“It’s… acceptable.” His eyes lingered on my curves, his gaze betraying how he craved my body. “You can keep the hair up. This time.”
The limo was idling in the driveway when we exited the house, our chauffeur Decatur leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. He gave a small bow as Ivan approached, and hurried to open the back door. I rarely focused on the men’s faces who worked on the property. They were all the same to me. Cogs in the machine that kept me prisoner.
We rode in silence to the Vasiliev mansion. If I hated how Ivan was in the Bugatti, how his hands groped and manhandled me whilst trying to drive at the same time, I disliked the limo even more. I hated it in fact, because in it, Ivan did not have to focus on the road. There was room to move, room to take more of what he wanted, room to fuck. If tonight went well, the sex would be fast and feverish. If things went poorly… Ivan would take his time and make it hurt. Unable to punish Eduard, he would punish me. The most recent bruises on my ass and hips had finally faded. My skin was milky pale and unmarked now. But the deep purple marks from his greedy touch never stayed gone for long.
I wish it wasn’t the limo. Even the Rolls would be better. Smaller, less room to move.
My heart felt like a dying, pathetic bird in my chest. Thrumming along, with little will to recover.
The Vasiliev estate was the size of a small town. The iron gates parted slowly, revealing a long drive lined with manicured bushes which circled around a fountain. There was a second entrance, for immediate family and personnel, which was shorter and less impressive. But guests came this way; I could only imagine it served to inspire awe and intimidation.
Our chauffeur navigated the circle, coming to a stop ten feet from the stone stairs that led to the dark wood double doors. The columns were glossy, completely clean, like they were scrubbed daily, and animals and filth were forbidden from ruining their perfection.
Ivan exited first after Decatur opened the door, standing stoically and arranging his suit and tie. My heart beat wildly as I followed him, sliding across the lush leather seats.
The house was massive, looming over me menacingly. Its windows blinked at me. They taunted me.
We know what your parents did.
We know what you did.
We know who you kissed.
You’ll be held accountable for your actions.
“Marisha,” Ivan’s voice called my attention from the accusing mansion; his tone was a warning. Tonight had to go well. I must be present, focused, charming. I must be everything he needed and more.
I threaded my arm through his so that he could lead me up the stairs. As I raised my leg to mount the risers, the dress slipped apart to reveal a front slit that was hidden when I was standing or walking on flat ground. Ivan’s eyes flicked down to the freckled expanse of my thighs as they came into view between the parting of the airy material.
“You would do best to keep yourself covered, wife, and be the picture of virtue you were when I married you.” He stopped us at the top of the stairs, on th
e expansive half-circle of architectural stonework. Ivan leaned in, his lips at my ear. “Show them the virgin, untainted by her family’s sins.”
Biting my lip nervously, I gave him a small nod. It seemed to satisfy him.
Ivan’s head flashed forward as the double door entrance swung wide to reveal a butler dressed in a sharp black suit.
“Mr. and Mrs. Zolotov. Welcome.” He stood to the side, allowing us to pass him and enter the foyer that dripped money. It was tastefully done of course, but anyone with an eye for quality would recognize the antiquities. A matching pair of 18th century Venetian vases sat delicately atop column bases and flanked the winding marble staircase. The pair of chairs beneath a huge beveled mirror were from a Russian designer who, I’d thought, had gone into retirement. At market, his work would bring thousands for even a single chair like that. To use his talents when he was no longer working… Money really could buy everything. That was the way of things. Of course, no Russian in their right mind would refuse Eduard I imagined.
The butler led us into a large sitting room. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, and a large pool table sat at the far end.
“Please wait here. Mr. Vasiliev will be with you shortly.” He gave a small bow and went to exit the room. Ivan stopped him.
“Is only Mr. Vasiliev attending tonight’s dinner.” My husband’s voice was displeased, though he only objected with his tone, and not his words. If Evelina did not wish to be here tonight, there was little that could be said.
“Mrs. Vasiliev is out of town and now unable to join you. She left behind her apologies. Mr. Vasiliev looks forward to meeting with you, Mr. Zolotov. I will ensure your wife is comfortable until the meal is served.” Again, the butler dipped into a small bow and then backed out of the room, pulling the doors closed behind him.
A wave of relief flooded over me. I would not have to put on a show for the Bratva Queen. When Eduard and Ivan went off to discuss our situation, I would be alone. It was a mercy.
Ivan stared into the fire for a moment, his expression at war. Evelina’s absence was a slight. If the Vasilievs truly wanted to settle the issue, they would both be in attendance. There would be formalities in place. Tonight, however, was something different. The dinner was meant to test the waters, not finish the matter to completion. No matter what, we would leave here still carrying the stain of our marriage and my family’s betrayal.
“You will not speak to anyone while I am with Eduard. Do you understand? The Vasiliev estate has ears everywhere. Any misstep will be seen and reported. I had thought Evelina would keep you company, and that your behavior with her would help our cause.” He looked at me, hooded gaze piercing through me like an arrow. “Do not speak to anyone,” he repeated.
“I understand, Ivan. I will remain here and wait for dinner.”
No sooner had I said the words, but the doors to the living room opened again. The butler stood at attention. And Eduard Vasiliev, tall and dressed to the nines in a navy-blue suit and silver tie, waited for our greetings.
“It is an honor to dine here tonight,” Ivan spoke clearly, confidently, dipping his head slightly.
I followed suit, my legs unsteady beneath me at the sight of Eduard. “Yes, thank you for your kind invitation. You are merciful for looking past my bloodline.” The words felt parroted and poisonous from my mouth; they were lines fed to me by Ivan. The right things to say, the right expression, the right posture.
Eduard barely acknowledged my words with an almost imperceptible nod of his head. “Ivan, let us talk so that we can move onto more pleasurable affairs. I have asked the chef to prepare your favorite. Kobe beef filet with foie gras and black truffles.” He began walking away, not waiting on Ivan to follow.
Ivan gave me a stern, reminding glance as he left the room.
“May I provide you with refreshments, Mrs. Zolotov?” The butler stood in the doorway, his hands gripping the double doors in preparation to close them again.
“No, I’m fine.” I brushed a rogue curl from my face that had fallen from the updo.
When I was alone, I felt infinitely better. Relieved. I wouldn’t die tonight.
I moved to one of the tufted chairs and sat down. The flames from the fire were warm and comforting. I suddenly felt tired, the rush of feelings that had moved through me when I entered the Bratva royal estate sloughing off of me and leaving me feeling hollow.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the bursts of orange-red light behind my eyelids as I faced the burning logs.
I wondered if Alexander was somewhere on the property. And if he was, what he was doing. Thinking of him brought the memory of the kiss fresh to my mind. My lips tingled and my body hummed with need as I reminisced.
Chapter Nine
Alexander
I watched her from the doorway, her eyes closed as she sat in front of the hearth, the glow from the flames dancing against her pale skin. Her expression was more relaxed than I’d seen her before. She looked calm, serene, at peace momentarily. The skirt of her pale dress had parted, revealing creamy freckled legs.
I’d dismissed the butler so I could speak to her alone, away from prying eyes and ears, under the pretense with my father that to separate the two would be a wise decision.
Separated we could pry them both open and discover their secrets, seeking out any small infraction. Marisha was a weak little mouse and I could break her, Ivan would take a little longer. Divide and conquer, so to speak. Though my father had no idea of the type of conquering I had in mind. He could not imagine that I would cross this line, especially with this woman whom he loathed for her parents’ betrayal.
I strode across the room, the sound of my shoes on the varnished floors drawing her attention. Her eyes flashed open and she stood in alarm, straightening her skirt, her gaze skittish like a frightened animal.
Oh, Marisha, you make this too easy for me.
“Good evening, Mr. Vasiliev,” she said, stammering over the words.
I drew close, giving her a short nod of my head. “You’re looking exceptional tonight, Marisha,” I cooed, and I could have sworn her chest heaved under the compliment.
“Thank you,” she said, her gaze skirting towards the room’s entrance. I could see the fear in her eyes. Somewhere in this expansive home, her husband was meeting with the Bratva king.
Nervous, always so nervous whenever he was near.
I held out my hand. “Come, walk with me.” I’d take her further from my father’s office. Though, there really was no chance of being heard here. We were far enough away and the walls were solid, nearly soundproof. They had to be, so the sound of gunfire wouldn’t carry.
“I’m sorry, but Ivan has insisted that I wait here for him until dinner.”
“Marisha,” I warned, “I’m Alexander Vasiliev, if Ivan doesn’t trust his wife with me then there’s an issue.” I let my smile fall, a frown puckering my eyebrows as my expression turned stern. “Besides,” I leaned forward, “I know my father. You will be forgotten here. Forgotten by them, but not by me. I doubt we’ll even be asked to join them at dinner if things go well.”
She bit her lower lip gently and pushed a loose curl away from her face, still uncertain. “Perhaps we can sit and wait here,” she offered helpfully.
I tutted impatiently, my hands going to my pockets. “Fine then, I can see that you’re not comfortable around me.” I gestured for her to sit and she did with a shy smile, her cheeks flushing red.
As she sat back in her chair, the split in her dress gave a flash of thigh and a rumble echoed from my chest. A smile climbed my face at the sight, the desire to drop to my knees and spread her legs apart so I could bury my tongue between her folds almost too hard to resist.
“That’s a pretty dress,” I complimented, my hungry gaze on her. She squirmed in her seat, trying to close the gap. “Drink?” I offered but she shook her head. Nervous little mouse.
I headed to the drinks cabinet and poured two neat vodkas with plenty of ice before comi
ng back and offering her one.
“It would be rude to refuse,” I reminded her, “since you’re watching your etiquette so charmingly.” I brought my glass to my lips to take a drink.
Her tongue darted out to dampen her plump lips as she reached for the glass. “You’ll have my husband spanking me later for my insubordination,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink.
I choked on the vodka, the alcohol burning all the way down as I coughed in surprise, and when I looked at her she was smirking.
Fucking smirking!
“Marisha,” I said, my tone a depraved warning, “with a mouth like that I’ll have you across my lap.” I took a seat opposite her and leaned back, waiting for the usual blush across her cheeks to flourish.
She didn’t disappoint as she dipped her head in deference, her cheeks turning rosy. She’d momentarily dropped her guard, doing away with being on her best behavior. I wanted more of that; I wanted her walls to crumble completely for me.
I sipped my drink, keeping it in my mouth this time, and I watched her with fascination. She assumed the role of subservient wife, but brimming below the surface was someone a little fiercer. More daring, and quite possibly much more fascinating than even Ivan realized. She had humor, and poise, beauty and class.
While my father was courting Ivan and deciding if he was to be allowed back into the family’s folds, here I was wondering if it was Marisha that should be allowed into our warm embrace and not Ivan after all. Of course, they came as a package deal, which was unfortunate. But nothing was ever out of reach for a Vasiliev.
Nothing.
Not even her.
“What are you thinking, Marisha?” I asked, hoping that she’d surprise me.
She looked stunning tonight, her dress flashing the barest of breast, taunting me with their firmness beneath the slinky material. Her hair was piled high on her head, soft curls dancing around her neck and shoulders. What I’d give to have a fist full of those curls in my grasp. Wild strands had escaped her updo and they were curling against the side of her face. It was enough to grab, enough to tug…
Deviant Prince: A Forbidden bad boy Mafia Romance. (Born to Darkness Duet Book 1) Page 6
