Decision made, he got to his feet and headed into the bathroom to clean himself up before walking down to the bar, failing to recall the last time he was there. It was mostly a blur of numbing pain and vodka, but he vaguely remembered seeing Mariya that night, her concern for his liver written across her face, even as she delivered what he ordered.
Tonight, though, he was taking it easy. Not because the pain wasn’t sharp and lingering, but because he was finally growing tired of waking up feeling like shit.
Red lights he hadn’t noticed last time illuminated the darkened space around the bar with the fiery shade. Mounted televisions hung above the bar, and old license plates completed the wall décor.
It was a dive, one that had probably been around for some time, and one Thanatos would have loved to troll. Unlike Christophe, who drank to forget, Thanatos drank because it made him feel alive.
In this place, no one paid Christophe a second glance as he eased through the scores of people to find a seat at the bar, spotting Mariya down at the end talking to a girl with blond hair dyed blue at the ends.
Almost to the second he sat down, her gaze snapped up and found his, a hint of a smile playing across her full lips. She was pleased he was there.
Because she thought he wasn’t eating enough?
She wasn’t wrong. He’d been sustaining himself on whatever since the day he stepped foot in the city. Truthfully, he didn’t know why she cared.
It wasn’t as though they were close, or that he had ever really given her reason to like him, yet he’d found himself coming down here anyway.
Why did he care what she thought?
He had gone out of his way to find a place where no one knew him for this very reason; so he could drink in peace without having to worry about someone trying to take his liquor away.
His brothers meant well, but they would have eventually gotten tired of seeing him waste away and stepped in. It was only because he checked in regularly and hadn’t done anything too outlandish that they had managed to go this long without showing their faces.
What would they think now? Seeing him sitting in a bar simply because he was curious about a girl who worked there …
How the fuck did that look?
But she was the first person who actually seemed to see him. Even as the uncomfortable thought rose in the back of his mind, Christophe quickly banished it.
Mariya said something to the girl at her side as she straightened and started in his direction.
“You finally made it,” she said once she was within earshot. “Did you run out of rinds?”
Her nose slightly wrinkled at the mention of them, only making his amusement grow. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“And I’m perfectly okay with that. What can I get you?”
He was tempted—sorely fucking tempted—to order a drink, already feeling the burn as the alcohol slid down his throat, but he needed a break, whether he wanted one or not.
“Heineken.”
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t comment on his choice. “Want time to look at the menu?”
“Surprise me.”
She offered him a small smile as she twisted and walked back the way she came, his gaze following the soft sway of her hips as she went.
At the window separating the bar from the kitchen, she took a few seconds to order for him before going back to grab his beer.
As late as it was on a Friday night, he expected the bar to be packed full of people, but a dozen at most occupied the area.
“See? Better than whatever you bought the other day.”
He shook his head. “Don’t knock what you haven’t tried.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She turned, but before she could take a step, he caught her hand, and when she turned back to look at him, he didn’t have anything to say. He just didn’t want her to leave.
Color bloomed in her cheeks before she tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. “You know you’re staring.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked.
She was a beautiful distraction from all the shit in his life.
“Oy! You plan on working sometime today, princess?” Davie, the slightly overweight owner, called, hands at his waist as he gestured for her to get a move on.
Mariya looked back at him with an apologetic shrug before smiling at Christophe. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”
As he watched her walk away, his thoughts seized on the nickname Davie had just used. The way her face changed when he said it, Christophe didn’t think it was simply a pet name.
Throughout the night, he found himself studying her, trying to decipher the conundrum she presented.
It wasn’t just that she looked different; in the months he’d lived here, he had learned fairly quickly that this side of Brooklyn was Irish territory and most had a disdain for anything Russian.
He knew why he had chosen this place for his exile, but a girl like her? What would bring her to a place like this?
It was the puzzle she presented, he thought as he looked over at her. That was why she intrigued him.
Nothing more.
Her smile remained in place, at least until her phone rang. He didn’t know why he watched her, noticing the way her happy expression slipped as she looked down at the screen.
Whoever it was, she didn’t look happy they were calling.
She spoke quietly to one of the other bartenders before slipping out the back door.
Finishing the last of his drink, he closed out his tab and headed home, but instead of heading in his apartment, he grabbed a bottle from inside then headed up to the roof where he could look out over the city.
Today was the best he’d felt in months, yet guilt still ate at him.
The slight breeze cooled her heated skin as she stepped out into the alley behind the tavern, her knuckles blanching from the grip she had on her phone.
Klara’s name flashed on the screen, but instead of happiness, she only felt fear. She’d wanted to talk to her only a week ago, but now that she was calling, Mariya wished she wasn’t.
Whatever this phone call was about, she wouldn’t like what her sister had to say.
Then again, there was also the chance it was Feliks on the other end, finally having tracked her down.
Drawing in a breath, she accepted the call and put the phone to her ear, hesitating a moment before finally speaking. “Hello?”
“Mari,” Klara greeted on a relieved whisper, a toilet flushing in the background, but before a smile could even grow at hearing her sister’s voice, Klara’s sniffles made her heart clench. “Mama, she’s …”
Klara didn’t have to finish for her to know.
It was a call she knew was inevitable, but one she had foolishly hoped would never come.
A single minute had changed everything.
10 months ago …
A wedding ring wasn’t supposed to feel like a dreaded weight on her finger, nor was it supposed to feel like a death sentence.
Somehow, this one managed both.
When Mariya thought of what her future would look like, this hadn’t been what she pictured at all. She didn’t want a party filled with more than a hundred guests whose names escaped her, catered by a restaurant in Manhattan she would never eat in because she hated sushi, and definitely not in the middle of winter when it felt like she would freeze to death the second she walked outside.
But this was just another reason why everything about this day was wrong.
The people were wrong.
The food was wrong.
The man was wrong.
Well across the room with a glass in his hand, Feliks Sokovich looked every bit her grandfather’s brodyaga—a soldier willing to do any and everything asked of him, no matter how bloody.
He was the one her grandfather called on whenever he needed something done. Feliks didn’t turn down assignments—not that he could, even if he wanted to, considering his rank within the Bratva—but
he shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as he did.
It didn’t help that he wore a silver band, a complement to the one she wore on her own finger.
Inna didn’t understand her disdain for Feliks. Her relationship with Temuri had been arranged, sure, but they had grown to love each other despite it.
“It’s a gorgeous ring, yes?” Inna went on, picking up her hand to inspect the seven-carat ring—a fact Feliks had reminded her of as he’d shoved the thing on her finger—with a tight smile.
It was big, the diamond ostentatious, and she hated the very sight of it.
It was only another reminder that her life was no longer her own.
She was now the wife of the man currently staring in her direction with a frown on his face, ignoring the man chattering next to him.
She wouldn’t pretend, not for him or anyone else, that this was what she wanted.
Could he see how unhappy she was? Could he see how unhappy she would make him?
Turning back to Inna, she forced a smile, managing it this time if only to keep Feliks away for a little while longer.
Gently removing her hand from Inna’s hold, she dropped it to her side. “It is.”
Of course, the ring would be amazing since his mother was the one to pick it out. But it didn’t matter how beautiful the stone was. It was just another rock coming from Feliks.
Even now, his mother stood on the other side of the room dressed in a slinky dress despite her age with a white fur coat to cover it—she hadn’t even bothered to take the thing off even though it was so warm inside.
Mariya couldn’t recall ever actually having spoken to the woman all evening, though she seemed to be the most excited about the day.
“Excuse me, Mama,” Mariya said before swallowing down the last of her champagne. “I’m going to find Klara.”
Fortunately for her, one person did understand why this day was the second worst of her life.
Unlike Mariya, who was better at swallowing her feelings and doing what she was told, Klara was the opposite.
She didn’t abide by the rules Alexey had set out for them. If anything, she went out of her way to get around them.
When she was told to be home by a certain time, she would find a reason to be late. Whether it was letting her phone die and being unable to contact anyone, or specifically asking her driver to take the longest route home.
Klara rebelled.
Her gaze darting around the room, Mariya tried to find her sister in the sea of people, finally spotting her near the cake with Akim at her side holding a sleeping Ana.
Once she caught her eye, Mariya nodded toward the back of the room where the restrooms were located; the only indication she needed to give for her sister to know what she wanted.
At this hotel, whose name she hadn’t bothered to remember, the restroom had a sitting room of sorts, complete with a settee, throw rugs, and a primping station.
Why all this was needed, she didn’t know, but she was glad for it all the same as she collapsed down onto it, kicking her feet up to alleviate the pain of standing on six-inch heels all night.
Already, she could feel the stress lifting from her shoulders now that she wasn’t under a microscope with people judging her every movement.
She’d only closed her eyes a moment when she heard the door open and close. The smell of masculine cologne immediately made her nauseous.
Feliks’ favorite.
In seconds, her eyes were open, and she was turning to face him.
One thing she had always been careful of until this very moment was to never be alone with him if she could help it. His presence was more than just unsettling; he creeped her out.
But she was a Bratva printsessa, and she would not show fear.
“Is something wrong, wife?” he asked, his accent still thick.
Unlike her own, which was light since she and her family had been in the States since she was a toddler, Feliks had lived in the old country until a couple of years ago.
Sometimes, she wondered when they were in public together, if he was purposely exaggerating it, to make him appear less threatening. He was always very careful, not just in the way he spoke, but his actions as well. He didn’t scream or shout, or even use his physical size to intimidate her—his violence against her was never blatant.
Instead, it was an undercurrent in everything he did, threading through every word, or the way he squeezed her arm or hand a little too tightly.
Even how he gave tight smiles when something displeased him.
She saw beyond the surface of the careful appearance he tried to keep.
It was because of the false image that she didn’t trust being around him when no one else was around.
“Nothing,” she finally answered him, getting to her feet quickly and looked at the door. “I’m fine.”
His eyes swept over her from head to toe, judging and assessing every little detail about the way she looked. And if the growing frown on his face was anything to go by, he didn’t like what he saw.
Good.
That was her intention.
While she hadn’t seen much of him during this farce of a day, he had left clear instructions as to how she was meant to look.
What dress to wear.
How to style her hair.
Even the color of lipstick he wanted to see painting her lips.
Everything he had wanted for her was nothing that she liked.
She despised pink lipstick on herself, preferring darker shades, and trying to get her hair to stay in a tight, neat bun was more work than she was willing to exert.
Instead, she left her hair messy and curling around her shoulders and had chosen the deepest shade of plum—it was almost black—lipstick she could find.
They were married now, and it might have been better for her had she just done what he wanted, but if he thought she would just accept the life her grandfather was forcing her into, he was mistaken.
“Then smile,” he said, seeming to ignore her appearance for the moment while brushing his knuckles along her jaw.
If he meant to comfort her with that gesture, she didn’t feel it—especially when she could see the bruises on them. “I have nothing to smile about.”
“Then perhaps I should give you a reason to wear that frown?” he said, phrasing it as a question, his tone darkening just slightly.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I want you to be happy, Mariya. I don’t want to hurt you. Khotet’—Please. Don’t make me hurt you.”
It was a warning. The only one she would probably get from him. “I have school in the morning. How long is this party going to continue?”
“Until I say it ends. We are celebrating.”
“I’m not.”
There it was—the monster hiding beneath the surface.
“You would do well not to anger me. I’ve hurt others for less.”
“As I said, you wouldn’t—”
“Dare?” he asked, grabbing her jaw before she even realized he was reaching for her. “And who would be there to save you? Your father?”
She shoved his hand away, wishing she could slap the annoying smirk off his face.
“Do not test me, Mariya. I grow tired of this.”
A response was on the tip of her tongue, but before she could say a word, the door sprang open once more, and this time, Klara came stumbling in with a glass of wine in her hand, her eyes a little too wide as she spotted them, but despite the way she swayed, Mariya saw right through it.
Plus, she was still breastfeeding, and she wasn’t allowed to drink.
Giggling, Klara leaned against the wall. “We’re supposed to be eating cake soon! What are you doing in here? You’re missing the party.”
Feliks took a step back, but only enough so he could turn and face Klara, his bulk blocking much of Mariya’s view.
“We’ll be out in a moment.”
It was as much of a dismissal as if he had told her to get out, but unlike al
l the others he intimidated, Klara didn’t balk in the face of his annoyance.
“Well, unless you want to hear me pee, how about you come back once I’m done.”
Klara quite happily, albeit stumbling all the way, began pulling up her dress as she headed for one of the stalls. This was enough for Feliks to frown in disgust before giving Mariya a pointed stare then excused himself.
The moment the door clicked shut, Klara dropped her dress and immediately straightened, all hints of her drunkenness gone. “I utterly despise him, you know. He’s fucking creepy. Even Akim doesn’t like him, and bless him, he likes everyone.”
Luckily for Klara, she had found love before their father died, so she wasn’t under the same obligation to marry as Mariya was.
Also, luckily for her, Akim was a good man.
“So what are we going to do about this?” Klara asked, nodding sadly at the ring on her finger. “We can’t actually let you stay with him, right?”
She wished she didn’t have to. “I don’t see what choice I have.”
It wasn’t as though she would be able to change Alexey’s mind, even with Klara being able to talk him out of most things, but it was final now. The papers were signed.
A divorce was impossible.
But even without that possibility, she refused to be his doormat, and one way or another, she would find a way out of it.
That was what she did when she found herself in an impossible situation.
Drawing closer and lowering her voice, Klara said, “If you want to run, you know I’ll help in any way I can. We can run together if you want.”
For the first time all night, Mariya’s smile was genuine. “You would, wouldn’t you? I don’t think Akim would forgive me if I took you away from him.”
“Yeah, well, he’ll live. And if he wants, he can come with us. Ana will need her father after all.”
Mariya laughed, even as she knew it wasn’t possible. Akim had taken an oath, and before anyone else, even his wife and daughter, he served the Bratva.
“I’ll figure something out,” she mumbled.
Eventually.
Klara sighed sadly, squeezing her hand. “Whatever you need, okay? Remember that.”
“Okay.”
Crooks & Kings: A Wild Bunch Novel Page 5
