by Sam Crescent
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2021 Sam Crescent
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0416-6
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Audrey Bobak
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Francesca, thank you so much for asking.
SECOND BEST
Volkov Bratva, 1
Sam Crescent
Copyright © 2021
Prologue
Aurora
I always knew I was going to die.
My life was destined to end this way right from the start. Staring down the barrel of a gun, pointed at me by my own husband, I was shocked that I was so important that one of the worst men in the Volkov Bratva needed to kill me. The moment I married into this world, my days were numbered. The fact I’d lived this long was a miracle.
Tears filled my eyes, and I hated that they made me look weak.
I wasn’t surprised that I was the one on my knees. It took every ounce of strength not to give anything away. Would he kill me if he knew the truth?
I’d never betrayed my husband or Ivan Volkov, the leader of the Bratva, my husband’s boss. The moment I’d been with him, I’d been loyal to him, to the entire organization, but it meant nothing now.
My husband wasn’t known for his patience, and I was shocked I wasn’t dead already. It wasn’t like he wanted to be married to me. Like so many things in my life, I was the second-best choice. The real woman he probably wanted was my sister, Isabella. The beautiful one. The one my father couldn’t bear to sacrifice to the disgusting Bratva bastards. Me, Aurora Fredo, the second daughter, the ugly one, I was the one he gave up freely. All my life, it had been so easy for everyone around me to pass me by.
I was friends with many but not cared about at all. Kind of crazy. I was the nice one. The one people said was sweet and kind, but didn’t give a shit about. I was the one they didn’t invite to parties, or they spent more time ignoring me. It was something I’d gotten used to.
My family was worse than that. I was the embarrassment. When we went to dinners, I was placed so far away from them, people had no idea who I was.
Passed over, time and time again.
On my wedding day, men gave their condolences to the man who stood before me.
A peace treaty.
Something new and never before heard of. Ivan Volkov was determined to set about a new era, a modern world for the Bratva, but to do that, for one section of the States he controlled, he needed his head man, his brigadier, Slavik Ivanov, to bring a conclusion to all the bloodshed with the mafia family.
I was the sacrifice in that mafia family.
Our marriage drew peace between the Italians and the Russians, supposedly.
The moment my father placed my hand in Slavik’s hand, my fate had been sealed and along with it, this moment.
There were times I thought it would be different. He’d made me believe I meant something, but like always, I was second best.
I wasn’t important.
I wasn’t loved.
I wasn’t worth anything to anyone.
I’d lived with this knowledge for years. Some days, I could pretend it didn’t matter, that I wasn’t hurt by it. Then something would happen, a statement, an action, and it would awaken all the wounds I kept hidden.
Now, it was finally going to be over.
I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable bullet that would finally end my miserable existence and set Slavik free.
Chapter One
Aurora
Ten months earlier
The party was boring.
Women stood in their little groups, gossiping amongst themselves. Some of them glanced in my direction. The Italian mafia-made men mingling with the same version of the Russian ones. I wasn’t exactly sure of the full details as to what they were all called. What I did know was Slavik Ivanov, my husband, was like the Capo in his world. Even though we were parted by twenty-one years. He was forty years old, and I was nineteen, but in this world, age didn’t matter.
Sipping on my champagne, I held the glass in my hand, counting to ten repeatedly to try to calm my nerves.
I’d been married a week. The event had been a huge success. The press had been there to take pictures and to announce it in the paper. My father hadn’t wanted to give my perfect, beautiful sister to such a man, but me, he had no problem. Put my hand in Slavik’s and ignored me for the rest of the day.
Even the following morning, I’d done our family proud by bleeding. On our wedding night, my husband had made me bleed. I was sure a lot of virgins did on their first time.
The night itself was kind of a blur.
Slavik and I didn’t talk.
No words were whispered or spoken out loud. To anyone who’d look at us, we’d been nothing more than perfect strangers. He hadn’t touched me since, which was a blessing. In fact, at night, I slept alone.
The pain had been … well, it wasn’t something I wished to repeat.
When we’d gotten to the room, he’d pulled the covers back, tore my dress off with his knife, and I’d lain down and closed my eyes as he climbed on top.
The only sounds in the room had been his heavy panting.
I’d drawn blood on my lip.
Done.
Finished.
No longer a virgin.
The romance books I read were so far off the mark, it wasn’t even funny.
Glancing at my husband, I saw he stood with his constant scowl, looking out over the room. I didn’t know if he had the first clue of how to smile.
It wasn’t my problem. That was the mantra I kept telling myself.
Every single night this past week, he’d arrived home, and each time I saw him, he’d been covered in blood. In our world, it was best not to ask any questions, so I didn’t.
Some would call me a coward. My mother had once told me it was all about survival. As women, we were so easily replaced.
In fact, as the men were all cheering at Slavik’s virgin, my mother was telling me he’d be bored now and would find other women to deal with his appetites.
What did I have to look forward to? The children he’d grant me unless he killed me first.
It didn’t matter. No one cared. I sipped at my champagne and simply waited. This was an engagement party for one of the other bosses’ brigadiers or whatever it was he called them. I didn’t even know if he kept to these terms as Ivan Volkov was supposed to be taking his Bratva into another era. A modern era of peace, where he set the hierarchy and the new rules and terms for how things were run.
I came from tradition. Where everything was done via the book, including arranged marriages.
Standing at a party, surrounded by a bunch of Russians, well, it was scary. They all spoke English. I knew my husband did speak Russian, or at least I thought he did. Sometimes I’d heard him in hushed tones. I didn’t even dare to learn the language for fear of where that would leave me.
Finishing my champagne, I chanced another glance at my husband, and shame washed over me when I caught sight of a barely dressed woman hanging around him. Her head was tilted back and laughter spilled from her lips. The way she looked so calm and collected around him, I did
n’t get it.
He was scary as fuck.
Not that I’d say it aloud. In fact, over the years, I’d learned the fine art of saying stuff in my head. I’d even begun to cuss out my parents and tell the boss to fuck off. It was kind of fun. They controlled everything else around them, but not my thoughts. It was the one sense of freedom I got.
A waiter came by to offer me another flute of champagne, which I ignored. I didn’t know when the polite time would come to make my excuses to leave. Rather than come with my guard and driver, Slavik had brought us. The moment we’d entered the party, he’d left me here all alone.
This was … humiliating.
A week married and my husband couldn’t even be bothered to stand with me. Not that it came as any surprise. I wasn’t beautiful. All my life I’d been told I was the ugly one. The ugly, fat sister no one wanted. I had long, brown hair, the tips of which touched the curve of my ass, which again was another issue. I had a weight problem. On a good day, I fit into a size eighteen. I had huge tits, massive hips, a somewhat slender stomach in comparison, and chunky thighs. Even when I dieted and exercised, the curves stayed. It was something I had to live with.
Was it polite to fold my arms across my chest?
It was so hard to not show boredom when that was exactly what I was.
When the woman, whoever she was, seemed to be kissing my husband’s neck, I’d had enough of the spectacle and decided to make my way outside. The doors were wide open, and the moment I was out in the fresh air, I took a deep, calming breath.
Tilting my head up to the sky, I saw it was a clear night, which explained the cold. The chill made me realize I was very much alive. Not a single part of me was dead, even though people seemed to pray for my death.
The idea of my marriage being a peace treaty was so fucking lame and stupid. They thought it was going to bring peace. The truth was it now made more people hate me because they couldn’t continue their bloodshed.
“It’s a nice night out, isn’t it?”
The deep rumble of a voice startled me, and I turned around to see none other than Ivan Volkov smoking a cigarette in the shadowed corner, slightly hidden away by the door. I hadn’t known anyone else was out here.
“Do you speak?”
“Y-yes, sorry. You startled me.”
He chuckled. “The party is not to your liking?”
I quickly glanced at the doors. Everything was an act of survival now. If I said the wrong thing, he’d kill me. If he wanted some entertainment with my screams, he’d kill me. There was no way to win.
“It’s wonderful.”
“And yet you escape to the cold outdoors.” He tutted. His accent was rather nice.
“I just needed some air.”
“Oh, please, I saw you in there.” He chuckled. “I would have thought Slavik would have known better by now.”
Crap! Was I going to get my husband in trouble? Did I care? He had another woman hanging off his arm. Girlfriends, mistresses, they weren’t exactly unheard of in our circles. For many, it meant the husbands had other places to go for them to sate their appetite. For others, they were a pest and destroyers of loving relationships.
Love.
I didn’t have love.
“He’s perfect,” I said. Internally, I cringed. I’d long ago developed the mask I wore now. Passive verging on submissive. They didn’t know I had my thoughts. How I spoke my own mind. Staring at Ivan, though, I didn’t like how he looked at me. It took every single ounce of control not to react.
He saw a hell of a lot more than most.
He chuckled. “You’re a little spitfire. It almost makes me upset that I gave you to Slavik.”
Pressing my lips together, I averted my gaze, bowing my head just slightly. More often than not, this appealed to men. It had worked to divert their attention.
Not Ivan.
He placed a finger beneath my chin and tilted my head back, looking into my eyes. “Such a shame. Slavik is usually a man who sees so much and yet, he doesn’t see you, does he?”
“He’s the perfect husband and loyal to you, sir.”
“Twenty years old and already know the way the world works. I don’t get those mafia men. You see, submissive women have their qualities in the world, Aurora, but the women who know how to bite back, they’re the ones who make our blood boil.”
Why was he telling me this?
“Maybe one day, when you’re not so afraid, we can have a proper conversation, don’t you think?” He still had a finger beneath my chin. “And when you’re dealing with Slavik, heed my advice.”
“Sir,” Slavik said, choosing that moment to interrupt.
I didn’t jerk back, captivated by Ivan’s gaze. I couldn’t look away. It was like he was trying to tell me a million different things in his gaze alone, and I nodded. That was all I did.
“Charming.” He released me and turned to look at Slavik. “You would be mindful to pay more attention to your wife than the whores who grace this place.”
Slavik nodded his head.
It wasn’t a warning or an order.
I got the sense Slavik and Ivan were more than just boss and employee. They were friends, which again was odd. Most bosses in our world didn’t have friends. They made sure people feared them.
Learning the ever-changing dynamics that now surrounded me was difficult, but it was something I needed to master. Years of being around my own family had given me a lot of chances to watch, to listen, and to find out all the details I needed to survive even my father.
“Come,” Slavik said, holding out his hand.
I moved toward his side.
He took my hand in his grip, and I expected us to leave. Instead, he led me inside and took me straight to the dance floor. One quick glance around the room and I saw we’d become the spectacle. I hated anyone’s gaze on me, but it was easier to get this over with.
Slavik had been scorned. Would he beat me when I got home?
Once, when I was a child, my sister Isabella had embarrassed my father by playing the role of a spoiled brat. When we got home, rather than punish the perfect one, he’d turned his wrath on me, smacking me so hard I’d fallen into furniture. The blow had caused me to catch the skin across my eyebrow. I still had the scar at the corner of my eyebrow. It had long faded, but if you looked closely, you’d see it. The slight imperfection. I had several marks from old punishments. All of which I had to take as my father wouldn’t dream of hurting his precious daughter. The beautiful one.
Some would say I had every right to hate and resent my sister. I didn’t. I loved Isabella. It wasn’t her fault, but our family’s. She’d been raised to believe she was a princess who deserved all the attention, while I’d been taught to expect what I got and to be grateful for it.
With Slavik’s hand on my back, the other holding my hand, we danced. The tune was soft, not too slow that it required us to stand close to one another, but not fast enough to create a good distance. Being this close to him terrified me.
I’d heard the rumors of just how deadly this man was. He was feared far and wide. The women gossiped about how he had the ability to tear apart a man with his bare hands.
I didn’t even know if that was possible. Fear ran down my back, and I tried to ignore it.
Ivan’s words rang in my head about how men liked to have a woman who talked back. Not in my experience they didn’t. They liked a quiet, submissive woman who was pretty and spat out sons. There, I’d said it, albeit in my head.
“What was Volkov talking to you about?” Slavik asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.”
I did, but I was buying time. This wasn’t a conversation I wished to have with my husband. How did I get out of this?
“He talked about the party.”
“And?”
“Nothing more.” I wasn’t about to tell him the man’s advice.
Slavik’s hand tightened at my waist. I didn’t know if he was trying to wa
rn me, or if he just had to hold me a little tighter.
“How are you enjoying the party?” I asked.
“It’s a fucking party, Aurora. How do you think?”
His harsh tone had me flinching. Of course. I was being treated like a fucking dumb woman. Rather than look into his dark, almost black eyes, I went back to staring at his chest. Had Ivan given me that advice on purpose?
Either way, I wasn’t going to use it.
Once the dance ended, Slavik told me that my driver, Sergei, was going to take me home.
Without another word, Slavik kissed my cheek and handed me to Sergei. No doubt he was going to be fucking the woman who had been hanging off his arm.
Against my better judgment, I looked toward Ivan, who watched me. He raised his glass in my direction, and I offered him a smile.
Staring down at the floor, I followed Sergei out to the waiting car. He held open the back passenger door, and I slid inside. The noise from the building seemed to grow louder, but I ignored it.
Parties had never been my thing. The fear of something bad happening always lingered in the air.
I was growing tired of living in fear. Resting my head back against the car seat, I didn’t bother looking back to see the building. Instead, I stared out the window at the passing scenery.
The city in darkness always seemed to offer a sense of freedom. There were more shadows, places to hide. It would be so nice to run, to escape.
Now that I was married, my chances were gone. I was trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who clearly couldn’t stand me. My days were numbered. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I tried to massage the pain that began to build.
Showing weakness would get me killed.
Being strong and loyal, that was what I needed to do.
To survive.
To one day earn my freedom.
I had a plan, I just hoped I knew what I was doing.
