“It’s not your place to say?! You say and doanythingI tell you to do!”
He takes my arrogance in stride, knowing not all of it is solely for him. It’s not even for Zariah. I’m the only person I’m pissed at. My plans were simple: come home, take down the people responsible for Dominique’s demise, then step into the leadership role of my kingdom without the bloodshed Nikolai endured. I had the opportunity to knock off two tasks within an hour of landing in Russia, yet I let them slip from my grasp. And for what? An untouched cunt and drugs that fuck with my head more than they soothe it.
This isn’t who I am. I’m Asher Yury, the most feared man in Russia. I don’t bow for anyone.
“Schedule a meeting with my mother for first thing this morning. I want to get this shit sorted out ASAP.”
“This?” Lenin asks, stepping forward.
I nudge my head in the direction Zariah just fled. “I want to know the real reason she is here, and I won’t stop asking questions until they’re answered—truthfully.”
My mother is a brilliant woman, but no one lasts in our industry as long as she has without some sort of scheming. If that is what this is, there will be hell to pay. You can’t puppeteer the master when he’s controlling the strings.
Chapter 11
Zariah
I’ve fumbled my way around the kitchen the past sixteen hours. I have no idea what I am doing. My childhood bedroom may not have been an ivory tower, but it may as well have been. Excluding family meetings, most of my time was spent in my room. I was schooled there, ate there, and had the deepest and darkest secrets confided there. An industrial-sized kitchen pumping out over a hundred meals three times a day is not an environment I am used to.
I’ll adjust though, because if forced to pick between this and handling Asher on a drug-fueled bender, I’ll pick the former every time. He’s always been temperamental, but not once in our childhood did I see him as I did this morning. I should have been grateful the erection I saw throbbing in his boxer shorts as he stormed toward me wasn’t used on the women occupying his time, but all I felt was fright. He wasn’t looking at me as he was earlier. He was mad, the most manic I’ve ever seen him, and all of his attention was devoted to me.
“Gotovy?”
I stop staring into space when Eda moves to stand in front of me. She’s been showing me the ropes today. She’s kind, around the same age as me, and the half of her face not mottled by an angry scar is extremely beautiful. We’ve barely had a minute to discuss what happened to her face, but we got the basics out of the way within the first hour.
My teeth nearly cracked from how hard I held my jaw when she told me she has been a maid here for the past fifteen years. If my calculations are right, and she is close to my age, that means she has been imprisoned here since she was ten. That’s inconceivable even to consider. At an age where she should have been playing with dolls, she was serving men who can’t comprehend having your period doesn’t mean you’re ready to become a woman.
I barely know Eda, but I hate what she’s been through. It also makes me worry about my own future. She’s proof you can survive years here if you’re willing to put in the hard work, but am I as strong as her? Can I do this for another sixty-plus years?
When Eda raises her brow, prompting me to answer, I nod. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Remember, serve from the right, and don’t make eye contact.” Her English is poor, but I have no troubles deciphering her instructions. We’re staff. Nothing more.
With a soup filled with more goodness than what we consumed an hour earlier balanced on my hip, I enter the dining room on Eda’s heel. It’s the most packed it’s been all day. Nearly every seat around a table that could seat fifty is filled with a bottom, and the majority of the attendees are male.
Squaring my shoulders, I move to the lower end of the table. Eda is serving bread to the main players at the hierarchy end, so I’ll start with people more on my end of the scale—a scale I no longer have a rank on.
“What is this?”
A man with a scar sliced down his right eye and a thick, bushy beard snatches my hand halfway between the soup dish and his bowl I just finished filling with borscht.
I try to maneuver myself out of his hold without creating a scene, but his grip is too tight. Instead, I lower my eyes to the tabletop. “It’s borscht.”Borschtis a Russian staple made with beets and various meats, often served with sour cream.
My simple reply agitates the man more, his grip on my arm tightening. “I know what it is, but why are you serving it to me? Do I look like a man who eats slops?”
The slur of his words makes me want to nod, but I hold back the urge—just barely. Now is not the time to let my personality shine. “This is just an appetizer; much heartier food will follow shortly.”
I don’t know what I said that angers him, but his grip tightens enough to make me whimper. He’s holding me so painfully I feel like my wrist is seconds from cracking.
Before I can serve the borschtinto his lap, a voice accented with the slight twang of an American accent says, “Remove your hand from her immediately before I remove yours permanently.”
I’d like to say Asher has come to my defense, but that isn’t the case. The voice doesn’t belong to a man. It is strong, unwavering, and feminine.
When the goon releases me from his grasp, I take a step back before sheepishly raising my eyes. Eda was adamant I was not to make eye contact with any of the guests, but doesn’t their assistance deserve some form of commendation?
Asher’s icy blue gaze reflects back at me, but it’s fanned by the fine lines every woman in her mid-fifties hates. Although I haven’t laid my eyes on this lady for over a decade, I know who she is. She is Asher’s mother, the monarch of the Yury crew. Her female anatomy means she’ll never reach the status of Asher or his father, but she is a well-respected and integral part of their realm. She is a beautiful lady who has only grown more alluring with time. I admired her golden locks and porcelain skin for years when I was a little girl and often dreamed I’d one day grow up as strong and as venerated as her. My mother emulated her strength when they were friends, and I was determined to do the same.
“Leave now.”
