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I agree with what she said, but inside I know it isn’t true.
Viktor isn’t like other men. No man has ever turned me on this much. He has a level of control over me I never thought possible. That makes it so much harder for me to accept he could be killed any day, either by the men inside the Mikhailov Bratva, or by Arkady and his crew. Part of me knows that isn’t my problem. I should walk away and leave criminals to their world, to face the consequences of their actions.
But I can’t. I know deep inside that’s impossible for me.
“And you know my offer is still good, Taty. Don’t forget that. If things get too intense for you back home, then get on the first plane back to Chicago. You’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you need to,” Ashlyn insists.
The offer is so tempting. Even though she lives in a cramped studio apartment, it’s still a much better situation than living here. But I feel nailed to this place, wound up in my work for the Bratva, as well as my feelings for Viktor.
“I appreciate the offer, and maybe one day I’ll take you up on it,” I say, leaving the possibility open.
“Okay, well, I’ll let you go. Call me when you can and keep me updated on everything going on,” her tone is so comforting it’s almost motherly.
“I will,” I say, knowing full well I’m lying. One of the biggest events in my life just happened, losing my virginity, and I don’t feel comfortable sharing it with her.
The line clicks to silence, and I shut my phone off.
Maybe I’ll be more willing to share what’s going on in my life when I’m back in Chicago for my next term.
Chapter4
VIKTOR
My arm slides into the sleeve of an azure suit jacket with ease, and with a perfect fit. There are plenty of drawbacks to being held at gunpoint and forced on a plane to Russia at the last minute. One is that you have no time to pack clothes.
Luckily for me, Vadim and I have the same build.
He had me transferred to the main building where the Mikhailov Bratva live. Each soldier has their own floor, and they gave me one that was made vacant because a man was killed on a mission. Unfortunate end for him, but at least I now have much nicer accommodations.
Though I’m sure I’m being monitored to some degree, Vadim appears to understand that I’m not here to battle for his position asPakhan. But despite the upgrade in treatment, I know they can still murder me at any moment. I’ve made peace with the fact that my life will be under constant threat as long as I’m here with no men to support me.
Aksel and Yuri, my most trusted men back in America, witnessed me being taken at gunpoint by Grigor. I asked Grigor to let them know I’m alive and not to come after me. I know they’re managing my crew in my absence, but part of me wishes they could be here to provide the same backup Vadim gets from his men.
Vadim has his brothers, and I have mine.
The elevator door slides open, and I head down a dim hall leading to the foyer. We agreed to meet there before leaving to see the elder Bratva. Most of the glass-walled offices are closed with the lights turned off, but I pass by one occupied by the clean-cut soldier I noticed at Dima’s initiation. He’s no doubt working on securing the organization’s paper assets - the other side of the crime world.
When I reach the foyer expecting Vadim, I find an older man standing with his back to me, hands shoved in his pockets. Aged tattoos cover most of the skin, from wrist to forearms, disappearing under his rolled-up shirtsleeves. He turns when he hears me approaching and I see a man with a long, well-groomed beard, salt and pepper hair, and stark eyes.
I know those eyes. The last time I saw them was after my village was attacked and my parents were killed. Those eyes were staring down at me as I was pinned to a metal table while he tattooed my chest.
The man takes a step towards me and I stop in my tracks, pointing to the marks he stabbed into me as a boy after my parents were murdered.
“You put this on me,” I say, as if serving him an indictment.
He rocks back on his heels, taking measure of my form. He remembers me, too.
“I did,” he answers with no regret in his voice. “My name is Adrik,” he says, as if I want to know.
My breathing grows shallow and rapid, thinking back to what happened 15 years ago. Wailing over my mother’s lifeless body, torn from her side by Adrik and thrown into his truck, storming off with the sound of screaming villagers and gunfire fading behind me.
The night after the attack, I was huddled in a small wood paneled room with no comfort but a blanket to keep me warm. I was crying and muttering childish promises of vengeance for my mother when I learned my father was also killed.
The next morning Adrik woke me up, put me on a table, and forced the tattoo on me. My vision was blurred from tears, but I could still remember those stark eyes looking into mine, urging me to get revenge one day.
Never forget who you are.
Adrik hasn’t forgotten who I am. He nods his head slightly. “I knew you’d be back some day.”
