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“I believe it, sir. The Baranov brat tried to escape, but you brought her back,” he said.
A middle-aged Avtoritet joined the conversation, looking rough with his face flushed from drinking. He clapped Mikhail on the shoulder and joked, “Good to have young blood at the helm again. Maybe you can force some sense into the girl’s head. She’s still young and ripe. You’ll have plenty of time to break her in once the marriage is official.”
“Just have to keep her under control,” added another man.
“I can think of lots of ways to do that,” said the youngest one lewdly.
Mikhail shrugged the men off and looked down at them with a stern expression. The men seemed to shrink before their new leader. He said sharply, “I certainly hope you aren’t thinkingtoohard about your new Pakhan’s fiancée.”
The meaning of his statement was not lost on them, even though they were drunk. They all hurried to backpedal, softening their bawdy comments with more respectful ones. Mikhail quickly dismissed them and moved onto the next conversation, though he could never fully escape the topic of Annika.
With the old Pakhan barely laid to rest, the organization had turned their eyes fully to Mikhail. They were all wondering what his first move would be, and what adjectives would describe his rule. Would he be as judicious as Vasili? Would he show mercy, or would he be even more cruel than the man who came before him?
The party raged on through the stormy night and into the wee hours of the morning. Everyone had congratulations to offer Mikhail, and many had concerns. By the end of the rites, Mikhail sat in the drawing room of the estate, looking out the window. The rain fell lightly now, the sun starting to peek out through the clouds. A new day was dawning over the city, ushering in a new age. The reign of Vasili Sokolov was over: Mikhail’s regime had begun. He felt the power rushing through his veins as he looked out over his neon desert kingdom. He had everything he needed: fortune, family, and the closest thing to friendship a Pakhan could ever know. His men were dedicated to him. They would follow him into the foulest battle, down to the last second.
The only thing that plagued Mikhail’s mind now was Annika. He had so few memories left of his mother now, but he remembered the way Irina Sokolov stood so proudly at Vasili’s side during her life. She was his perfect match, the ideal woman to reign with. Until her death five years ago, she had carried the organization with almost as much strength as her husband.
By comparison, Annika had a long way to go. She was slowly attuning to Mikhail, but he knew that her own roots went deep. As horrible as they were, she had been raised by Baranovs. He needed to absorb all of her loyalty. He had to break whatever thin ties still tethered her to the Baranov dynasty. He had so much to teach her about serving him, and he had no moral qualms about keeping her locked up for now.
But he understood now that it would inspire more confidence in his men if Annika was a more willing participant. It was a necessary but somewhat embarrassing fact that she was only his because he had captured her. It surprised him that he wanted her to be his completely and utterly, mind, body, and soul. Beyond question. She had already proven her ability to meet his needs in the bedroom. She could keep up with him there. Now, Mikhail was determined to bring her into the fold. Everyone was clearly questioning their union. He still felt disgust at uniting with the Baranovs, but he would not let his father’s best-laid plans fail. He needed to show everyone that Annika was his property now, that she wouldn’t just run away again.
Mikhail decided to give her an inch of freedom, entrust her with a mission, and see if he could chisel this silly young girl into the competent, dutiful wife he needed and deserved.
CHAPTER8
ANNIKA
Palm trees wavedin the gentle breeze outside of the shopping plaza on the west side of Las Vegas. It was an upscale retail area with malls, boutiques, salons, and pricey cafes, everything tinged with the scent of upper-class extravagance. Even the chain stores were designed with a specific kind of architecture in mind. Instead of the usual concrete blocks, the shops were built with carved columns and stylish tiles. The exteriors looked more fitting for a palace than a grocery store. The vehicles that pulsed along the roadways between plazas were of a decidedly higher echelon than the majority of the city.
Annika watched the BMWs, Porsches, and Range Rovers rumble by with their shiny, slick paint and custom rims. She thought about how out of place her father’s Bentley must have looked on the humble northern coast of California compared to this pocket of the desert, where it was just another fancy car. Perhaps if she had fled somewhere a little more befitting a Bentley’s presence, she might not have been caught so quickly. Over her time in captivity at Mikhail’s penthouse apartment, she’d taken plenty of time to dissect her escape plan. She could see all the glaring flaws in her decision-making process so clearly now in retrospect. If she were to do it again, she knew she would do it totally differently.
But there was little point in entertaining that line of thinking. There wasn’t going to be a second time. Annika knew better than to try and outpace her future husband. It was tricky enough just escaping her own parents with the element of surprise on her side. She thought sometimes that she would have been successful, or at least would have made it a little farther, if it was only her parents to contend with. But as soon as Mikhail was involved, Annika didn’t have a fighting chance in hell.
Annika had grown up with the vague understanding that her father Egor was a powerful man with lots of money, but it wasn’t until meeting Mikhail that she grasped how far a Pakhan’s influence can reach. Mikhail made her father’s business seem elementary by comparison. He was leagues ahead of the Baranovs, and he had men loyal to the Sokolovs stretching across state lines. He was too strong, too smart, too well-connected. He had eyes and ears everywhere. He had spies watching the road, dedicating their entire lives to providing intel for the organization. He had beat cops, detectives, and even sheriffs on payroll. What was worse was the fact that all of these people were so perfectly leveraged to secrecy that no one would suspect them of even being involved with the mafia. Literally anyone could be an associate, and you wouldn’t have any idea until it was too late.
Like that driver in Eureka who had picked Annika up from the side of the road. She thought about how naïve she was then to immediately assume a random stranger had pure intentions. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that he was a threat, far less that he was employed by the same people who wanted to drag her back to Vegas. Not until the doors were locked, the car was flying down the highway, and Annika’s fate was sealed.
She only knew what she knew now because Mikhail had told her about it. Although he had been so stern and silent with her at the start of her captivity, things had changed between them more recently. In the past several days, she’d learned so much from him about the Sokolovs, their legacy, their power, their history.
He came to her room for meal times, as before, but now he did more than simply stand guard. He revealed bits and pieces of his work, telling her about the missions he went on, giving her glimpses of the nefarious business meetings he attended with other members. Annika, once so repelled by him, was obsessed with his every word. Perhaps it was loneliness or boredom that made her so attentive. But either way, she wanted to be a part of things. She was tired of being locked up alone in that bedroom with only sparse visits from Mikhail to keep her occupied.
So when he had come to her the day before with the proposition of letting her out for a little while, Annika was overjoyed. She didn’t much care why or for what purpose he wanted her out; she only wanted to breathe the fresh air and get a change of scenery. She had hoped for a ride-along with her future husband or something, any chance to be close to him. Annika wanted to resist him, wanted to despise him. On some level, she managed it. But when she found out that her mission today was about spending time with her mother… Well, she was less excited.
“Annika? Are you decent in there yet?” her mother’s voice cut in sharply.
Annika jumped a little, startled by her mom’s bony knuckles rapping at the changing room door. She looked down at the fluffy white taffeta and lace enveloping her body, looking more like a half-wrapped mummy than a blushing bride. As it turned out, wedding dresses were actually kind of difficult to put on and take off without assistance. There were straps and buttons and laces and ties in places where she didn’t expect them, and it was damn near impossible not to trip over the dragging fabric as she moved around.
“Yeah, I’m okay. You can come in,” Annika replied, tugging the gown up to better cover her chest. The crystal doorknob turned, and the door clicked open to reveal Annika’s mother, Yulia Baranov, standing there with her hands on her hips.
The middle-aged woman scrunched up her face as much as possible, considering the nearly hundred units of Botox contained throughout it. She pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side. Her shoulder-length platinum blonde hair barely moved along with it. She had perfect salon spirals and glossy side bangs, her roots as bleached as always. Hair spray kept it looking totally close-up ready, but made her coif rather crunchy to the touch. Her makeup was equally flawless, with high, rosy cheeks, plump red lips, and symmetrical smoky eyes. Only the most expensive brands dared touch her skin, and she was never, ever spotted without makeup. Even around the house, she wore a thick layer of products. Annika could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen her mother’s bare face. The woman was obviously beautiful, but insecure. Not that anyone could guess that judging by her appearance.
Yulia wore a white and pink dress that hugged her frame so tightly, Annika wondered how she managed enough range of motion to totter across the bridal boutique in those pinup heels. A designer handbag that probably cost more than the average Vegas resident’s monthly bills combined was perched on her shoulder. The pink purse and white heels coordinated perfectly with her dress and jewelry, of which there was a lot. Her throat and collarbone were glittery with expensive necklaces. She wore pearls on her ears, and her hands were bedecked with rings, all studded with gemstones. From head to toe, Yulia’s ensemble was ridiculously expensive.
Annika felt herself shrinking in front of her mother’s judgmental gaze. The older woman’s eyes darted from one potential flaw to the next. Her frown deepened by the second.
“I don’t think this one really fits,” Annika offered.
Yulia snorted. “I can see that. What size is this? You look like a string bean in a pile of mashed potatoes,” she pointed out colorfully.
