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Though, judging by the number of armed guards present, I wouldn’t exactly call it a party.
It’s the first time I’ve been out of Adrian’s house since I got there, and while I thought it would be liberating, it’s somehow more suffocating.
Part of it is because of the number of guards who are accompanying us in a separate car. Five, aside from Kolya and Yan.
Part is because Jeremy cried when I told him I wouldn’t be reading him a bedtime story tonight. His tears drew a black hole in my chest that still hasn’t mended.
Tonight is just wrong on so many levels. Will I make a mistake? Will all of Adrian’s and Ogla’s warnings come true? I want to crawl back into Jeremy’s room, kiss his soft cheeks, and pretend like the whole world only exists because of him.
But here I am, in the middle of a party, celebrating the birthday of a man I’ve never met before.
ThePakhan, Sergei, decided to host Igor’s birthday at his mansion, which is apparently a great honor. The brotherhood’s compound is massive, even larger than Adrian’s house, and has a garden that goes on for miles. It’s surrounded by high walls and cameras that blink in every corner.
It feels scarier than the place I left behind, emptier,bigger. Which is weird since I think Adrian’s house is terrifying. Whenever I walk the halls, I feel like its walls will open their mouths wide and scream in my face—or drag me into nothingness. Its soul is as black as its owner’s.
Sergei Sokolov’s house is scary because of the unfamiliarity of it, the nerves that keep wracking me, the sheer pressure of somehow making a mistake. What if someone figures out I’m not Lia? What if I put Adrian in danger and cause Jeremy to lose his father?
“Relax.” Adrian wraps his hand around my gloved one that’s gripping his jacket. “You’re fine.”
His words immediately still my jittery insides. I don’t know what it is about his voice that’s soothing. It shouldn’t be, considering how deep it is, but during unfathomable moments, it feels like his voice is the only anchor I need.
“All you have to do is remain quiet. Everyone is used to that from you.” His hand drops from mine, and I want to grab it and put it back again. Even through the glove, his touch offered the right amount of comfort I needed.
But Adrian has been making it his mission to deprive me of what I need these past couple of days. Ever since the night I dreamt about Lia being killed by an unknown shadow and me shooting him, he’s withdrawn from me.
He still tends to me—puts ointment on my cut lip, blow-dries my hair, wraps a scarf around my neck when he thinks it’s cold. But he doesn’t touch me sexually.
No punishment.
No orgasms.
Nothing.
I’ve even talked back to him during breakfast so much that Ogla’s eyebrows met her hairline and she eventually told me to shut up.
I haven’t. I’ve kept doing all the things I know Adrian hates. I’ve told him ‘okay’ more than I thought I could, but he’s ignored me. I wear tank tops in front of Yan, and he just dismisses his guard from the house.
He still spoons me from behind every night, but his touch feels mechanical and distant. He’s been so distant that I think I might never be able to reach him. That should delight me. After all, I want him to leave me alone. But do I?
The answer is no.
Ever since he’s withdrawn, I’ve been baffled by how much I’ve gotten used to him, to his punishments. To his…closeness.
He’s just plucked it away as if it never existed and I want to demand he tell me why. I want to put my foot down and make it stop.
It’s crueler than if he’d never again laid his hands on me.
The touch from just now is the first time he’s felt close to me in three days, and I want to fight tooth and nail to hold on to it.
I discreetly peek at him, drinking in as much of his appearance as possible. He’s wearing a black tailored tuxedo. It makes him look taller—which shouldn’t be possible with his height—sharper, and more like a businessman. His hair is styled back and his thick stubble adds to his majesty. The outfit hides his tattoos, giving him a gentleman’s image, like someone you’d see on the cover of Forbes.
I picked a dress to match him. No idea why I did it, but I thought we’d look good together if I wore a black gown. It’s one of those that are tight at the breasts and waist but falls loose to the ground, its train following after me with every move. I gathered my hair in a classy bun and wore dangling earrings. They match the small purse in my hand, containing my phone. I completed the look with elegant white gloves from Lia’s closet and the highest pair of heels I could find. They hurt, but I didn’t want my height to give me an inferiority complex.
The gathering is in full swing. Men and women are dressed for the occasion and chatting animatedly among each other. Classical music plays in the background, and somehow, the sound gives me a bit of serenity, a promise that everything will be okay.
Adrian leads me to where three old men are seated in a lounge area. They seem like they’re in a league of their own even before we approach them. Tall, bulky men like Kolya stand behind their chairs like statues, and I know they won’t hesitate to make use of the weapons peeking from under their jackets.
It’s no surprise that they’re separated from the rest of the crowd. The one in the middle is thePakhanhimself, Sergei. On his right is the man of the hour, Igor Petrov. The one on the left is Mikhail Kozlov. The three of them are around twice my age and they’re the pillars of the Russian Mafia in New York, aside from Adrian’s father and Sergei’s brother, who are now dead.
