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The gnawing guilt she felt for not seeing through his lies and the pain her mother suffered as a result had been so debilitating, she began to spin out of control.
The assassination attempt on Zafira’s life was payback for Vanya killing Andrei’s uncle. If not for that, her mother would be in good health and not lying in a coma somewhere.
“Arian gave me the responsibility to ensure you go through the rehab process and dry out at home,” Bogdan continued with a voice that was gentle but firm. “We can’t have the Guzun Princess wallowing in self-pity and addiction. It’s time to face your demons, Vanya.”
Fighting back tears, Vanya started trembling. She had always been the strong-willed, no-nonsense woman in the Guzun Bratva who never took any prisoners or showed weakness—ever. Now, she was crumbling under the burden of her own emotions and guilt.
“Arian needs your help, now more than ever, especially with the resurgence of a territorial war among the Bratva groups. We don’t have weeks to do this, Vanya, and although I know this is not what you want, it’s needed.” He hesitated briefly. “I arranged for a medical team to come in and assist with your recovery.”
“No! I told you I could do this by myself. With your help, I’ll—”
“It’s non-negotiable, Vanya. It’s already been done. They’ll be here in the morning. Until then,”—he smiled grimly—“I’m afraid I’ll have to lock you in your room.”
“I’m not an errant child, Bogdan, and I refuse to be treated like one.”
“That’s not the point. Your withdrawal symptoms are going to hit you hard and fast.”
“I’ll be fine for the first couple of days,” she said in a clipped voice.
“No, you won’t be, and you know it. The way you’ve gone around the bend the last four weeks, drinking and snorting coke every fucking day… you’ll be kicking like a mule for a fix.”
“Don’t come crying to me when your precious medical team ends up with broken noses, Bogdan.”
“Yeah. We factored in your violent behavior. You’ll be restrained if necessary.” One eyebrow curved upward in a perfect complement to a derisive sneer on his lips. “You’re still not getting it. Didn’t you listen to what I said, Vanya? We knew from the beginning this would get ugly very quickly, so this is what’s going to happen. You’ll be administered hourly adrenaline shots in addition to being put on a detox cocktail drip that will clean out your system within a couple of days.”
“You’re not fucking serious.” Vanya cringed just thinking of how much worse this was going to be. The physical agony of detoxing from drugs and alcohol was excruciating during a normal rehabilitation process. Speeding it up would physically exhaust her when withdrawal symptoms took hold. It would feel like her body was betraying her with every tremor and every wave of nausea. Worse, it would exacerbate the emotional turmoil raging through her.
“You should know me well enough by now to realize it’s not something I would joke about.”
“You are not going to fucking tie me to the bed, Bogdan. I will not allow it!”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a say in the matter. I have the mandate from your brother to get this done.” He crossed his arms. “I will not fail the Guzun Pakhan.”
“Heaven forbid that any of us do,” she muttered.
Ever since Zafira had been shot on his wedding day, Arian had become a changed man. He had always been stoic, but now he had emotionally withdrawn himself from everyone around him. His demeanor became even more harsh with the complete absence of any compassion for anyone… not even his bride.
In fact… least of all for her.
Farma de Pasari, Arian’s livestock farm, on the banks of the Dniester River, Dubasari, Moldova…
Arian leaned against the door frame of the bedroom, captivated by the sight of his wife, Izolda Sidorov, meticulously brushing her hair. It was an intimate moment, one that allowed him to appreciate her timeless beauty. Despite the encroaching milestone of turning forty, Izolda retained a youthful allure and enduring elegance that seemed to defy the relentless march of time.
A rock-solid confidence exuded from her that belied the hardship of being incarcerated in a Russian prison.
Unfortunately for her, that torment is about to start again. She betrayed me… for the third time. This time, she will pay the price… to none other than me.
“Whoring yourself up, I see.”
He reveled at witnessing her wince as their eyes clashed in the mirror. Amusement curled his lips as he watched a bloom of red patches populate her cheeks at the insult.
The silence between them stretched as she refused to indulge his desire to spar with her. It didn’t deter Arian as a dissonant quiet emerged that clearly plagued Izolda’s patience.
“How much longer is this going to continue, Arian?” Izolda finally gave in to the unhappiness gnawing at her. Her hand trembled visibly as she placed the brush down on the dressing table.
Arian suspected it was a sign of suppressing her anger more than anything else.
“We’ve been married for months, yet I’ve been sequestered to a separate bedroom, only to see you when you come to claim your… how do you put it every time? Ah, yes, your conjugal rights.” Defiance glimmered in her eyes as she tilted her chin higher. “When you do bother to come here outside of those times, it’s to insult me. What kind of pleasure do you gain from calling me a whore?” Her eyes turned cloudy. “Especially when you know it’s not true.”
