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“Can’t we just say I was initiated? Who’s going to know?”
“It doesn’t work like that. I took vows as well, and most of them involved a very painful demise if I broke even the slightest rules. I take those very seriously.”
Fuck, he’s really not going to let up. I consider for a moment whether it’s really worth it, but all I have is Pasha. If I don’t join his ranks, I’ll be alone again.
I hate that he’s making me do this, but I see no way around it. For Pasha, I’ll face my fears.
I hold out my hand, trying to hide how hard my fingers are trembling. “Fine, get it over with,” I blurt.
“I’ll be gentle,” he whispers, taking my hand softly and turning it over. He examines my fingers like he’s looking for something in particular, some sign that I’m even worthy of being cut.
I watch with bated breath as he runs the knife over my fingertips, counting forward and backward like he’s playing a game. Just as I’m lulled into a false sense of security, he flicks the knife over my middle finger and makes a small cut at the tip.
I wince, but it’s more out of surprise than pain.
Pasha squeezes my finger, holding it up and watching the blood drip onto the white linen sheets. “Now, repeat after me…”
Pasha begins speaking in Russian, and I laugh. “Pasha, I can’t understand you.”
He scoffs. “The translation is difficult.”
“I’d rather know what I’m saying,” I reply, watching another drop of blood drip onto the bed.
“Fine,” he grumbles. He makes a cross on his chest, looking up toward heaven and muttering something in Russian before continuing. “Okay, repeat after me… My life belongs to the Chazov Bratva.”
I swallow my hesitation, accepting that this is just the way it has to be. “My life belongs to the Chazov Bratva,” I repeat.
“Its secrets are my secrets,” he says, squeezing my fingertip harder to produce more blood.
I wince. “Its secrets are my secrets.”
“And should I spill any secrets, it will be my blood that spills with them.”
I repeat his words, my voice growing a bit stronger as I gain confidence.
The slightest hint of a smile lifts the corners of Pasha’s lips. “Under a voluntary blood oath, I officially pronounce you a member of the Chazov Bratva. Your membership is for life, and any attempts to leave will result in a swift execution.”
“Seems… extreme,” I reply, pulling my hand back and rubbing my sore fingertip.
“It’s necessary,” he says, offering up a slightly bigger smile this time. “You did fine. It’s a lot more dramatic in Russian, so I gave you the light version. No long descriptions about having your skin peeled off during a salt bath.”
I groan. “Fuck, Pasha, maybe you should’ve told me about that.”
“Not something you need to worry about.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You have special protections as my wife.”
I shift my weight on the bed, trying to get a little closer to him now that he doesn’t have a knife to my fingers. “Wife? We’re not married.”
“Not yet,” he replies without hesitation. “But you’re not going to be having a baby out of wedlock. I will put one in you, but the second I get confirmation that you’re pregnant, we’re tying the knot.”
“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” I ask, wondering why he’s still in such a hurry to have children with me.
“Ideally, yes, but here’s where things get a little sticky,” he says, getting off the bed and placing the knife on the dresser. He stands there for a moment, his shoulders slightly hunched with the weight of what he’s about to admit.
Then he turns to me, a devilish glint in his vivid green eyes, and he speaks in the voice so grave it makes even the tiniest bugs inthe corners of the room stop to listen. “If you haven’t birthed my child by the time I turn thirty-eight, I will have no choice but to throw myself off the tallest building in Texas.”
31
Pasha
