My lungs stopped working for a moment, every iota of my concentration fixated on not focusing on that man. That man who just with the mere glimpse of him promised passion unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
My breath rushed out in a nearly inaudible gasp as Ivan pulled me towards him and we came to a stop. I hadn’t realized that I’d fallen behind. I’d never felt this way before.
Heart beating.
Palms sweaty.
No, I had. Once before.
When I received the news of my parents murder, and I found out my own head was next on the chopping block.
Though this was different. Exciting, not terrifying.
Ivan’s hand moved to the small of my back, positioning me just right at his side, framing his body with my own. When he pulled away, he paused to grip my forearm for a second, squeezing to gently remind me to stay quiet. Pretty as a picture, and pictures didn’t need to speak to be appreciated.
Ivan lowered his head in a show of respect, but lifted it again quickly. Ivan bowed to no man, and I knew that even this small show of inferiority burned his pride. “You honor us with your invitation, Eduard.”
Those sitting at the table grew silent. Eduard said nothing. He only had eyes for me. His face was blank; dark gaze like empty pools. Even the silver streak in his midnight hair seemed to blink at me with accusations.
My heart beat wildly, for a far different reason now. It was a racehorse begging to be let free. But I stood straight, shoulders back, trying not to shrink away from the table and embarrass Ivan. It was Evelina Vasiliev that broke the awkward silence and saved me from myself. A moment longer, and I felt I could not resist escaping, even if it dishonored Ivan and brought me pain later.
“You are welcome, Ivan. And so is your beautiful wife.” The Bratva Queen’s hazel eyes studied me, her coral lips pursed in a stern line. “Marisha,” she finally said, and I was shocked to be addressed directly. “Your parents were our bosom friends, once. I remember you from a little girl.” She smiled, her features softening only slightly. “You have not been held accountable for their actions, but you will be held accountable for yours. Tread wisely. The life of a Bratva wife is not for the weak.”
With those words, Evelina stood up. “I will go find Katya, Eduard. I wish to introduce her to the Fedorov son.”
Eduard looked at his wife lovingly, and he grabbed her hand before she was able to leave. “Do not leave me for long, wife.”
She smiled softly. And I could not tell if the exchange was sincere… or if Eduard Vasiliev was like Ivan. Controlling, with veiled threats behind even the most loving words. I’d only ever personally known the latter, but perhaps this was real love. Love like my own parents had once shared.
Evelina patted his hand and nodded. When he released her, she walked away, her posture regal and her perfectly bleached hair bouncing gently against her shoulders.
“Enjoy the party, Ivan.” Eduard turned, directing his attention back to those at the head table. Ivan and I had been dismissed, and I felt Ivan’s posture stiffen next to me.
Despite Ivan’s power and money, even he had not come away without blemish. Because he’d married me and asked the favor of mercy from the Vasilievs. I wondered if Ivan hated me as much as I hated him, in his own way that he wouldn’t voice. Still, he was among the most powerful, respected and listened to in the room. The snub from Eduard would only go unchecked for so long before he grew tired of it and demanded their respect once more.
Eduard may be the Bratva King, but there was always someone snapping at a king’s heels seeking power, and Ivan had the sharpest teeth of all.
“Marisha, Vesna should be here somewhere. Find her for a drink. I have things to discuss with important people.” Ivan released me and walked towards another table near the windows which overlooked the bridge. I refused to stand even a second longer so close to Eduard, so I moved quickly towards the edge of the room, towards the door that led to the rooftop lounge.
Ivan would ask me later if I found Vesna. He would ask me what we talked about. But I needed air. I needed to breathe. Maybe I would get away with lying that I had spent my free moments with the other Bratva wives. The event space was large, with private rooms attached. Ivan would only have focus for business. He would not think of me again until he was ready to depart. And then I would need to do my job again—the prize at his side, pretty to see and pretty to fuck.
Pushing out into the cool evening seemed to lighten the heavy weight pressing against my body. The anger I held just below the surface—rage at my parents for being part of the Bratva life, rage at them for trying to do the right thing and failing, rage at them for making me have to choose between death and a loveless union.
The sun was nearly set, and the lights were beginning to flash to life across the Brooklyn bridge’s metal structure.
I beelined for the steel and glass half wall that separated the rooftop from open air and I gripped it fiercely. I was in an isolated spot, next to the building and nearly hidden by a trellis of climbing ivy. I willed the steel and glass to hold me together as I clenched it. I begged it to lift me up and keep me from my breaking point, the same way it kept people from falling over the edge.
Falling over the edge.
To plummet to the ground below.
And die.
I leaned over the wall, breath coming in little gasps now.
The man I’d just faced, the man who loathed everything I represented, was a murderer. A sociopath who sentenced my parents to death…who would have killed me too. Death by association. Death by bad blood. Death, death, death! A sob caught in my throat, but I squashed it down.
He was a murderer, as so many of the Bratva men were, yet, I was the damned one. It seemed so unfair that I should be punished, and he should be free to do as he wished.
There was a little ledge at my feet which held back a half-foot wide line of planter. The flowers living there were sprays of tiny purple blossoms crowning spring green stems and leaves. I lifted my feet and balanced my gold heels on the lip of the mini retainer wall.
And I leaned further out, closing my eyes and feeling the way the breeze gently brushed against my cheeks and eyelashes.
How would it feel to fall? I wondered bleakly.
Would it be like flying? Would it be peaceful?
I could escape that way. There wouldn’t be any more nights of giving in, of stripping myself down to the bone so that I could dissociate as he took my body for his pleasure. I licked my lips and remembered how sore they’d been last month after he forced himself inside my mouth.
A little higher. I could put my knees on the half wall.
And then it would only take a seconds’ decision. To shift my weight. To lean forward.
I didn’t realize that I was crying until the hot, salty tears touched my lips and I tasted them. I hated crying. Hated it to my very core. Yet, I found myself hiding away more and more to keep Ivan from taunting my grief.
I missed my old life—the freedom I had had. I mourned it almost as much as I did my parents. My parents weren’t bad people. They weren’t.
Just like I, they were born into Bratva service. It was never a choice to leave. They worked hard, so that I could go to college. But even then, looking back, I would have been pulled into the world. If I had finished my degree and then gotten a job in social work, I might have been of use to the family. And I couldn’t have said no. There was never any escape, not while you were still alive. I was a fool to think so in the first place. And so were they.
This wasn’t the place for tears, and I was glad that there were only a few partygoers roaming the large rooftop space. No one came near me. They were all caught in their own conversations, the outside world a blur.
If I only lifted myself to kneel on the top of the railing… The dress had a slit nearly to mid-thigh. I wouldn’t have to rip it to climb. The breeze on my face dried the tears in salt tracks. I stopped crying. I was on the cusp of a choice.
I heard
the doors to the lounge open with a slight whine, but I ignored the sound. Someone was entering, someone was exiting.
Exiting.
I could exit.
Now.
So easily.
New voices filtered to me.
Whoever they were sounded happy.
Rich, booming male voices. Followed by sweet, flirtatious giggles.
Swallowing, I did not let myself start crying again, even though the sound of the happy people sent pangs through my chest. Desperately, I wanted real companionship. But that would never happen, unless I could leave Ivan. And leaving him felt impossible. Not felt. It was impossible. Seeing Eduard Vasiliev reminded me of that. The only way to leave the Bratva was in a body bag.
So that was what would happen.
I had no real family. No one would miss me.
I pulled my dress to the side, still balancing my heels on the planter, and I lifted my leg higher.
Chapter Five
Alexander
There were beautiful women who belonged in the Bratva life and then there were beautiful women who were there to do my bidding. The two women Nikolai and I had started talking to were most definitely the latter. Beautiful and eager to please, but with barely a brain cell between the two of them. That was chauvinistic of me, that was just the way things were. They knew it, accepted it and loved it, and who was I to try to dissuade them.
I laughed at something one of them said, already bored with the flirty conversation.
I hadn’t met a woman yet that I would consider wife material for various reasons. One being that none of them seemed strong enough or smart enough to withstand the life I led.
The pretty blond I was talking to would do my bidding and she’d do it well, no doubt. She’d drop to her knees and take me in her mouth, or we’d find a secret spot and I’d take her from behind. Either way, our meeting would be brief and satisfying for us both. Each woman expected that they would sleep with me and they’d either change my ways or my father would see us as a good match.
Delusional. Every single one of them.
“It was Galina, right?” I said, my hand moving round to cup her ass over her dress.
“Yes, but you can call me whatever you want, Alexander.” Her tongue darted out, a promise of what was to come, and I smiled at the prospect. Easy, so easy. Her mouth was painted pink, full lips set in a pretty face, blue eyes, long blonde hair. She was the typical girl I went for, and maybe that was the problem. Maybe I needed to break away from my usual type and try something—or someone—new.
Nikolai and his girl were already kissing, her hands moving round to cup the front of his pants. She too was hungry for a step up the ladder to success, and that was what we were to these women. An expressway to change their status, their lives, their bank accounts. We got whatever we wanted because of who we were, and they wanted that too. It was never going to happen though, not with women so eager to please. Not with women that clearly had so little respect. But I wasn't complaining; we embraced this lifestyle, this expected perk of our stature, with ease.
Her hands reached up to cup my face, but I shifted my head to one side and tutted at her, gripping both of her hands in one of mine and pulling them away. No need for kissing.
Kissing was for people in love. For couples, or wives and their husbands. It was not for one-night stands who were attempting to claw their way to success through sleeping with me.
I was hard in my pants, more than ready to sleep with her. She was attractive but boring, and she hadn’t said a single word that interested me. I released her hands to grab the back of her neck. Leaning in, I pressed a kiss to her throat. She sighed, her hands sliding around my waist. She was greedy, too enthusiastic with palpable desire verging on desperation as she tried to control the situation. A quick slap to her ass cheek tamed her and turned her subservient to me.
Gripping her neck tightly in my hand, I pressed kisses up her throat to her chin, my hands still on either side of her face as she turned to putty under my touch, whimpering into the air.
“Shall we take this somewhere more private?” Nikolai asked in a flippant tone from beside me and I grunted in response, releasing the blonde from my grasp. Even in the throes of sex, Nik had this way of being casually disconnected. He loved to fuck, maybe even more so than me, but he’d never let a piece of ass know it. He always wanted them to realize that they were a passing fancy, a moment’s pleasure. Emotions weren’t part of the package.
I took hold of my current conquest’s hand and the four of us began to leave the balcony area. I already had a room booked upstairs and was eager to get to it with this little minx but movement to my left drew my attention. I knew Nik would groan at me for delaying what promised to be a gratifying fuck, but something tugged at me. The flash of color perhaps.
That silky rich green. A haze of copper.
A scent like coconut and freesia on the breeze.
I had to pause. Had to look.
The woman kept moving without me, following her friend and Nik. I didn’t care.
Ivan’s new wife, Marisha, was leaning against the balcony, her face in the warm evening sky looked stunning. The angle of her chin, the tip of her pert nose, the fullness to her mouth… they took my breath away. Red curls hung around her pale shoulders, and my hands itched to clasp her slender throat in it, squeezing just enough to make her chest heave and her eyes beg me.
Marisha was a picture of perfection as the fairy lights weaving in and out of the ivy trellis danced across her pale flesh. The dress hugged her modest curves, leaving little to the imagination. The silky green material was pulled to one side, showing off her legs, and I realized one of them was lifted, as if to swing it over the ledge.
She hurriedly lowered her foot back to rest on the flower planter and turned at the sound of the door opening as Nikolai pulled at it. Her cheeks flushed as our gazes connected and she realized she hadn’t been alone and that I had seen her at her most vulnerable. She gave a quick pat of her hand across her cheeks to dry them and turned away from me, clearly embarrassed.
What I would have done to lick those salty tears from her cheeks.
Nikolai cleared his throat and I looked back to him.
“I’ll only be a minute.” I shrugged, watching Nik usher the women inside with one hand, before responding in a low voice so that his words didn’t carry.
“She isn’t worth the trouble,” he said sternly, and I scowled. “Alexander, you know who that is.” He nodded over to where Marisha was obscured by the trellis and flowers. He must have seen her as he walked past, but he was smart enough not to mention her. Smart enough to know the consequences and focus on the drama free woman at his side.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, and he smirked. “She looks upset. Ivan wouldn’t want his wife left alone while she was upset, now would he?”
“Alexander,” he warned, “he wouldn't want you sticking your dick in his wife either, but I know that look on your face. I’ve seen it more times than I can count.”
I smiled coyly. “That’s because you’re shit at math.”
He laughed, but the sound died quickly away. “Alex, I’m serious.”
“So am I. I won’t be long. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
He sighed. “I’ll keep them busy while you check on her. Check, Alexander, with words not your dick.”
I laughed and closed the distance between us to push him through the door, watching briefly as Nikolai draped an arm over the shoulders of both women and the blonde who’d been all over me for the past ten minutes threw me a confused look. I winked at her and turned away knowing that Nikolai would take care of her needs until I got there.
Heading back across the balcony swiftly, my gaze on the floor as I tried to control my natural impulse to flirt and fuck, I walked straight into Marisha who was heading towards the door. My hands flew up to grip the tops of her arms to stop her from falling over. She let out a small yelp of surprise and
I dragged her to my chest and stared down into her face. Being this close, touching her and smelling the floral and musk notes of her perfume, erased the brief effort I’d made to keep myself in check.
Her mouth opened as she blinked up at me, her cheeks flustered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“That’s okay, no harm, Marisha,” I replied, brushing her hair back from her shoulders so I could see her slender neck better. She shivered as my fingertips brushed against her skin.
“You know my name?”
“You’d be surprised what I know,” I countered, my heated gaze watching her thoughtfully.
“Well then, you’ll know who I am,” she said, pulling herself free from my grip, “and you know who my husband is.”
I laughed darkly. “Sweetheart, your husband is like family to me, of course I know who he is.”
Her eyes flashed with worry at my words, the sadness I’d seen on her pretty face earlier was gone. Her body was now tense, her gaze skittish, and I frowned, preferring the earlier look of pretty bewilderment to the fear that replaced it.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him we’ve been talking if you don’t.”
“I should be getting back to him,” she said, her voice soft.
A smile played at the corner of my mouth. “Should yes, but let’s be reckless for a while. What’s five more minutes?” I wrapped my hand around the top of her arm again and pulled her back into the corner I’d seen her in only a few moments before. It was out of sight and away from prying eyes, which was perfect. Ivan was protective of his things, and Marisha was no doubt a thing to him, not a person, not a woman, and certainly not a wife he respected. I knew the history of her family—it was my business to know these things after all. I also now knew his reason for marrying her, even if the nuptials had put a wedge between my father and Ivan—who could turn down a flower like this? I’d wondered who had managed to tame him and now I could see exactly how.
“I can’t be seen with you,” she whimpered, pulling her arm free as I pressed her back against the low wall, “he’ll kill us both,” she gasped as I placed my hands on either side of her, invading her space.
Deviant Prince: A Forbidden bad boy Mafia Romance. (Born to Darkness Duet Book 1) Page 3