His Queen of Clubs

by Rose, Renee

And I’ll die before I let him separate me from Alessia.

  * * *

  Alessia

  I’m trying not to cry because I know it will distress Vlad.

  The orphanage breaks my heart. Of course it does. These babies don’t get enough love or attention or time out of their cribs. At least they seem clean and fed and relatively healthy.

  The workers eye me nervously, like I’m a government inspector here to give out demerits, but that’s understandable. I’m an American, brought in by a dangerous bratva member. I’m sure they don’t know what to make of the whole thing. I feed the baby in my arms. I don’t want to put her down, but there are other crying babies who need attention, so I spread a blanket on the floor and put the baby on it.

  One of the workers points at it and then the crib where the baby came from.

  “I know,” I answer in English, even though they won’t understand a word. “But babies need time out of cribs, too.” Not that the concrete floor is such a treat.

  I pick up another baby, soaked in urine and feces. I guess they don’t use diapers here. They just let them soil the clothes and then change them. I follow the workers to the washroom where they are stripping and washing the babies in giant sinks. They aren’t cruel. They coo and sing to them in Russian as they work. But there’s just too many babies and not enough workers to go around.

  It’s tragic.

  But I’m honored to be here dressing this little baby. Babies are incredible. So innocent. So beautiful. So present.

  Babies don’t judge. They don’t believe in limitations. I lift the baby to my chest for a snuggle. He smells so sweet. His skin is so soft.

  And Vlad brought me here because he knows I love children. It’s so thoughtful and touching.

  It’s hard to believe he’s a man capable of murder and violence.

  “Mika, what are you doing?” Vlad left the room, but the boy is shadowing me.

  He looks up at me, wary.

  “Take this baby and get him a bottle. Go and sit in the rocking chair and feed him,” I instruct him.

  Mika looks like he’d rather lick vomit from the floor.

  “Come on. Take him. See if you can figure out why I love babies.”

  I hide my smile at the dubious expression on Mika’s face as he takes the infant from me and returns to the crib room.

  The baby cries a little, but Mika figures out how to get him feeding pretty quickly. The triumphant smile he beams at me warms my chest.

  I help get the babies cleaned and fed and put down for naps and before I know it, I discover Vlad leaning in the doorway, watching.

  Mika rushes over to him as soon as he sees him.

  “Has it been two hours?”

  He nods. “Da. Come, zaika. You’re probably hungry.”

  There he goes again.

  I walk over and give him a peck on the cheek. “Spasibo,” I thank him in Russian. “This is the weirdest, sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  He grabs the back of my head and kisses me full on the lips.

  Mika shuffles past us, obviously embarrassed by the display of affection.

  “Don’t ask me to adopt them all,” Vlad says gruffly.

  “Could we do something for them?” I have to ask. “Provide money to hire another worker? Buy them supplies?”

  “We?” His expression is unreadable.

  I flush. “I mean you.”

  “I like we.” He looks serious. Like it only just struck him that he and I might be a we. Which makes sense, since this is a sham marriage.

  My cheeks are still warm. “Can we, then?”

  He inclines his head. “Whatever you want, printsessa. It’s yours.”

  It’s not true, I have to remind myself. If it were true, he’d let me call my brothers. Set me free.

  But I can’t stop the rush of good feelings flowing from my heart.

  The sense that while life sucks and there’s a lot of sadness in the world, I’m not in this alone. There’s someone willing to stand beside me.

  Chapter 16

  Vlad

  Being in Moscow reminds me far too much of my former life there. The life I never wanted to live. All the terror and anger of my youth, of my mother handing me over to Victor and his bratva, nearly drown me every time I’m in this city. Everything I hate about myself is here, too. This is where I first killed. Where I witnessed murder and beatings and learned to steal.

  Where I decided that if I didn’t want to stay at the bottom of the ranks pushing drugs and prostitution, I needed a skill few had. So I learned how to hack. How to launder money. How to make myself infinitely useful to Victor and the other pakhans of Russia.

  I liked the fantasy of my estate in Volgograd—the one I never lived in until now. Until Alessia and Mika. I liked pretending I might be something else. A husband. Father, even, or at least a decent guardian to Mika.

  But now, being back here in Moscow, everything reminds me of the darkness of my past.

  Of who I really am.

  And I don’t want Alessia and Mika anywhere near this shit. I don’t want to bring them to Victor’s. Don’t want to taint them with what I am and have done. Or expose them to the evil that Victor represents.

  Victor, the closest man I have to a father.

  A man I hate and still love in a twisted way.

  I check into a nice hotel suite downtown, not far from Victor’s flat.

  Mika turns on the television.

  Alessia rushes to open the curtains and look down at the city. “I want to see the city,” she says. Always with her demands. It’s a game now. She doesn’t expect me to say yes, she’s just poking at me. The squeaky wheel, making herself heard. Reminding me how much she chafes against my authority.

  I like to say no as much as I like to say yes because she’s never upset. She pushes but she’s not a brat. And I like to say yes because she’s always delighted—she doesn’t actually expect it.

  I simply like to be her authority. She brings out a different side of me. One I didn’t know existed. Where I’ve felt tarnished and cruel most of my life, with her I am benevolent. Yes, her benevolent dictator. It’s a role I rather relish.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I tell her. I’m too keyed up to want to let her out of the suite. I need her right here, where I can keep her safe.

  “Can I go out?” Mika asks in Russian.

  That’s right. He’s from Moscow, too. I narrow my eyes at him. “Where?” I ask in English. Not for his benefit, but for Alessia’s.

  He shrugs. He’s perfected nonchalance. It’s hard to know what goes on in that head of his. I consider. He may have family here. Grandparents, aunts, uncles. Maybe friends.

  “Who are you going to see?”

  Again, the shrug.

  “Mika…” I walk over to him. He flinches. The boy’s been beaten too many times. “Tell me the truth. Are you running away?”

  His surprise is genuine. “Nyet.”

  “Do you have family here you want to see?” The thieves’ code of conduct requires bratva to forsake all family. Maybe Aleksi drilled that into him after his mother left. He might be afraid to tell me.

  There’s a flicker of something on his face that tells me I’m onto the truth.

  I shove my hand in my pocket and pull out a wad of rubles. “You know your way around Moscow?” I ask.

  Alessia comes over, hands on hips. She doesn’t like it.

  Mika’s eyes drop to the cash as he nods.

  “You know where we are now? How to get where you’re going?”

  Again, he nods gravely.

  “Mika, where are you going?” Alessia demands.

  Again with the shrug.

  “You have your phone? You know how to call me?”

  He nods.

  “I don’t like it,” Alessia says. “He’s only twelve years old. You’re going to let a kid roam around this city alone at night?”

  Mika shifts, brows drawing down.

  I consider him. The kid li
ved on his own in a foreign city. He probably roamed these streets from the time he should’ve been in school.

  I hand him the money. “I want you back by ten. Call me if anything goes wrong. Understand?”

  Mika bobs his head.

  “But where is he going? Shouldn’t we bring him there? I don’t like this.”

  “I’m coming back,” Mika assures her. Then stuns us both by wrapping his arms around her for a quick, awkward embrace. We stare after him as he scoots out, head down.

  “What do you think he’s doing?” Alessia demands.

  “I would guess he’s seeing family or going back to where he used to live. Bratva code requires all members to clear ties with family, so I’m guessing that’s why he wouldn’t tell me.”

  Alessia taps her lips with one finger. “But you had a relationship with your mother.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “My mother was lover to Victor, my leader. She gave me up to his bratva when I was Mika’s age. But because she was his favorite mistress, I was allowed to see her sometimes in secret. And I was given special treatment. Victor sent me to America rather than allow one of his men to kill me.”

  “Why did he want to kill you? What did you do?”

  I grimace. “I was tricked by a woman. It’s a stupid story.” One I definitely don’t want to tell Alessia. “Come”—I beckon her over—“let me check your blood sugar.”

  I give her a shot and order us food from room service. Enough for Mika when he gets back, in case he’s hungry.

  When a knock comes on the door, I expect it to be room service.

  I didn’t imagine Sabina would have the nerve to show up at my door.

  She stands in the opening in a designer blue dress and stiletto heels, smelling of perfume and deceit.

  “Vlad.” She tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder and attempts to come into the hotel room.

  I block her entrance.

  She looks nervously over her shoulder. “Are you really going to leave me standing in the corridor where anyone might see me? What if Victor found out?”

  Dark rage fills me. Is she seriously playing this game with me again? Now she wants Victor to kill me?

  Or me to kill Victor?

  Not going to happen. I am not going to engage.

  “Get out of here before I call him myself,” I snarl.

  I sense Alessia behind me. She must’ve heard the tone of my voice. The need to shield her from this shit is so strong, I take Sabina’s arm and push her back out of my doorway to slam the door in her face, but she jumps back in the doorway.

  “You know why I’m here. Have you read my letters? Why haven’t you helped me?”

  “Of course I didn’t read your letters. And why would I help a woman who purposely put a death sentence on my head? I don’t know what you want, but you won’t find it here. Now get out.”

  Sabina catches sight of Alessia and her eyes widen. “Does your American bride know about our child, Vlad?” she says in heavily accented English. I had no idea the bitch spoke English.

  I go hot and cold.

  “What child?” I snarl in Russian. “The one you invented to convince me to kill Zima?”

  The bitch produces real tears. “I didn’t invent her. And I had to put her in an orphanage to save her life from him. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Get out.” She must see the murder on my face, because she stumbles back, into the hallway and I slam the door.

  I stare at it for a moment, a buzzing in my ears.

  My child in an orphanage? Could that be true?

  No.

  It’s definitely not true. This woman is a liar. A manipulator of the highest degree. She’s playing some new game now and it certainly involves Victor.

  And the last thing I need right now is to be tangled up with a woman Victor’s put his claim on. I’m doing my best to get Alessia out of his crosshairs.

  “Who was that?” Alessia demands from behind me. Her voice is cold.

  Blyat.

  Women.

  * * *

  Alessia

  What, the ever-loving hell is going on?

  Some leggy blonde shows up to our hotel room and Vlad is suddenly a different man. Angry. Enraged, even.

  Clearly she’s his ex.

  Clearly she still means something to him or he wouldn’t be so riled up.

  He turns slowly and closes his eyes. “That was the woman who nearly got me killed. She’s a conniving bitch, that is all.”

  “Obviously she means something to you or you wouldn’t be so upset.” I’m not feeling so calm and collected myself. I’m shaky and cold. My hands are clammy. My stomach is in knots.

  “Nyet!” he explodes, proving my point. “She means nothing. If she were a man I would kill her for her trickery.”

  He sucks in a deep breath, like he’s trying to get a hold of his temper.

  “Is it true what she said? You have a child with her?” The woman said that much in English, obviously for me to hear.

  I don’t know why that hurts me so much, but it does. It cuts right to the core. I guess because I can’t have babies. And maybe this afternoon I did conjure some stupid fantasy about Vlad and I adopting a child from that orphanage.

  Vlad grinds his jaw. “No. She would say anything. I don’t believe her lies.”

  My stomach twists even more. Something about this feels off. “But you don’t know for sure? Don’t you think you should find out? Get a paternity test or something?”

  Vlad blinks at me. His usual blank expression is returning. “I don’t even believe there is a child,” he says. “Did you see a baby?” he waves his hand impatiently toward the door, but his brows are down, like he’s thinking.

  Like he hadn’t before considered that it might be true.

  But then a knock sounds on the door and Vlad answers to room service. He goes silent as we eat.

  “Was she your girlfriend?” I can’t stop picking the scab.

  “Not girlfriend,” he clips. “Just sex. Very short time. I didn’t know she belonged to a member of the brotherhood. We fucked all weekend. Then I didn’t see her for two months. I didn’t care. It was sex, nothing more. Then she shows up and says she’s pregnant and Zima will kill her and the baby when he finds out it’s mine.”

  I set down my fork, horrified.

  Vlad continues, “I said, how do you know it’s mine? She swore she knew, but I didn’t believe her. She was playing me. Asked me to kill Zima. I think maybe he was cruel to her—I don’t know. I refused. I gave her money, told her to run away if she’s not happy with him, but I wanted nothing to do with her.”

  I sit staring at him, deeply unsettled. I’m definitely seeing two sides to this story. Yes, it does sound like this woman tried to use him to get away from a bad situation. And if she asked him to kill Zima, she is everything he says about her. But I also think Vlad had a responsibility if he fathered a child. And maybe he’s right. Maybe that was a lie.

  He probably knows best.

  But my friends back in college had a rule. Pay attention to how a guy talks about his ex, because that’s how he’s going to talk about you when it’s over. And the anger Vlad is showing disturbs me. He’s made comments before about women being conniving and manipulative.

  I don’t want to get lumped into that group the day he decides I’m just like them.

  “You don’t believe me,” he says flatly, then shakes his head and mutters something in Russian, getting up from the little table where we’re eating.

  “What was that word?” I ask sharply.

  “Women,” he snaps.

  There it is.

  Okay. He’s pissy. I’m not going to engage anymore. I’ll bring it up when he’s in a better mood.

  I go into the bathroom and shut the door, then start the bathtub. I take my time soaking, giving him space. Taking my own.

  * * *

  Vlad

  Mika comes in at nine, looking upset.

  “What happened?” I
ask.

  He shakes his head, a little frown burrowed deep between his brows.

  “Eat some food,” I tell him.

  He goes to the table and uncovers the dishes, picking at them, still standing.

  I give him a few minutes, then I go over. “Sit.” I tug out one of the chairs and drop into the other one.

  Mika sits. I can read misery all over him. But getting him to talk is another thing.

  “I grew up in the streets of Moscow, too,” I offer. “My mother gave me over to the bratva, like yours.”

  He lifts his eyes, wary but listening.

  “I still hate her for it.”

  Alessia looks over from the couch where she was reading one of the romance novels she insisted I download for her.

  Mika drops his head, chin wobbling .

  I don’t touch him. Don’t want to stop whatever’s going to come out. It will do him better to speak it than to hold it in.

  “Your mother is dead,” Mika comments. There’s a wobble in his voice. He remembers this because we were in the same house in Chicago when she died.

  “Yes.”

  “I wish mine was.”

  “She did wrong by you,” I agree. Wait some more. When he doesn’t say anything else, I ask, “Did you go to your old home?”

  A single nod.

  “Do you have family there?”

  He shrugs. Shakes his head. Then offers, “My grandmother.”

  “Did you go in?”

  His face crumples. “No.” He’s full-on crying now. “I saw her through the window. And I stood there. I stood there for a long time. But I didn’t want to go back in. I didn’t want to see her.”

  Now I touch him. I lay my hand on his back. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to ever see her again, unless you want to. It’s your life. Your choice. You have me now. Me and—” I look over at Alessia, but then I stop.

  I can’t keep her.

  I can’t promise he has her when it’s a lie.

  She’s going home.

  Just as soon as I figure out how to let her go.

  “You have me,” I say again. “And you have Alessia’s money. If something happens to me, it’s still yours. I’ll show you how to get it. And I won’t let Victor take you into the ranks again. He may try, but I won’t let it happen. I promise.”