Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
SOFIYA
I t takes me a moment to process what Boris just said to me.
“I’m sorry. What?” I ask.
He shifts on his feet, his eyes darting back and forth. He reminds me more of a lizard than a man, and the thought makes me want to smile. “I’ve decided we will get married. Your older sister was horribly rude to me. I don’t want a wife like that. But you”—he reaches his hand out and skims his fingers down my face— “are just perfect.”
Without meaning to, I jerk back from his hand. His slightly warm expression turns cold. “How am I perfect? Why would you want to marry me?”
“Because I have to secure you and your sisters with good husbands. And who better of a husband than me?”
I try not to laugh. Does Boris really think he’s a catch? But I temper my amusement down. There’s a darkness in Boris’s eyes that disturbs me. He doesn’t seem like the man who takes too kindly to people laughing at him.
“Do I have time to think about your proposal?” There’s no way I’m marrying Boris. There can’t be. My father protected me from such things.
But my father is dead now, and there’s no one to protect me any longer.
Boris slowly shakes his head, a confused smile on his face. “Sofiya, I don’t think you understand. This isn’t me asking for your hand in marriage. This is me telling you we’ll be married.”
I sway on my feet. My heart begins to pound against my ribcage. I can’t breathe again. Air doesn’t even make sense right now.
“I don’t even get a say?” I whisper. My eyes flick to my sisters in the car waiting for me. I can’t even see them. Just our driver, John, in the front seat. I’m alone. I’ve never been more alone.
“Why would you get a say? You’re a woman.”
Boris’s words sum it all up. I am a woman, and I have no control over my life. Maybe if I didn’t belong to the Bratva, then I could live a normal life. Choose who I want to go on dates with. Choose what I want to do with my life. Ballet was always my father’s dream—never mine.
But I do belong to the Bratva. Its hold on me is tightening, squeezing so hard I think I might crack in half.
If Boris wants me, then Boris will have me.
I think I’m going to vomit.
Actually, I do. It comes up before I can stop it. Some of the bile lands on Boris’s shoes. He grunts and steps back, looking at me with disgust.
“You will never do that again, understood? This is fine Italian leather.”
I’m bent over, breathing heavily. His words don’t make sense. He’s forcing me into a marriage, and he’s concerned about his shoes ?
“Did you hear me? Sofiya?” He grabs my arm and pulls me close to him. His large belly squishes against my side. I almost vomit all over again.
“What’s going on here?” a deep, familiar voice asks. When I look over, I see it’s the man I talked with in the hallway. The man who stared at me intently at the funeral. The man who I couldn’t take my eyes off during my dance.
The man whose name I don’t even know.
Boris straightens up when he sees the man, but his grip on my arm tightens. “Just having a conversation with my fiancé.”
“Fiancé?” He frowns, which should make him look ugly but only makes him look more stern in a scary, attractive way. “I wasn’t aware you were getting married.” He speaks to me rather than Boris.
“I’m not,” I blurt out. Boris shakes me a little, and I wince.
“She is,” Boris says. “I just told her the good news. You look familiar. Who are you again?”
The man stands up taller and fixes his cufflinks. “I’m Mikhail Ivanov.”
Boris looks like he’s ready to vomit himself. “Mikhail … Ivanov? As in the Mikhail Ivanov?”
The man, Mikhail, smiles faintly. “You’ve heard of me?”
I haven’t, but that’s not surprising. My father never introduced me to any men who ran in his circles, and it’s clear Mikhail is a Bratva man. He has that air about him.
“I wasn’t aware I was standing before Bratva royalty,” Boris says, nodding slightly.
Mikhail tilts his head to the side as he looks between Boris and me. His dark eyes narrow slightly. It makes me gulp and shiver in fear. “Are you going to unhand Sofiya, or are you going to hold onto her like she’s your prized toy?”
Boris deliberately tightens his hand around my arm even more. A small cry escapes me. Mikhail doesn’t move, but his expression grows darker.
“Sofiya will be my wife,” Boris explains. “We’ve just agreed to that. Now, I need to be taking her home. Are you staying in New York for long?”
“I just had some business to attend to. Funerals to go to. Pay my respects.”
“You knew my father?” I ask. Something about Mikhail makes me want to know him more while, at the same time, run far away from him.
“I knew your father.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“Well, that’s been established,” Boris says. “Sofiya, come along. I’ll take you home.”
“My sisters are waiting for me in the car. I don’t need you to take me home. Our driver, John, will do that.”
Boris smiles. “Then I’ll join you.”
“I think I’ll join you, too,” Mikhail says, startling me. “I’d like to talk to you more, Sofiya. Meet your sisters. I’ll meet you at your house.” He doesn’t ask for permission. For some reason, that sends a spark through my body.
“I’m taking her home,” Boris says. He draws me closer to him, making me stumble. Is Boris trying to protect me from Mikhail or keep me from Mikhail? I can’t tell. There’s a danger to Mikhail that is intense.
But I can’t escape the obvious—Mikhail is a very handsome man, and Boris, well … isn’t.
“You do that, Boris. But I’ll just follow.” He gives me a nod. “I’ll see you there.” He walks away like he has all the time in the world.
“Come on,” Boris mutters, dragging me to the car. He rips the back door open and practically shoves me inside next to my sisters.
“What’s going on?” Vik asks as Boris gets into the passenger seat.
“Drive,” he barks at John, who does his job and starts driving.
“Are you ok?” Mila asks in a small voice. I try to smile for her, but I can’t. I’m too shaken up.
“I asked,” Vik says, raising her voice, “ what is going on?”
“Boris wants to marry me,” I say. All I feel is numb. I don’t even think I felt my lips move when I spoke.
Vik does a double take. “What?”
“I decided I don’t want to marry you,” Boris tells my sister. “I want Sofiya instead. She’s much more … compliant.”
“You’re not marrying any of us,” Vik says.
Boris turns around in his seat and glares at her. “That’s not up to you. I get to marry one of you, and I’m choosing Sofiya.”
“I’m not going to let you.”
“You can’t stop me.” He pulls out his gun and points it at Vik’s head. The three of us jerk back in our seats. Mila clings to me and whimpers. Vik holds her head high even though I can see the fear in her eyes. “I’m not afraid to shoot a woman. Don’t test me.”
After a moment, Vik nods. Boris nods in return, puts his gun away, and sits back in his seat.
The three of us are silent on the drive back to our house.
We arrive as Mikhail pulls into the driveway.
“Who is that ?” Vik asks, staring at Mikhail as he gets out of his car.
“Mikhail Ivanov,” I whisper. “That’s all I know. But I think he’s powerful.”
“How do you know?” Vik whispers back.
I nod at Boris. “His reaction said so.”
Boris grumbles under his breath as he gets out of the car. “Don’t dawdle, ladies. Get out.”
Mila and I hurry out of the car, but Vik takes her sweet time. From how Boris sneers, it’s clear she’s getting on his nerves.
Vik walks right up to Mikhail. “I’m Viktoriya Morozova.”
“I know.” He looks away from her to Mila. “And you’re Mila Morozova. I know all three of you.” He turns to me, completely ignoring everyone else. “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”
Do I want to invite Mikhail inside? He’s … bold. He’s assertive and arrogant. I think I’m slightly afraid of him, but my body sings to stand closer to him.
“Sofiya doesn’t invite people inside,” Vik says. “That’s my job as eldest sister.”
Mikhail doesn’t take his eyes off me. I feel like I’m drowning in his gaze.
Vik opens the door and walks inside. Boris quickly follows. Mila gives Mikhail a curtsy, which doesn’t seem to fit the occasion, before hurrying inside.
“Shall we?” Mikhail asks, motioning to the door.
I gulp and walk forward, stepping over the threshold. I can feel Mikhail right behind me—there’s a coolness radiating off him that sends shivers over my body.
“So, Mikhail, did you work with our father?” Vik asks, guiding us all into the living room. I take a seat on the couch, and Boris slides right in beside me. Mila looks at us with wide eyes as she perches on the edge of the couch.
Mikhail remains standing, resting his arm on the mantel. Vik makes a point of sitting near him. For some reason, that annoys me.
“On occasion,” Mikhail explains. “But I run my own business. In Russia.”
“You live in Russia?” Mila asks in an awed voice. “I’ve never met anyone who lives outside of the States.”
“It’s a big world out there,” he says. “And I’m in control of a lot of it.”
“So, you’re a Bratva boss, is that it?” Vik asks. I can see the eagerness coming off her. Mikhail is exactly the type of man she would want to be with. Powerful, handsome, older.
It’s not lost on me how much older Mikhail is than me. It only makes me feel more vulnerable around him—like he can see inside me. A man with experience.
“I am.” Mikhail keeps his eyes on me as he speaks, which I can tell annoys Vik. “And I’m looking for a woman to join me in my ventures. A wife.”
I gulp. Why is my body tingling?
Boris wraps his arm around my shoulder. I can still taste the faint traces of vomit in my mouth.
“Our father was looking for a good marriage match for me,” Vik says. Me , I notice, she says. Not us. She makes a point of crossing her legs. She always had the best legs.
“And you think I’m that?” he says, still locking eyes with me.
Vik looks between Mikhail and me and huffs. “Well, why not? I’m the eldest daughter of a Bratva boss, and you’re a Bratva boss. It just makes sense.”
Finally, he looks at her. Vik perks up immediately. “It does make sense. But I’m not a man who takes suggestions from other people. I make up my own mind.” His eyes turn back to me. “I take what I want.”
I clamp my legs together and hold my hands tight in my lap. Why is Mikhail looking at me like he wants to eat me alive? I don’t want that. I just want to be left alone.
And yet, I want him to look at me. I can’t make up my mind. My mind can barely form thoughts as he locks his eyes with mine.
“Well, it was good of you to join us, Mikhail,” Boris says, standing up and extending his hand. Mikhail doesn’t take it. Awkwardly, Boris drops his hand. “But these girls just had a long night of dancing. I say we let them rest.”
Mikhail looks at Boris like he’s an amusing little fly that keeps hitting the window over and over again because it’s not smart enough to know how to get out. “Of course. It was nice to meet all of you.”
Vik stands quickly and gives Mikhail her hand. He ignores her and gives Mila a nod before turning to me. “Sofiya, it was a pleasure.” With that, he walks out of the room and our house.
Vik is stunned. No man has ever rejected her before.
Boris faces me, and I wish he wouldn’t. I don’t want Boris’s attention. Not one bit. “Sofiya, I’ll come back tomorrow to discuss wedding plans. I was thinking this weekend.”
I shoot off the couch. “What? This … weekend?”
“Yes. I’ve already picked out the dress you will wear. I’ll bring it over tomorrow for you to try it on. I can’t wait to see you in it.” He licks his lips, and my stomach churns.
I watch him leave our house. He can’t leave fast enough, in my opinion.
“I love weddings,” Mila says. “I can’t wait to dance.” She starts slowly dancing around the room, looking like a real Disney princess.
“You dance every day,” Vik mutters, slumping back into her seat.
“But not at weddings.”
“Vik,” I say. “You need to help me. I can’t marry Boris. I can’t. He’s revolting.”
“Can’t help you there, Sofiya. If Boris wants to marry you, he will. Besides, better you than me.”
My jaw drops. “How can you be so cold? So cruel?”
“Because I want Mikhail for myself. He’s the perfect husband for me. If you’re married to Boris, he can’t have you.”
“What makes you think Mikhail wants me?”
Vik looks at me like I’m an idiot. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. I might not be experienced with men, but even I know that when a man can’t take his eyes off you, that means he likes you.”
“I knew that, too,” Mila says, still dancing around the room.
“But I can’t marry Boris.”
“If you don’t, he’ll try to marry Mila or me. And we can’t give Mila to that man, can we, Sofiya?”
There it is—Vik is playing on my protective mode for our youngest sister. She knows I would never let anything happen to Mila. So she’s willing to throw me under the bus so she and Mila are safe.
“You never liked me,” I say.
Vik sniffs and turns her nose up to me. “You’re putting words in my mouth again. I’m getting ready for bed. We have another show tomorrow night, and I don’t intend to miss it. I’m going to get my beauty sleep.” She walks gracefully out of the room.
Mila continues to dance as if nothing is wrong.
MIKHAIL
I wait outside for that spineless little fucker to leave the house. When he does, I’m waiting for him.
“Boris,” I say, making him jump.
“Mikhail. I was just on my way out. I don’t have time to talk.”
“With what car?”
Boris stops. “What?”
“With what car? You came here in the car the women own. You left yours back at the performing arts center. Let me take you.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” He fiddles with his tie. “I can walk.”
I step in front of him, so close I can see the tiny specks of green in his eyes. “I’ll take you.”
Boris gulps. “If you wish.”
I love intimidating people. It’s what makes me so suited for my job.
I open my car door for him to get inside. Boris slowly does, his eyes darting around for an escape route. I slam the door, and he jumps again.
After getting into the car and starting to drive, I finally talk. “So, you want to marry Sofiya.”
“I don’t want to marry her. We are getting married.”
“I see.”
“You can't have her, Mikhail,” he blurts out.
“Bold of you to tell me what to do.”
Boris’s mouth drops open, and then he quickly shuts it. “I—I wasn’t,” he stutters. “I’m just telling you like it is. Sofiya is mine. It wasn’t appropriate of you to look at her the way you did, knowing she’s mine.”
“I apologize.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Not really.
“Oh, so … are we good?”
“Why wouldn’t we be good?” I ask in a calm voice. I know how to make people uneasy. It’s a skill I learned years ago, and I’ve honed it in more recent years. Ever since I lost … I can’t even think his name.
I’ve learned you can lose a lot in life. It makes it easier to deceive people when you don’t have a heart.
“I just … I just assumed you wanted Sofiya,” Boris says. “Judging by how you were looking at her.”
“No, you’re right. I do want Sofiya.”
Boris gives me a double take. “But you know she and I are getting married.”
“Oh, I know.” We reach the parking lot of the performing arts center. I pull in next to Boris’s car and turn my car off. Boris squirms in his seat as I turn to him. “But she’s already mine. She doesn’t know it, but she will. It’s cute you think you’re going to marry her.” I pat his face, making it more of a slap. He winces. “You can keep thinking that, Boris. But Sofiya is mine. She will be my wife.”
“Why do you want her? She has two other sisters you could choose from.”
“I don’t want either of them. I want Sofiya. I don’t need to explain myself to you. And need I remind you, you could choose one of them as well. You don’t have to marry Sofiya.”
Boris tries to sit up higher in his seat, but I tower over him, even sitting down. “Why do men like you get to have everything? I have power. I have money. I should get to have the woman I want.”
“The reason men like me get to have everything is because I have nothing to lose. Not anymore. Now, stop fucking whining. You’re not going to see Sofiya again. Now, I won’t kill you because Denis Morozova put you in charge of those women. I’ll respect his dying wish. Viktoryia and Mila are going to need a male protector. You can still be that to them. But you will not be Sofiya’s husband.” I reach across him and open his door. “Need help getting out?”
“I can do it,” Boris grumbles, struggling with the seatbelt around his stomach. He finally manages to unlatch it and hurries out of my car. “You’re going to learn, Mikhail, that you don’t get to have everything.”
I watch him lumber over to his car with a smile. I’m smiling because I can’t wait to show Boris just how wrong he is.
SOFIYA
Boris shows up at our house the next day with a wedding dress. I can barely stand as he enters our house, smiling smugly like he belongs there. Like he has the right to own me.
Vik is watching everything with eager eyes. She wants me married off so I can’t be her competition. Mila—bless her—is looking at the wedding dress with dreamy eyes. She’s been imagining her prince charming ever since she was five years old. Vik and I grew out of that mentality by the time we turned fifteen, but Mila has been clinging to it ever since.
“I want to see you in the dress I bought,” Boris says, handing it over to me. It’s in a black garment bag so I can’t see what it looks like.
“But the husband isn’t supposed to see his bride in her dress until the day of.”
Boris waves a dismissive hand. “I already bought it. I want to see you in it.”
“Yeah, Sofiya,” Vik says, “Go put it on.”
I’ve never wanted to slap Vik across the face as much as I do right now.
I gingerly hold the garment bag against my body as I walk into the bathroom. When I open it, I gasp.
The dress is … frilly, to say the least. Fluffy. Floofy. It looks more like something from the ‘80s than modern fashion. Well, Boris is older than me. Maybe an ‘80s-style wedding dress is what he’s always pictured.
I’m giving him too much credit. The dress is ugly, plain and simple.
I put it on and immediately want to take it off. I look like a marshmallow.
I waddle out of the bathroom—because that’s the only way to walk in this dress—and face my sisters and Boris.
Vik smiles like she’s won the game. Mila presses her hands to her mouth and then smiles at me with pity in her eyes. Even my kind-hearted younger sister can’t take me seriously, and I don’t blame her.
As for Boris, well … he’s staring at me like he wants to rip the dress off and see me naked, which is the last thing I want.
“It’s perfect,” he says. “We’ll be married tonight after your show.”
I freeze. “But … you said not until this weekend.”
“I changed my mind. We could get married now before your show if that’s what you would prefer.”
“No, no,” I say quickly. “Not at all.” Boris frowns. “We can do it after the show tonight.” That gives me a couple of hours to plan my escape. “I’m going to change back into my clothes.” I hurry into the bathroom before Boris can say anything more.
I don’t want to escape. I want to stay in the house I grew up in with my sisters, even Viktoriya. But I can't marry Boris. I think I would die inside every day if I had to wake up beside him for the rest of my life.
I have no idea how I’m going to escape, but I’ll find a way.
The dance tonight features Vik and me in a duet. Mila is backstage, talking with the other dancers. Celine, our dance instructor, doesn’t think Mila is as good as Vik and me, which is why she doesn’t give her as many dances. She would never say that to Mila, but I’ve seen it. Mila is too sweet to even notice. She’s just happy to talk to her other friends.
Vik and I stand beside each other on the stage, waiting for the curtain to rise.
“Don’t make me mess up,” she says.
“I won’t. I never do.”
“You did that one time.”
“What one time?”
Vik barely glances at me. “You know.”
“Listen, I get you’re annoyed with me. You want Mikhail for yourself. You can have him. I don’t want him.” That’s not completely true, but Mikhail scares me enough I can convince myself it’s true.
“You don’t?” Vik makes a surprised face. “Well … ok, then. I think he and I would make a good match. One Father would be proud of.”
“I think so, too. I want us to be closer.” I’m only saying this because I’m leaving tonight. If Vik found out, she’d be furious I was leaving so she’d have to deal with Boris.
“I don’t know how,” she admits.
“That’s ok. I just want us to enjoy our dance for tonight.” Since it’ll probably be the last time I ever dance on a stage again.
“Me, too.”
The curtains rise, and we begin.
Our dance tells the story of two women lost in the woods. They have to work together to get out of the woods—otherwise, they’ll die. In the end, Vik’s character ends up dying, and I cry over her dead body. It’s another dramatic story. Celine really loves them.
There’s a big move during the dance. Vik has to lift me. It’s normally performed by a man, but Celine really wanted the story between two women. Since Vik is the taller of us, she has to do the heavy lifting. Trust me, she wasn’t happy when Celine told her she’d be doing the lift. Vik felt like it made her the man, but she sucked it up. Ballet is everything to Vik.
My eyes catch Boris in the front row. He’s waiting to marry me the moment the show is over. It distracts me while I dance.
So far, Vik and I have been gliding across the floor, showing the story of the women lost in the woods through our bodies.
And then we get to the lift. I run forward, and Vik grabs my waist, and then I’m in the air, higher than I’ve ever been.
Until it all comes crashing down. Vik drops me, and I slam onto the floor. That is definitely not a part of the show. I can hear the crowd murmuring in concern.
But as I go down, so does Vik.
Her ankle bends under her, and I hear a snapping sound. The scream of pain that escapes her will forever haunt my soul. I sit up and turn to my sister. She’s lying on her side, crying, cradling her knee to her chest. Her ankle is bent at an awkward angle.
It’s clearly broken.
A ballet dancer can’t have a broken ankle. That’s the end of her career.
Celine and a few other dancers rush onto the stage as the curtain falls, blocking the crowd’s view of us.
“Call an ambulance!” Celine says. “Viktoryia?”
Vik only cries harder.
“I’m here,” I tell her. “I’m here.”
“Get away!” she screams, pushing my hands away. “You did this to me! You did this to me!”
I stand up and back away. Vik’s in a serious amount of pain. She doesn’t need me making it worse.
And then a thought passes through me. In the commotion, I can make my escape. Everyone is looking at Vik. I’ve become invisible again.
I slowly back away from Vik and everyone else, and once I’m far enough away from the stage, I bolt. I don’t even bother changing out of my tutu and ballet shoes. I just know I have to run.
I make it outside and spot our car, John leaning against it, smoking a cigarette.
And then I’m being grabbed around the waist and hauled backward. Boris’s meaty hands grip my hips.
“You didn’t think you could run from me, did you? I said we’re getting married, and that’s exactly what we’re doing.”
Before I can call out for John, Boris presses his hand over my mouth and drags me to his car.