16. Katerina
CHAPTER 16
Katerina
“Make yourself scarce. You and all of the staff,” Roman orders Polina. “Bring him to the living room and have the drinks ready.”
Polina nods and then scurries out of the bedroom to make his demands happen. Roman rounds on me.
“Devochka, you are to stay here,” he says. “Do not leave this room. Do not make a sound. Do you understand?”
“But, Roman, what?—”
“Do you understand?” he interrupts impatiently. “This is a matter of life or death for you. He must not know you’re here.”
I fall silent, then give a stiff nod.
Roman dresses quickly. He disappears into what I imagine is a massive closet only to reappear a moment later in another black shirt and cargo pants. Try as I might to keep my face neutral, the way my gaze flicks up and down his body gives me away.
He looks deliciously formidable, even at a time like this, where he seems to be focused on what lays ahead.
He strides out of the closet with the crewneck shirt molded to his muscular chest and the cargo pants making it seem as if he’s ready for a war. He’s put on heavy combat boots to finish the outfit, his features clenched and unreadable.
“Devochka,” he says one last time at the bedroom door. He raises his thick brows at me.
I blink and then mutter, “I promise. I’ll… I’ll stay out of the way. I’ll be quiet.”
He nods, then shuts the door. I hear a twist in the lock and watch as the doorknob jiggles. He’s locked me inside for good measure.
I don’t mind at all.
Coming anywhere near the pakhan of the family isn’t in my plan. Being in the same room as the sovietnik was intimidating enough—and he’s his boss.
I swallow hard, nerves fluttering in my belly.
The best thing I can do right now is preoccupy myself. Hopefully the pakhan won’t be here for long. It sounded like his visits are rare, which is why Roman was thrown by him coming by on short notice.
Maybe he knows about me. Maybe the sovietnik told him.
But then I shake my head to myself. Why would the sovietnik rat out his own son?
In the criminal world, double-crossing is unsurprising and common, but in organized crime, there’s usually some rules. Some honor code. If Roman’s father feels like his son is going against his best interests, it’s possible he’d turn against him…
“No,” I whisper. “This isn’t that. This isn’t about you. You’re being paranoid.”
…but what if he’s heard about what Roman did to Leonid? Is Leonid high enough on the food chain?
“He’s the sovietnik ’s brother,” I answer my thoughts. “The question is, would that matter to the pakhan?”
Then I realize I have no way of knowing.
I’m not an expert on criminal organizations, even as a criminal myself. Let alone an expert on the fucking bratva.
All I know is what I’ve learned from TV and heard in passing while on the streets. Some always warned to avoid the Russian neighborhood in Old Northam, citing that half the businesses were run by the Russian mob. Others told me to never steal from a Russian.
They would walk on glass for their revenge.
A shudder racks through me. I tried to kidnap a whole-ass Russian mob boss.
Stupid, Kat! STUPID!
I smack a hand to my forehead remembering how foolish I’d been to accept JC’s job proposal in the first place. If only I could turn back time and change my yes to a no …
Seeking a distraction, I gravitate toward the dresser and mirror on the far side of the room. It’s been several hours since I washed my hair, which means I can unravel my twist outs. My reflection still makes me cringe, the bruises and swelling decorating my face jarring compared to how I normally look.
I work in tense silence, carefully untwisting each section to minimize frizz. Without any real hair products, it makes the task damn near impossible, but I do my best. It’s as I’m reaching the last few twists that voices trail into the room.
For the first second, I’m practically on the verge of implosion. My heart freezes up midbeat and my eyes dart wildly around.
…then it occurs to me that the voices aren’t inside the room. They’re trickling in from the room over.
My gaze scales up the wall until it reaches the air vent positioned directly above the mirror and dresser. I can hear Roman and another man who must be the pakhan.
I go still and strain my ears, their voices becoming even clearer.
“Ya ne zhdal tvoyego vizita. No dlya menya bol’shaya chest’, chto vy prishli? * .”
“Ya byl v etom rayone, I tvoy otets ochen’ khorosho otzyvayetsya o tebe? * ,” comes the pakhan’s smooth baritone. He sounds younger than the sovietnik, despite being his—and everyone’s—boss.
I can’t understand a word they’re saying, but I listen on anyway.
“Yest’ vazhnyy vopros dlya obsuzhdeniya. Vy znayete o napryazhenii v pyati sem’ yakh? * .”
“Da, my dolzhny byt’ umnymi? * ,” answers Roman.
Their discussion goes on for some time, leaving me little to go on beside the inflection of their voices. I’ve never heard Roman address someone so… respectfully. Not even when he spoke to his father at the dinner last night.
It’s clear it’s the pakhan who’s really in charge.
My attention wanes, thrown off by too much Russian dialogue, before English words suddenly zap me back into focus.
“Leonid,” says the pakhan in stilted English. “I hear he is in great pain. You were the cause.”
A second long pause goes by, tension ratcheting up.
“Da? * ,” answers Roman simply.
No further explanation provided. No justification. No regret or apology. His tone even changes, the single word coming out almost challengingly.
I hold my breath, waiting for the pakhan ’s reply.
“Roman, your father is very upset.”
“He will get over it.”
My eyes widen at the sound of gruff laughter that follows. The pakhan laughing at Roman’s comment.
The visit doesn’t last much longer. They exchange a few more words, reverting once more to Russian, before I hear the footsteps of several men moving around the room. The pakhan and the men he’s brought with him are leaving.
The front door thuds shut and Roman orders around one of his staff members.
“Ensure they make it downstairs to their cars and they don’t need anything else from us.”
“Da, brigadier? * . ”
I realize Roman’s probably headed back into the bedroom a few seconds before it happens. The mirror and dresser below the air vent is abandoned for one of the chairs by the window. Though I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping and I couldn’t understand most of what was said, I don’t want Roman to know that I was.
The door opens seconds after I sit down, Roman walking inside.
“Devochka, you behaved yourself. I am shocked.”
“It was that or wind up with my head on a pike, remember?”
“That was the sovietnik. The pakhan can be more… reasonable. Depending on the situation. But he is still the pakhan. Which means anything he wants, he gets.”
“So it seems.”
“I have work to do. I won’t be back for several hours. Remember the rules. You are to stay here. You may leave this room, but not the penthouse. Do you understand?”
“Yes… but where are you going?”
“None of your concern. I will return this evening. My staff has been instructed to be respectful of you and get you anything you need.”
“Even Polina?” I arch a brow and fold my arms, aware my tone comes across slightly jealous.
“Yes, even Polina. But they have also been informed about the rules. Which means you better behave yourself. I will be notified the moment you don’t.”
Roman leaves the room with little else said. I sigh as the door shuts and I’m left alone all over again.
Outside the window, the morning sky brightens into a soft blue adorned with fluffy clouds. It’ll be such a nice day out and yet I’m stuck in here.
A captive pet for a Russian mob boss.
It sounds so outlandish, I wouldn’t believe it if it weren’t happening to me.
But my body still aches from the beating it took at the hands of Leonid and the massive bed calls my name. Roman said I’m to sleep here with him every night. He probably wouldn’t mind if I take a nap in his bed while he’s gone… right?
He’s been surprisingly gentle about the whole attack and my recovery.
I crawl onto the bed and settle down, out within seconds of my head touching the pillow.
It’s early afternoon when I next open my eyes. It takes a while to convince myself to move. I could lay here for a few more hours and hope Roman will be back soon like he said he would be.
You could explore the penthouse.
Without him around.
On your own for the first time.
The thought’s enough to convince me to get out of bed. I cautiously draw the door open and wander into the hall. The rest of the penthouse is quiet except for the occasional sound from a passing staff member. A cook in the kitchens rummaging around or one of Roman’s guards shifting from his designated post.
Everyone who I do come into contact with gives a respectful nod, confirming what Roman said. They’ve been briefed about my presence, explicitly told to be polite.
After exploring the wide halls and spacious rooms, I wind up in the home theater. A butler-like man checks in on me, asking if I need anything.
“Um,” I murmur, hesitating slightly. “Maybe something to drink… if that’s okay.”
No less than a second later, he’s listing what’s available. He speaks in an accent like everyone else around me does since I’ve been in Roman’s custody. Of the many beverage options available, I choose water. He seems surprised before nodding and returning only a moment later with a cool glass for me to sip from.
I fumble with the remote and turn on the first decent movie I find on the streaming apps. The seats are plush and comfortable, reclining when I pull the lever on the side. Movies have never been my thing since I couldn’t afford to go often growing up, but sitting in the dark theater inside Roman’s penthouse is surprisingly enjoyable.
I’m so relaxed, my achy body starting to heal, that I don’t even notice when the door opens.
“You,” Polina says. “Zver is on his way. He requests you change for dinner.”
“Hmm?”
I’m lured out of the theater room and into the bedroom where Polina gestures to the dress that’s been laid out on the bed.
“He will be here soon. Change.”
The brunette spins on her heel and marches out of the room with a curtness that tells me she doesn’t give a damn what Roman’s orders were. She’ll have as much attitude as she wants when dealing with me.
The fact that she was comfortable enough to barge into his bedroom like it was nothing lingers in my mind. How many times in the past has she waltzed right into his private quarters to see him?
I change into the dress, which makes me do a double take in the mirror. It fits me perfectly, a simple midnight-blue dress with thin straps that accentuates my curves and teases some skin. My neck, shoulders, and arms are bare, as are my legs and thighs.
I fluff my curls as best as I can given my lack of tools and products and slide into the heels that have been provided.
Roman waits for me in the dining room. He’s still in his all-black outfit from earlier, though somehow sexier in the hours since we’ve been apart. I step toward the chair opposite his and let the same butler from earlier push my seat in.
“Moy kot vyglyadit krasivo? * .”
“Does that mean hello?”
Humor flashes in his sapphire gaze. “It means my kitty cat looks beautiful. And you do, devochka.”
“I have no makeup on and my curls are a mess. Even with the twist out.”
“Then that speaks to your beauty,” he goes on. “That you could look so good with so little. But I have noticed that from the first moment I saw you. Many women spend hours on their appearance and still do not look as good as you do.”
My cheeks warm up. “Err… thank you. But I’d prefer if you don’t tell me that kind of stuff. It feels…”
I trail off, uncertain why his compliments make me uncomfortable. Probably because I’ve spent my life as someone who lived on the streets and heard very few good things about myself. It’s caused major self-esteem issues that I tend to avoid thinking about.
“I’ve told you I’m an honest man, devochka. If you think I won’t say what’s on my mind, then I’ll tell you right now, you are mistaken. And if I want to tell you I find you beautiful, I will. Just like I have told you other things. Naprimer, kakaya ty chertovski seksual’naya i kak mne ne terpitsya pochuvstvovat’ tvoye telo? * . ”
“I need a translator when I’m around you.”
“Perhaps I will make you learn Russian. That will keep you preoccupied while I am gone. What did you do these last few hours?”
Servers enter the room clutching plates they deliver to the table. A mousy woman in the same uniform the others wear sets down wine glasses and begins filling both with a dark red wine. They slip back out of the room as seamlessly as they entered, like they’re aware they should be drawing little attention to themselves while we enjoy dinner.
“I slept in your bed,” I confess. “I, um, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?” Roman asks. “It is where you are supposed to sleep, devochka. With me.”
“Oh. That’s… that’s, um, good to know. And I watched a movie in the theater.”
“You didn’t cause trouble. My staff said you were good. Even Polina had no complaints.”
“Who is she, by the way?”
“My staff.”
“But… she…” I pause, choosing my wording carefully. “She burst into your bedroom like it was nothing.”
Roman picks up his fork and steak knife. “I told you, devochka. She is staff. Think of her as a personal assistant. She does things I need done that no one else does. Track schedules. Make phone calls. Fetch items. You seem not to like her. Is that correct?”
“She’s just… difficult to read.”
“Many Russians are. We prefer it that way.”
We fall into a brief silence as we begin our meal. I’m starving once again, my belly giving a little rumble that I hope Roman doesn’t hear.
Tonight’s meal is the heartiest yet. Filet mignon with a mushroom sauce and pureed mashed potatoes and wild carrots. I lick my lips before I even have my first bite, a pulse of excitement thrumming through me.
I’ve never eaten so well. So extravagantly.
The fanciest steak I’ve ever had was the salisbury steak that comes in frozen TV dinners.
As I cut into my filet mignon, it almost feels like I should be in reverence of such an exquisite dish. I should chew carefully and savor every bite.
Roman watches me between slices of his own steak. “Have you ever had filet mignon before, devochka?”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Tell me how it was like for you. Living on the streets like you have been.”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing fascinating. I was an orphan. No one wanted me. So I got by any way I could.”
“It takes smarts to do that. A survivalist mentality.”
“I guess so. I… I took it more day by day. Things became easier when I found a group to be with.”
“Stronger in numbers,” he says, reaching for his glass of wine.
“Exactly. But sometimes it was the wrong crowd.”
“Like this JC you were working with.”
“Right… JC and the others. They had rough upbringings too. So did Rosita. We all did.”
“JC and the men you were with did not care for you. They should not have had your trust.”
My brow raises. “And you would know this how?”
“Where are they? Where are you?” he asks, his tone harsh and blunt. “They left you to take the fall while they saved themselves. As men, they are cowards. They will find out what a grave mistake they have made.”
“I don’t want them dead. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them.”
“That is not your choice to make. Or mine. They involved themselves when they tried to kidnap the sovietnik , devochka.”
I drop my protests altogether. There’s no use bargaining on JC and the others’ behalf.
Roman is correct about one thing—they did leave me, and they also didn’t tell me what I was getting myself into in the first place.
It’s time I look out for myself only. Maybe, for now, being with Roman is the best place for me to be…
“You have a whole crew of men under you,” I say, taking a bite of my filet mignon. My eyes flick across the table, landing on Roman. “You’re a powerful leader. I still don’t get why you seem so fascinated by me and what I’ve been through.”
“Not always, kitty cat. I come from very humble beginnings.”
“Even with your father being the sovietnik?”
“Yes, because he was not always where he is today. It took many years. Most of my childhood was spent in a small town called Borovsk. My father was gone often. My mother did her best to take care of me, but we were poor. I had to do petty crime to bring in more for us.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“You and I are not so different, devochka. I know what it’s like to starve. I even know what it’s like to be without a roof. For a long time, I survived without one.”
He doesn’t go into further explanation about this point in his life, but I’m grateful for the fact that he can relate at all. Not many people can, and they tend to turn their noses up at people like me.
We finish the rest of dinner before his staff serves us dessert. We’re given some kind of chocolate mousse that’s rich and delicious and leaves me satisfied.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been fed so well,” I murmur, licking my spoon clean.
Roman hasn’t kept his eyes off me. He tracks every move of mine, no matter how subtle. Including the flick of my tongue against the spoon. “You should always be well-fed. Others have failed you.”
After dinner, he heads into his office for more work. I finish my wine and find myself a little more tipsy than I probably should be.
I return to the bedroom and bathroom to find a wicker basket of products. All things for me.
Things Roman probably believes I will need.
A smirk crawls onto my lips as I approach and pick out the soaps, lotions, perfumes, and hair care products, among other things. There’re even a couple of leave-in moisturizers, like whoever he sent to purchase these items—probably Polina—wasn’t sure what to buy.
Next to the basket is a silky nightgown neatly folded up. Clearly what he wants me to wear to bed.
It’s trimmed with lace, so delicate and thin that I’m sure my curves will be distinguishable.
My nipples.
A couple hours later, Roman enters the bedroom to find me already showered and changed into the nightgown. For the first time since I’ve met him, a brief moment passes by where he seems genuinely speechless. His dark sapphire eyes rake over me, his masculine energy thick in the air.
I’m hot all over, doing my best to keep my cool.
It feels like a losing effort as Roman showers and then approaches the bed shirtless in a pair of gray sweats.
“Are you still so shy, kitty cat?” he asks. “I promise you will survive the night.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny. Just don’t… keep your hands to yourself.”
“For now.”
I watch as he peels back the covers and then walks around to his side. He commands the smart system to dim the lights and lower the shades over the windows.
“Is there a reason why not now? What are you waiting for?”
“Is that your way of telling me you want me to fuck you?” he asks in return. He slides into bed with a deftness that sends a shiver down my spine. This is his domain and I’m trapped navigating it.
I mirror his movements, sliding into bed on the opposite side.
“You are bruised. Still swollen,” he says. “Traumatized by what my uncle did to you. You are beautiful even like this, devochka, but I prefer my women without the black and blue.”
“You’re better than some men. Some wouldn’t care. Just like Leonid didn’t care when I told him no.”
“He will die. I’ve told you he will. He knew not to touch you.”
“It’s okay,” I sigh. “I suppose maybe… I should be used to it.”
Roman stops in the middle of adjusting his pillow to cut me a stern look. “What do you mean, devochka, that you should be used to it? Who else has touched you?”
He asks the question as if he’s ready to go charging into the night to slice and dice any man who put their hands on me besides Leonid. I rush to explain, finding it difficult to meet his gaze as my fingers clutch at the bedsheet.
“Oh… I meant… no one here,” I stammer uncomfortably. “Once I lived with this foster family and… the father… let’s just say I chose the streets over living there.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve, thirteen…”
If the air seconds ago was relaxed; it’s tense now. Roman says nothing, though I sense his anger. He still seems tempted to leap out of bed and spring into action. I’m on the brink of telling him to forget everything I’ve just said when he speaks first.
“No one will touch you again,” he says. “Only me, kitty cat. I will slaughter anyone who even tries. Understand?”
I can only nod, my voice lost.
“Go to sleep. Get rest.”
They’re the final words Roman speaks before the lights cut out and we’re plunged into darkness. I roll over facing the opposite way and tuck my hand under the pillow. My eyes slip closed and I let myself drift off to sleep, oddly secure in the fact that I’m sleeping in the bed with a man who’s practically a stranger.
Deep down, when he tells me this is the safest place to be, I believe him…
* ? Ya ne zhdal tvoyego vizita. No dlya menya bol’shaya chest’, chto vy prishli - I wasn’t expecting your visit. But it’s a great that you came.
* ? Ya byl v etom rayone, I tvoy otets ochen’ khorosho otzyvayetsya o tebe - I’ve been in the area, and your father speaks very highly of you.
* ? Yest’ vazhnyy vopros dlya obsuzhdeniya. Vy znayete o napryazhenii v pyati sem’ yakh - There is an important issue to discuss. Do you know about the tension between the Five Families?
* ? Da, my dolzhny byt’ umnymi - yes, we must be smart.
* ? Da - yes
* ? Da, brigadier - yes, captain
* ? Moy kot vyglyadit krasivo - my cat looks beautiful
* ? Naprimer, kakaya ty chertovski seksual’naya i kak mne ne terpitsya pochuvstvovat’ tvoye telo - like how damn sexy you are and how I can’t wait to feel your body.