Chapter Twenty - Kiara
I’ve told myself I’m not going to become his pet, but every day I feel fragments of my life peeling away never to be retrieved again. Our marriage is a few weeks in, and if Akim and I aren’t at each other’s throats, we’re making up for it in the bedroom, leaving me temporarily anesthetized. Our relationship is tumultuous at best. One day we might get along if we’re lucky, but it doesn’t take long for him to rub me the wrong way or apply his overbearing tactics, giving me no choice but to lash out.
I can’t see the road ahead for us getting any less rocky, but tonight, my stomach is all tied up in knots. I’m attending my first Bratva-related event, and it’s going to be hosted on the lavish grounds of the Gormley Estate and filled with all types of influential figures from Chicago and beyond. I’ve peeked at the guest list, and it’s jam-packed with Chicago officials, law enforcement, business moguls, and well-known wealthy socialites.
Grimacing, I untwist the thin double strap of the lavender dress Akim picked out for me. Part of it is ruched at the hip with an embroidered lavender flower and the right amount of sparkle. The man has a good eye for luxury and beauty. It’s evident from the wardrobe I’ve now inherited. It’s extreme how much my life has transformed.
“I want to remember you the way you were the night we first met.” He might be romanticizing the night a little too much. He’s forgotten that was the same night I attempted to poison him. From the start I’ve loathed him and the Bratva, and nothing has changed. In his warped mind, it’s the night he began to stake his claim on me.
I’m finding it strange having everything at my disposal, but I don’t think I can go back to normal life after this even if I try. Having professional makeup and hair stylists come in, makes me feel like a movie star, and just like our wedding, I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me from the mirror.
Akim’s dutiful wife. Grabbing my clutch from the bed, I take a in deep breath, the lingering, but now familiar smell of Akim’s cologne clinging to the air. His shadow is everywhere. The truth is, I don’t know him, and he won’t let me in when I ask him. I barely know anything about where he comes from and how he came to be the dominant Bratva boss he is. Part of me doesn’t want to know, scared of what I’ll find out.
The smell of cologne grows stronger as I step back from the mirror. “You are stunning, wife. Are you ready to go?” I turn to the door, shaken by how devastatingly handsome Akim looks. His scorpion pokes out of his crisp white shirt, and his well-tailored jet-black suit is the perfect accompaniment to his darkness. And the bow tie he sports is a debonair touch.
Swallowing down my apprehension, I walk over to the man I don’t know but share a bed with. “Yes,” I reply shakily, careful not to step on the small train of my dress.
“You’re going to be fine,” he encourages with surprising warmth. “I’m sure you’re going to make a good impression.”
“I hope so. I’ve never been around these types of people,” I confess, a little frightened I won’t be able to connect on their level.
Akim stares at me, stroking a knuckle down the side of my face. “They’re just people. Not as special as you think they are. Only maybe their titles. Come on, let’s go show you off. It’s for a good cause.” He kisses the side of my face, leaving it tingling. The night is dedicated to a charity event for Chicago’s underprivileged children, which I find ironic given what the Bratva stand for.
I slip my arm through his as we make our way to the event. I’m too overwhelmed for words. The estate is huge, the lawn and grounds are immaculate with large vintage lampposts lighting the circular driveway. Limousines roll in back-to-back as I enjoy a champagne in our own town car to settle my fraught nerves. The estate is bathed in warm amber spotlights, highlighting the building’s exquisite Neo-classical architecture with two large white pillars leading guests to the inside.
I hold a pleasant smile as unknown people greet Akim with warmth, and he introduces me. “Hi, Deputy Rainer, nice to see you here tonight. I’d love for you to meet my wife.”
“Hi. Kiara,” I say, holding out my hand, which is dripping with a jeweled bracelet that Akim gifted me.
“Kiara. That’s a beautiful name. Congratulations on being a newlywed. You look stunning.”
“Thank you.” I answer all the small talk with polite stiffness, the feeling of suffocation overriding me and Akim providing his fake encouragement.
“You’re doing a great job. Relax, grab a drink, and go mingle a little.”
Mingle? “Thanks. I feel like a fish out of water, but the people seem okay,” I admit.
“Give me a minute, there’s somebody I need to talk to. I’m right over here if you need me, and we can take our seats a little later.” The bass in his voice sends a warm shiver down my spine, his hand briefly resting on the base of my spine. Why does this man have this strange hold on me? I can’t shake it.
I take in the grand interiors, which are as spectacular as the outside of the building. The floor is a beautiful swirl of pale green and white marble, with a stage at the front of the room, and pillars throughout. Round, tableclothed tables with luxurious table settings are arranged around the pillars. And by count, there must be at least 100 tables, and the ballroom itself is filling up fast, the sound of conversations mingling in with the background music.
I don’t find it hard to talk to others because many of the socialites are approaching me and wanting to make me feel at ease. It’s almost as if they are taking me under their wing for the night.
“You are stunning. And I can see why Akim picked you,” one of them coos, and quick enough I find myself in a semicircle of women intrigued with how I came to marry Akim. Panic rises as I glance over at him. He’s standing beside a man who looks important, leaning on the bar. A dark smirk is planted on his mouth, almost as if he’s enjoying watching me sink.
Turning back to the women, I want to prove I don’t need him and can hold my own.
“Thank you, ladies. It’s been a dream so far,” I lie, tinkling a fake wave to Akim as I make a joke, laughing in his direction. Akim frowns as I break out of my nervousness, finding my footing, complimenting all the women on their dresses and asking them about married life. He’s right. Not so hard, because the women are shallow and only concerned with material things.
Just when I think I’m drowning in socialite hell, Rose, a girl I attended computer science college with comes over to greet me. “Is that you, Kiara?” For a second, she stares unable to speak, but I’m so happy to see her, I lunge awkwardly at her with a hug. Finally, I can connect with a normal person.
“Oh my God, Rose! So good to see you. What are you doing here?” I shriek.
“I’m… you know. Living life. I’m here as a guest to my dad. Remember I told you he’s on the board of directors for the Chicago Building Fund?”
Scrunching up my nose, I try to think back. “I faintly remember you telling me your father was a hedge fund manager at some big bank. Yeah, I guess so.”
“Yup. That’s it. But wow—you look like a different person. I’m so used to seeing you in a hoodie, and with your laptop. Are you working for the CIA yet? Is that why you’re here?” she jokes, taking a sip of her wine. Rose is smaller than me with glasses and one of the most down-to-earth people you could meet.
“No, no. My husband is here to support the charity.”
Rose’s eyes widen in shock. “You’re married?”
My mouth forms a grim line as I rock back on my feet. “Yes. I’m married.”
“That’s so crazy. The past and the present in the same room.”
Puzzled, I tilt my head, testing out one of the entrée items. “I don’t follow?”
Someone calls Rose, and I can tell she’s distracted. “Ah, I gotta go, but what I mean is Ethan—your ex—is here floating around somewhere. You remember how obsessed he was with you.”
Rose waves as she’s called away before I can ask her any more questions. Ethan. I don’t know if we even broke up. He basically ghosted me without any reason. We got together in the summer of my first semester, and I thought he was the cutest guy in the whole university. But the problem was, so did every other girl on campus. I was just so happy to be dating him, and it felt good to be wanted by him. I didn’t care that the other girls were jealous of me.
But by the end of the second summer, when I thought we were going strong, the calls started drying up, and he stopped coming around. I tried contacting him a few times, but he never returned my calls, leaving me with a spiraling staircase of hopeless thoughts, thinking it was me. It took me a while to get over it, but by the time I graduated, it was “Ethan who?”
“What a blast from university past,” an animated voice chimes in, springboarding me out of my thoughts and back into the ballroom.
Suddenly uncomfortable, I smile tightly at the man behind the voice. “Hi, Ethan. Yes, it is.” I keep my tone cordial to protect myself, chills spiraling through me.
I hate that he looks good, but he always did. He’s not as lanky anymore, broader across the shoulders and has maybe sprouted up a couple of inches in height too. His face is clean-shaven, and he’s got more of an All-American look than Akim with his dirty-blond hair and blue eyes. I can’t help but compare the two men, but if I did, Akim would be in the lead by default of actually wanting me, unlike ghost-face Ethan.
We used to joke about both having blue eyes and being made for each other, but when I reluctantly look into his eyes, they give me a sleazy, vampiric vibe. His upbeat optimism appears to have diminished. I can’t put my finger on him exactly anymore, but his lusty infatuation is written all over his face.
I watch his swift gesture in horror, the movement too fast for me to maneuver out of. Ethan leans in to softly kiss my cheek. Fuck. Akim hasn’t let me out of his sight all night. I pray he hasn’t seen him do it, because if he has, it’s going to make him jealous as hell. I don’t need the argument with him, I’m already on edge as it is. I jerk my head back, touching my cheek to demonstrate I didn’t ask for it, but Ethan doesn’t pick up my cues, ogling me from head to toe instead.
“Wow. Look at Mrs. Utkin.” I pick up the disdain in his tone but leave it alone. Not understanding why he’s acting the way he is. “You’re all grown-up and married I heard. Honey, you look like a dream,” he compliments with a sinister chuckle, my throat growing hot and tight.
How does he fucking know I’m married? Did Rose have enough time to tell him? Flustered, I don’t respond. I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
“Thanks. I see you’ve grown into your skin too,” I reply politely, discreetly stepping back from him and folding my arms across my chest as a defense barrier. Ethan’s crystal blue eyes remain fixed on me as he laughs, squeezing my arm tenderly.
Get the fuck off me. Shit. Get the fuck off me before Akim sees.
“Yeah, I know about the wedding. Didn’t think I would find out, huh?” Ethan smirks, the intensity of his laser-like gaze seizing my body up.
“Sorry, Ethan. I haven’t seen you for years. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yes, I am married, and given how high profile my husband is, I’m sure that’s how you found out,” I reply, intending to ruffle his feathers, but he doesn’t back off. He cuts the gap I put between us, a hot flame skipping to my cheeks.
“Sure, sure, you’re married,” he whispers in a quiet voice. “But, it’s the Bratva, and there’s no way you married that man by choice. I know you’ve been forced, Kiara.”
Don’t give anything away. “Ethan,” I scoff, “you’ve maybe had a few too many beers. You still drink the stuff?”
Ethan’s eyes send the cool shivers of a Chicago blizzard down my spine, and I’ve never wanted Akim to step in more than I do now. “You’re avoiding the subject,” Ethan counters in a sing-song voice. “But you’re in trouble. You know it and I know it. I can help you… honestly,” he adds with grave sincerity.
His desperation and encroachment on my space is making me want to run, but thankfully, I’m delivered by Akim, his expression dark and foreboding as he approaches.
He slides a possessive arm around my waist, lassoing me into his side, glaring at Ethan.
“Who is this, dushka?” he questions, a dangerous undercurrent in his steely tone.
Hesitating to answer, the air and the words failing to form, Ethan asserts himself with an introduction. “I’m Ethan Myers. I used to go to university with Kiara. We were quite the pair,” he announces, terrifying me with the words escaping his condescending mouth.
I feel the fire burning hot inside Akim, his fingers digging into my hip as he nods back at Ethan. I look around the ballroom for an exit, or a way I can excuse myself to the bathroom, but Akim’s grip is too tight. Ethan’s eyes are still hooked on me and if he isn’t careful, he’s going to find himself in an unwanted predicament. All I want him to do is go the fuck away.
“Quite the pair… that’s interesting,” Akim replies in dead calm, his body language anything but.
“He doesn’t mean anything by it. Only that we went to school together,” I quickly drive in, wanting to diffuse the ticking bomb between us.
“You’re hurting my heart a little bit, Kiara. I’m sure your husband knows you have a past. Nothing to be ashamed of,” he adds boldly, provoking Akim. Daring to glance at him, his eyes are black, changed from the chocolate irises I’ve grown used to looking in, and the brilliant, dark storm that he is emerges.
“Kiara’s not ashamed of anything,” Akim responds, looking down at me as his grip changes and his hand slips to interlock with mine.
“I think Kiara can speak for herself, can’t you? She’s always been outspoken, haven’t you Ki-Ki. She does seem quieter than normal. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
Cringing, I put a stop to it, as Ethan stares at me intensely. He wants to get hurt at this stage. He’s calling me by the nickname he made up for me back in college. “Don’t call me that. My name’s Kiara.”
Before Ethan can get a word in, Akim shuts him down, the conversation rising to dangerous levels. “There. She’s spoken. And from now on, you leave my wife alone, otherwise you don’t want to deal with the consequences,” he warns, stepping nose-to-nose with Ethan.
Ethan laughs in his face. “Uh-uh. I’m not done with her. She was mine first.” He winks at Akim and walks off before he can get a word in.
Fuck. This is why I was nervous. I didn’t want to come to this event in the first place, and after Akim silently fumes through the event, I excuse myself for the bathroom, returning to him cornering me in it.
“Akim,” I whisper hoarsely, checking to see if others are walking in. “You can’t be in here. You’re going to get caught.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I put a sign out front anyway,” he replies, his cool demeanor flying out the window. “Who the fuck was that guy?”
“Nobody, Akim. Calm down,” I tell him. I’ve had enough testosterone power plays for one night. Akim grabs my chin, hoisting me up on the sink, shocking me. A tiny squeal comes out of my mouth as he roughly kisses me, his fingers greedily reaching up under my dress.
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he grits out. “It wasn’t nobody,” he hisses, the taste of his tainted tongue lighting me on fire. Instantly a pool of desire sweeps between my legs. I still don’t understand what it is that makes me so needy for his touch, but in seconds my panties have been swept to the side and his fingers are inside me. “Who was he?”
I pant, my hips circling off the sink as Akim holds my face up with one hand, his other working magic tricks between my legs. “An ex from college. I don’t have anything to do with him.” Then I say it, without warning, maybe it’s the alter ego of Ana Benito talking. “Make me come, Akim.”
Appalled by what I’ve said, Akim grins, nibbling my ear and dropping his hold on my face to steady my hip. “That’s better, dushka. Now you know your place. Do it now. Come .”