35. Naomi
35
NAOMI
I s this how Fyodor felt? Daniil and Zasha?
A deep-rooted sense of betrayal?
They spoke about Ivan. I heard about him through whispers and tales of pain from the men I grew to love. A terrible, cold man capable of terrible, cold things. He was a ghost story that turned up in my mother’s kitchen and claimed to be a friend.
A friend to her, certainly. To me, he was nothing but a horror.
With one glance between the two of them, I realized I was nothing more than the final payment of some hidden transaction. I hadn’t had the energy to fight when Ivan’s men came for me, not the heart to even look at my mother.
I can’t decide what hurts worse. Knowing that my mother took my new backbone as a sign of betrayal and turned on me, or that revenge was more important to her than anything else and she handed me over to Ivan without any hesitation.
The pain warps together in my chest and sits heavy like the press of a corset. Smothering and tight. Inescapable.
I awoke in an empty room with pale walls and only one small window that looked out to a bright blue sky. I wasn’t tall enough to see over the ledge, so all I could do was count clouds as they drifted past. Other than the mattress I awoke on, the room was completely empty and the stone floor chilled my bare feet. Someone had dressed me in leggings and a blouse, and I dared not think about who.
Or what they saw under my robe.
Ivan locked me in, and I’ve been here for at least a day before he comes to see me.
The heavy wooden door swings inwards and Ivan strides in with a smothering air of superiority around him. His steps are fine yet he walks with a long silver cane topped with an amber jewel. The color matches that of his tie and the cloth in the upper breast pocket of his suit. Gold buttons wink at me as he moves around the room, though I’m unsure what he’s even looking at since there is nothing here but a mattress and a bed.
“I have yet to decide what I want to do with you,” Ivan says. His voice is low, with a tinge of the Russian accent, although it’s not as deep as Zasha’s. “Your mother tells me you’re pregnant.”
His gaze drops to my abdomen and I quickly wrap my arms around my middle.
“She lies. She’s good at that.”
“Come now. We both know she is telling the truth, and it will not do you any good to keep things from me, my dear. I am, after all, your only friend now.”
“I’m not your dear ,” I spit. “And my mother lies. She is a liar.”
“Is she?” Ivan takes a single step forward. The clack of his cane on the stone floor snaps like a gunshot. “Should I have my guards strip you down and force a tube down your throat? They’ll pump so much water into you that you will swell up like a little balloon and then I will make them all watch as you wet yourself onto as many tests as I desire. We can see what they say, shall we?”
The horror he spews from his mouth is sickening, made worse by his casual tone. We could be discussing the curtains, and he would sound the same.
Clammy chills sweep down my arms and legs, and I curl my toes slightly against the stone floor. He would do it, wouldn’t he? I can only imagine the depths of his depravity, and from the glint in his eyes, I’m certain he’d get some sort of kick out of it.
“Fine.” I can’t play his games. “She’s telling the truth.”
“Interesting.” The cane smacks against the ground once more, then Ivan strides from the room. I spot one guard outside who refuses to look at me as he slams the door closed.
Silence envelops me and hot tears spring into my eyes. He wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t subject me to something so horrific just to prove a point…would he?
Daniil’s story pops into my mind, and I recall how his voice shook when he spoke of Ivan. Daniil is one of the strongest people I have ever met and even he showed signs of fear.
I’m going to die here.
I know it. Sinking down onto the mattress, I draw my knees up to my chest and cuddle them tightly. Then I press my face into my knees and cry.
I have ruined everything . Zasha is dead. Fyodor and Daniil hate me. My mother has abandoned me and now I’m here, locked up as Ivan’s prisoner. With a baby in my belly that deserves a whole lot more than I can ever give it.
Sorrow consumes me and I cry until I fall into a restless sleep filled with gunshots, waterboarding, and the repetitive clack of Ivan’s cane. The dreams keep me under until fire ignites in my belly. Ivans laughs, watching me scream and writhe as the flames consume me from the inside out.
I wake with a scream, jolting out of the nightmare and completely drenched in sweat. Hair clings to the back of my neck, and my heart pounds fiercely.
Holy shit.
Outside, the sky is a dark blue but it’s impossible for me to tell how long I was asleep for, or even how long I have been here. One thing that lingers though, is the fire in my belly, which sweeps low between my legs.
Fuck. I need to pee.
There isn’t even a bucket for me to use. I expect Ivan wants me to piss in the corner like some dog. As I run through my options, an idea begins to form.
Ivan will kill me. That I am certain of. Given the nature of his earlier threat, I can’t even imagine how terrible that death will be. If I am to die, if I am to fail at protecting my child, then perhaps it can be on my own terms.
My life was dictated by my mother. Vladimir tore my new family apart, and now I am here because Ivan wills it.
If my life is to end, then I want to choose how.
“Excuse me!” Knocking quickly on the door, I press my ear to the wood. “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”
“No,” comes the response.
“What do you mean, no ?”
“You’re not to leave. This door is not to open.”
Fuck. Quick, Naomi think. Think!
“But I think I’m bleeding!”
There’s no response.
“Please! Think about it, if I’m bleeding, then there might be something wrong with the baby and I don’t know about you, but if Ivan hasn’t decided what to do with me yet, and you take that decision from him and risk the life of the?—”
The door swings open and the guard I saw earlier stands in front of me with an assault rifle hanging diagonal across his body.
“Fine. But I will have to report this.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes as my heart pounds, trying very hard to act as casually as I can.
Keeping my legs together, I step out of the room onto a stone floor that’s much rougher under my feet. It’s warmer, too. The guard leads me down a narrow corridor lined with windows similar to those in my room, only they’re a bit thinner. It’s impossible for me to glimpse outside.
He leads me down a spiral staircase where the stone walls give way to a more modern housing. It feels less like a castle and a lot more like a home. We stop outside a brown door and the guard jerks his head to the side.
“Be quick.”
“Whatever.” Skirting around him, I make it to the toilet just before my bladder explodes. Relief is short lived when I wash my hands and spot the guard almost hugging the door. I need to get away from him, somehow.
Scanning the bathroom, I find very little at my disposal. The single toilet and sink, while ornate with gold detailing, are lacking in decoration. The mirror is attached firmly to the wall with no openings or hinges, and the small cupboard is locked tight.
Fuck.
The only weapon I have is myself. Staring at my reflection, I almost don’t recognize my own face. My blonde hair hangs in dirty clumps, all my makeup has washed off, leaving only some threadbare streaks of mascara, and there are huge bags under my eyes.
There must be something I can do. I need something to make the guard leave.
My solution is archaic at best, but it’s all I have. Given that my teeth are my only weapon, and my cheek is the easiest place to get blood from in a hurry, there’s only one thing I can do.
Adrenaline spikes as I tuck the inside of my cheek between my teeth, then balance my chin on the edge of the sink. I can barely breathe as this stupid, stupid idea spins around my mind.
If I let my knees go weak and fall, my chin will catch on the skink and my teeth will cut into my cheek. It’s a good plan.
A stupid plan .
But that's the only plan I have.
“Are you done?” comes the guard's voice, followed by several knocks on the door. “Ain’t got all day.”
Fuck it. Here we go.
I relax my legs, let my body go limp, and fall.
“Help me!” I stumble out of the door with my palms full of blood. “You need to get help!”
The guard’s face turns ashen, then a shade of green when I reach for him and smear the blood onto his suit. He stumbles back, then turns and runs down the hall.
I don’t care where he’s going. Spitting out another mouthful of blood onto the floor as my cheek throbs loudly, I sprint down the hallway the opposite way. I have no idea where I’m going and no sense of direction.
I just run.
Past statues and portraits, past art and wide-open rooms, I run until my chest feels like it will explode. I run down corridors, upstairs, down other sets of stairs, and through doors and rooms until, finally, I slam through double doors and a gust of fresh air blasts over me.
I only make it a few steps before a stone balcony slams into my gut and I double over with a grunt. Leaning over the railing, the mansion stretches down several floors below me, then it reaches out into a magnificent garden filled with flowers of more colors than I even knew existed.
Then, the scent of salt tickles my nose. I lift my gaze further and the garden melts into something much worse.
Water.
As far as the eye can see. It stretches around the property in all directions and the city in the distance is nothing but a smudge on the horizon.
The one bridge that weaves between the island and home is pulled upward, raised so high that all it would take is one shove and this island would float free into the endless abyss of the open ocean.
I’m on a fucking island?!
Rich people .
“What the…” Panting, I pull myself up and stare out. My plan, as weak as it was, didn’t at all include being stuck on a fucking island.
“I knew you would try something stupid.”
I spin around with a gasp and come face-to-face with Ivan. His face is calm, although a silver shadow now grazes his jaw. Both his hands clasp together atop his cane and he rocks it from side to side, watching me.
“I…” I have nothing. No excuse. No idea. Nothing.
“Come back inside. I’m about to have dinner.” He must see the immediate rejection in my eyes because he steps forward slowly, and then looks me up and down. “What other choice do you have? Should I push you over the side? It’s a steep fall but not enough to kill you. Paralyze you, maybe. Either way, you will still be mine.”
Nausea churns in my gut and the acidic burn of bile crawls up my throat. He’s right.
What choice do I have?
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” Ivan spears some chicken onto his fork and holds it up in the air.
The grand dining table is absolutely heaving with food of all kinds. Ivan sits at the head, and his guards force me to sit right next to him, where he now tries to feed me slowly.
It’s disgusting and humiliating, and I have no idea what the hell he gets out of doing this.
I eye the chicken, then him.
“I’m allergic to chicken.”
He lifts one brow. “Are you indeed.”
I might be hungry and trapped, but I refuse to eat off his fork like some kind of animal.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask as he slides the chicken into his own mouth. “I have no value to you.”
“You are a woman,” Ivan remarks. “I would play with your corpse and still see value.”
My stomach rolls in utter disgust.
“You are currently more valuable than that. To Fyodor and Zasha, you are valuable.”
“How? Zasha is dead, and Fyodor hates me now that they know who I am. Why I was planted there by my mother.” Admitting it out loud hurts, like each word is a razor blade pressing against the slice inside my cheek.
“Zasha is not dead,” Ivan replies smoothly. “He lives. As do you. One would think Daniil is just terrible at doing his job but we both know that isn’t true.”
I freeze as if dunked backward into a bucket of ice water.
Zasha is alive?! Daniil didn’t kill him?
“Don’t look so hopeful, my dear,” Ivan remarks. “I’m sure Zasha hates you too.”
Maybe, I decide. But he’s alive.
“You honestly do not know your value?” Ivan leans back in his chair and the wood creaks in protest. Then he lifts his cane and presses the end to my abdomen with a hand much steadier than I would expect from a man his age. I shrink back against the chair, pressing as flat as I can against the back, but he increases the pressure until he’s pinning me there. Pain gradually blooms out from the point of contact and I scarcely dare to breathe.
“You are not valuable. But that is.”
My baby?
“Your child, whoever the father is, carries the legacy of a Bratva family. Whichever one, I do not care.”
“Not if Daniil is the father,” I grind out, gripping the armrests with both hands.
Ivan increases the pressure of his cane and chuckles dryly. “It doesn’t matter who because each of them will believe and hope it is theirs. And I can use that.”
“Why?” I hiss softly. “I’ve heard the stories. You slaughter people at whim, torture them for pleasure. If you want the power so bad, why don’t you just go and take it?”
“Oh, you silly girl.” Ivan tsks and finally removes his cane.
I gasp softly, sliding a hand over my abdomen and sagging down in the chair.
“I have killed to stay on top, yes. People always seem to get in the way and there are those, like Zasha for example, that just do not break. I was surprised he had the gall to kill his own father, but when I killed his mother and placed the blame for her suicide on him, he still did not back down.”
My blood runs cold. Zasha killed his own father? Knowing Zasha, he must have had a good reason. But then to live with thinking his mother took her own life when really it was Ivan all along?
His cruelty is limitless.
“You’re wrong.” My voice trembles. “This baby doesn’t have the power you think it does.”
“Why?” Ivan lifts a brow, then picks up his gold-rimmed wine glass. The crimson liquid sloshes up the sides as he slurps. “They won’t come for you, but they will come for their child. I tested this with Fyodor by placing his child, Dariya, in danger. He saved her with no care for his own life. He will do the same to ensure his other child is not lost to me.”
Poor Dariya. Even unconscious, she’s a pawn in Ivan’s game. But the more I dwell on it, the more I’m certain Fyodor will not care about me.
“You don’t know Fyodor like I do. I broke his heart. He sees me as nothing but a snake. If he learns I’m pregnant, he won’t care. He’d rather see me dead.” The words are poison from my own lips, dripping in truth.
“How far along are you?” Ivan’s eyes drift south. “I will get a doctor to check. You see, even if Fyodor and Daniil and Zasha decide to leave you here to rot, that child will be mine. If that’s the case, then all I need to do is keep you alive and then cut the brat out of you when I’m ready.”
If I had the energy, I’d be shocked, but that’s the least terrifying thing he’s said so far. My fingertips press into my abdomen and I slide my tongue against my wounded cheek as a distraction.
“Then I’ll kill Fyodor and that other brat, then use DNA to make all those loyal to Fyodor fall in line.”
“You could never kill Fyodor,” I snap. “He’s too smart for you.”
“On the contrary, my dear.” Ivan leans forward and a droplet of red wine rolls slowly down from the corner of his mouth. “Vladimir wants him dead too. When Daniil is out of the way, Fyodor will be child’s play. Start burning down a few homes with families inside, and Fyodor will crawl here to maintain his bloodless reputation.”
I balk at the thought, and nothing stops the acid sweeping up my throat. Threatening his child and his carefully crafted reputation?
Maybe Ivan is right. Maybe Fyodor really will come here to save those two things.
But me? Either by Ivan’s hand or Fyodor’s, I’m dead in the water.