Chapter 19
Zoya
The hostess leads me towards a few closed doors in the upscale restaurant, then we stop at a mahogany door.
She pushes it open, and I don’t have to look long.
Immediately, I spot dirty blonde hair in wild curls, taking a shot.
Well, that’s my favorite alcoholic and partner in crime, Yelena.
That girl can drink like two grown men with beer bellies.
I walk towards the table, and immediately Darcy sees me, her eyes widen.
“Ok, what the fuck! Is that you, Zo?” She asks, confused, using her two hands to clean her eyes. My other friends, Anya and Yelena, turn to look in the same direction as Darcy.
“Shit, look at you Miss Expensive. At least now we know you’re not giving it up for free like you did for your ex.” My foul-mouthed friend Anya chimes in.
I scowl. “And I thought you, of all people, would understand that at that time I was dating to survive. Matter of fact,” I sit down next to her, “care to explain how you are always broke but SOMEHOW, your rent is always paid?”
Anya grins and raises her glass. “To rich men with questionable morals and excellent credit cards.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I grab the champagne bottle and pour myself a glass.
Darcy is still staring at me. “But seriously, Zo, those are real pearls, right? And that dress?”
“Is that Valentino?.”
“Holy shit.”
Yelena leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Okay, but where have you been? You disappeared for three weeks. We thought you got kidnapped again.”
“Funny you should mention that…I was actually kidnapped,” I say deadpan.
My friends burst out laughing. Yelena leans in closer, her curiosity piqued. “Shit, what’s the story this time? Is this Stockholm syndrome? Wait. Don’t tell me you’re actually fucking your kidnapper.”
Anya grins, looking like she’s about to burst. “Yo girls! I texted her yesterday to find out what was up.”
Darcy and Yelena turn to her, leaning in. “And?”
Anya plays the room, dragging out the moment with practiced ease. “She was at her boyfriend’s place. Overnight.”
“No way.” Darcy’s eyes bulge. “Zoya doesn't do sleepovers. Not after the last disaster. I was half-convinced you’d been recruited by a cult.”
“Spill, you freaky bitch.” Yelena grabs my hand, her rings cold against my skin. “Whose dick has you acting this bougie? With your nasty attitude, he must be dropping millions on you.”
I take a slow sip of champagne, letting the bubbles settle. “You guys know I have a past I was running from, right?”
“Yeah,” Anya nods, her smile fading into seriousness. “We know.”
“Well. It was an arranged marriage.”
Yelena holds up a hand, stopping me mid-sentence. “Hold on. Before we go any further, we need strong alcohol. I’m pretty sure we can’t process this shit with a clear head.” She starts pouring, filling four glasses to the brim. “Alright. Everyone take a shot.”
We throw our heads down in unison, downing it.
The vodka burns a path down my throat, grounding me.
I set the glass down with a heavy click.
“It was an arranged marriage. My father and my fiancé’s father set it up when I was fifteen.
I was twenty when I found out, and only because I walked in on a conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear.
My father had been parading me in front of the wrong man for years, and I never had a clue. ”
“So you’re from a dynasty?” Darcy asks, her voice breathless. “Like, old money?”
“Underworld money,” I correct her.
Anya smacks the table. “I knew it! That’s why you’re so chill when people grab you off the street.”
“I’m not chill,” I mutter, pouring a refill. “I just know the protocol. Anyway, can I finish?”
Yelena zips her lips and nods frantically.
“He’s been stalking me for five years. I ran away when he came to collect me, but I wasn't smart about it. I moved to Russia without changing my name. I basically delivered myself back to him on a silver platter.”
“Zoya,” Anya whispers, her eyes searching mine. “Who is he really? Is he a high level mafia member?”
I take a steadying breath. “I’m getting married to the Pakhan. You’re looking at the future wife of the head of the Bratva.”
The room goes dead. The clinking of silverware in the main restaurant seems miles away.
Yelena finally speaks, her voice a tiny whisper. “Wait. Are you telling me you’re Mrs. Pakhan? You’re the Pakhness of the whole damn country?”
Darcy slaps the table. “Shit. And I thought our lives were boring. You’re living the Fast and Furious lifestyle.
“Alright.” Yelena grabs the vodka bottle with a predatory look. “We need another round. There is no way I’m processing a Bratva marriage in this headspace.” She splashes four more shots into the glasses, and the routine continues.
Anya looks at me, her usual gossip-hungry expression turning serious. “Are you actually okay with this? Because if you need to run properly this time - change your name, your face, everything - you call me. I’ll sell my favorite bag for you.”
I blink, genuinely touched. “You’d actually do that?”
“Of course. I’m not as money-driven as you guys think.” She cuts a sharp look at Yelena. “And speaking of money problems, well, we know who the real risk is. Yelena would sell me for a couple of euros and a cigarette.”
Yelena throws her hands up in mock defense. “Okay, calm down. Things were tight, and the black market pays fast.”
I laugh, feeling the vodka finally smoothing out the edges of my nerves. “Alright, enough dark shit. It’s a birthday party.” I raise my glass. “Happy birthday, Yelena.”
“Forget the wishes,” Yelena says, her hands out. “Where’s the gift?”
I reach down and pull up the gift bag. She snatches it, shredding the wrap like a kid on Christmas morning. When she sees the label on the bottle, her mouth drops. “Oh, my God! Is this…”
“Only the finest for my favorite alcoholic.”
Tears well up in her eyes before she turns to Darcy. “And you? What did you get me?”
Darcy slides a box across the table. “Remember that bag you were obsessing over?”
Yelena screams as she hugs the bottle in one arm and the box in the other. “Thank you! Seriously!” She looks at us, then glares at Anya. “Alright, just because I’m not a stingy bitch like somebody... I’m pouring everyone another glass.”
She starts filling the shot glasses again. “Happy birthday to me. I’m praying for my own mafia boss and a life where I don’t have to check my bank balance every hour. I’m saying it now so when I die, nobody says I should have spoken up. I’m speaking up. I am struggling.”
“We get it. Cheers!”
The music swells, the heavy beat of Russian pop taking over the room. Someone fires up the karaoke machine, and the air is suddenly filled with the sound of Darcy absolutely butchering a ballad. When it’s my turn to head for the mic, Darcy catches my arm.
“Zoya, wait…”
“What? Everyone else went. Why can't I?”
They exchange a series of panicked looks. “You know what, Zo? I don’t think the machine has any songs you actually know,” Darcy says, her voice a little too careful.
“Guys, I’m not that bad. I know what you’re doing.”
Darcy puts a hand on my shoulder, her face a mask of pity. “Look, I’m just going to be honest. It’s not about talent. There could be kids around.”
I huff but let them pull me toward the dance floor instead.
As the beat drops, my phone buzzes, and I see Alexei’s call ID pop up.
I answer the video call and hide the phone in the corner of the booth where only I can see it.
He looks lethal in his suit, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my surroundings.
I don't say a word. I just let the music guide me - rolling my hips, letting my hands travel over my breasts and down my thighs, the Valentino clinging to me like a second skin.
I lock eyes with him through the screen, watching his jaw work as he tries to stay composed.
I turn around, giving him a deliberate view of my blue thong under the chocolate fabric.
“Vedma,” he growls, his voice thick with a hunger that makes my stomach flip.
I turn back with a smirk, blowing him a kiss just as Anya leans into the frame. Then Anya appears next to me. “Zo, what are you…”
I immediately end the call and shove the phone back in my purse.