Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
“Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.”
― Mae West
Caia
I touched up my red lipstick for what felt like the hundredth time in the past hour, my nerves making my hand unsteady. The car made a sharp U-turn, almost causing me to overdo it and end up with lips that looked like a Kylie Jenner tutorial gone wrong.
Red lipstick was my confidence booster, a mask that shielded the real me.
With trembling hands, I tucked my compact mirror back into my coat and fussed with my hair. It had been ages since I felt this nervous, and I considered asking Drayi to pull over so I could empty my stomach by the side of the road .
“Stop fidgeting; you’re going to make me sick,” my father said, placing a hand on my knee to stop its restless movement. “You look lovely, Caia. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
I bit my tongue to hold back my anger.
I wanted to push his hand away and escape from the car, walking back to the city.
His ‘it'll work out’ essentially meant, ‘he'll fuck you, you'll see ’.
Bitterness welled up in my throat, and I couldn't help but resent him even more.
“Men enjoy a little chase, Caia,” my father said, giving his unwanted advice. “So, make him work for it. Don’t give in too easily.”
The urge to vomit grew even stronger.
“I don’t need advice on getting men, Papa. It’s disgustingly easy; you’re all too eager.”
He laughed heartily. “That’s undeniably true, isn’t it, Drayi?”
“ Da , boss,” Drayi nodded. “A dick will always want a pussy.”
I rolled my eyes.
They truly are all the same.
The car finally pulled into the rocky front yard and stopped in front of an imposing Manor, a dark and gloomy mansion with a price tag in the millions of rubles. Tall trees stood sentry around the property, like nature’s own guards, hiding secrets behind closed doors and shuttered windows.
"Remember, Caia, keep that lovely smile on," my father said, adjusting my chin.
I nodded, deliberately avoiding his gaze. The grandeur of the Manor and the weight of his expectations were heavy on my shoulders, leaving me anxious.
I couldn’t wait for the night to end.
Holding the box of homemade blini close to my stomach, I focused on regulating my breathing, willing my heart to calm down.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
We stood outside, waiting for someone to open the door and welcome us.
My father was beside me, Drayi just behind.
To an outsider, it might appear we were a loving family awaiting entry in the snow.
But appearances can be deceiving.
By my side was a drug addict and dealer, and behind me, a sadistic sociopath.
As for me, I was often labeled a whore, an angel to my babushka, and a lost soul in my own eyes.
The massive doors of the Manor loomed before us, adorned with doorknobs shaped like lion's heads, resembling something out of a classic film.
At last, just as my teeth began to chatter from the cold, the door swung open, revealing Igor himself. His displeased frown greeted us, but he gestured for us to enter and promptly took the box from my hands.
“You’re late, Mankiev.”
As I glanced down the grand hallway, I was captivated by the opulence around us. Luxurious carpets lined the floor, intricate paintings adorned the walls, and the soft glow of elegant candlesticks lit our way. It felt like stepping into a Russian version of the Palace of Versailles.
"My apologies, old friend," my father replied, offering a respectful nod. "Caia has prepared homemade blinis just for you."
I offered Igor a modest smile. "I hope you enjoy desserts. I'm not a great cook, but blinis are my specialty."
Igor’s brow furrowed further. "Your daughter’s too good for you, Mankiev."
My father laughed and gave Igor a hearty pat on the back.
The men continued their conversation as they headed toward what I assumed was the dining room. I was left alone in the hallway, relieved to shed my coat after the chill of the outdoors.
As I carefully hung my coat on the rack, my attention shifted to the stubborn boots clinging to my calves.
Balancing on one high heel, I struggled to remove them, gripping the doorknob for support. Just as I managed to free one foot, someone on the other side of the door pushed it open abruptly.
I lost my balance and, with an undignified yelp, found myself seated on the floor, staring down in bewilderment.
Startled and flustered, I glanced up to find Alexsei Romaniev leaning in the doorway, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. Heat rose to my cheeks, not from embarrassment but from the sheer irritation of seeing him yet again. My awkward tumble wasn’t helping, and I quickly kicked off the offending boot, trying to salvage what little dignity I had left.
He scoffed. “And here I thought women had it all under control.”
I narrowed my eyes, standing up and dusting off my black dress with exaggerated care. “You again. What’s the deal, Romaniev? Did you sign some kind of pact with the devil just to annoy me, or are you hopelessly obsessed?”
His silence was telling, but his eyes—oh, those eyes—slowly raked down my body, and I could feel them deliciously burning my skin .
My father had insisted I wear this dress to appear “more presentable.”
The dress he chose for me was tighter than I preferred, reaching my ankles with a daring slit on the right leg, long sleeves, and a pronounced neckline. The design aimed to capture attention without appearing overly revealing.
Judging by Alexsei’s gaze, the dress seemed to have done its job quite effectively.
I had opted for loose waves in my hair, fastening a few strands away from my face with a dainty bow. It was a deliberate choice to add a hint of innocence to my look.
As I stood there, he finally broke his silence, his eyes locking onto mine with a wicked glint. "Nice outfit, Caia. Gotta hand it to your dad—he sure knows how to show off his... assets."
A pang of wrath hit me at his comment.
It seemed the game had begun.
Men like him enjoyed the thrill of the chase, so I decided to let him pursue me.
And what better way to make him believe he’d never stand a chance?
"At least my dad has assets. What do you have, besides being your boss’s little lapdog?" I taunted with a smirk before turning on my heel and heading toward the room where the men had gathered.
With a slight sway in my hips, I accentuated each step, knowing full well his eyes were still on me. As I entered the room, I sensed the shift in atmosphere and knew the evening was going to be anything but ordinary.
“How d’you find this shit?”
We continued around the ornate table, surrounded by vodka and champagne glasses, and a platter of beef stroganoff and roasted potatoes.
I was next to my father, Drayi on my other side, and Alexsei, Volk, and Igor across from us.
I focused on my plate, cutting into the meat while tucking stray strands of hair behind my ear. I tried to keep up the cheerful facade my father had insisted on, even though I was getting bored.
My father, his mouth full, started his story. "Went to Columbia a few months ago. Met the Don from Los Aguilas. Luiz. He’s got a son named Julius." He emptied his vodka glass and went on, "We had a chat, and he introduced me to this stuff. It’s so addictive that one dose is all it takes. He wasn’t wrong."
I grabbed my glass of water and accidentally made eye contact with Romaniev.
He lounged back, one arm draped over the armrest, the other casually stroking his chin. His tailored black suit highlighted his strong frame, and the white shirt beneath was buttoned just enough to tease at his collarbones, drawing my gaze.
I couldn’t help but notice the lines of his neck, the vein pulsing with life, his jawline, and his full lips. His slightly crooked nose and those deep , captivating blue eyes made him hard to ignore.
"How much for a kilo?" Volk asked, his mouth full.
"Fifteen a gram," my father replied. "So, 1,500 a kilo."
Igor pointed his fork at my father. “So, you screwed me over with that deal? Two months without compensation? It should’ve been three for your debt.”
A tense silence fell over the room .
I nearly spat out my water, realizing Igor had just called my father a thief right in front of everyone.
My father gave a forced laugh. "Business is business, my old friend."
I speared a potato and ate it, trying to hide my unease as I scanned the room.
“How old are you, Caia?”
I was caught off guard and stifled a cough, feeling a piece of food stuck in my throat. After a few seconds, I managed to recover and looked up at Romaniev.
"Twenty-one," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He took a sip from his glass, his eyes glued to mine.
The silence was heavy, lit by flickering candlelight.
“Not too young,” he finally said.
My heart raced, and my palms grew sweaty. I discreetly dried them on my dress and crossed my legs to stop fidgeting.
“Alexsei—” Igor started, but I cut him off.
“Not too young for what?” I asked, playing innocent even though I had a good idea of what he meant.
I braced myself for something crude. He might say something about sex or well … worse.
His voice turned cold. “For our world.”
I scoffed. "You mean for murder, dealing, and prostitution?"
Volk laughed and took a sip from his glass, keeping his intense gaze on Romaniev.
My father chuckled nervously. "Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Caia. Our business has given you the life you have."
If by “life” he meant the guilt over my friend’s death, being pursued by men who see me as a prize and do terrible things to me, and dealing with a drug-addicted father, then sure, I’m living the dream.
A dream where my best friend found out what happened to Lukas because of me, she cut me out of her life. This continued until late September, when she took her own life. Her final text said she could never forgive me for ruining her life when all she’d ever done was be … kind to me.
A pang of guilt hit me whenever I thought of Lily.
My poor Lily.
I cleared my throat. "Of course, Papa. I’m grateful for everything."
I then excused myself to powder my nose.
Feeling their eyes on my back, I hurried down the hallway, opened the door on the left, and stepped into a lavish restroom with ivory tiles and Greek-themed toiletries.
I splashed cold water on my chest and neck, trying to calm myself.
The situation felt like a huge mistake, and the task ahead seemed impossible.
I hated Romaniev—the way he spoke like he had wisdom to spare, strutted around like the world owed him something, and especially the way he looked at me, like I was some moldy leftovers he forgot to throw out.
The fact that my father wants me to sleep with him was… insane.
A sudden knock on the door startled me.
I dried my hands and checked myself in the mirror, making sure everything was in place. Satisfied, I opened the door, only to find Romaniev leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
He raised an eyebrow as I approached, a smirk playing on his lips. “There you are, Caia.”
I almost rolled my eyes. “What do you want, Lucifer? To insult me again?”
He shook his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face, and stepped closer until we were inches apart.
“Oh, worse, baby,” he whispered, his face close enough that his breath tickled my ear. “I’m gonna make you scream .”