Chapter 9
ADRIANNE
Vladimir Volkov was everything I could ever imagine a Russian war veteran would be.
Cold, hard features, and a permanent scowl that demanded respect and exuded authority.
A voice that could freeze the blood in your veins, and eyes that had seen too much death to shine, even under the brightest of suns.
The resemblance to Nikolai’s was uncanny, and at the same time, unsettling as hell. Because, despite the similarity, his father’s eyes looked at me in a way that rattled my bones and unsettled my soul with their darkness.
Now, ten minutes after walking into this palace, I was walking down a long corridor, leaving behind the rainbows of color the huge chandeliers cast when the sunlight hit them.
There was no denying the beauty of this place, and if Nikolai hadn’t clarified otherwise, I’d be fooled to think it was something other than a cage dressed up to look like paradise.
His uptight maid led the way, turning into a small side room while another servant laid out clothes on a narrow bench.
“Dress. Now.” She said in a cold and detached tone.
My blood ran cold when I saw what Vladimir expected me to wear.
The dress, if I could even call it that, was little more than scraps of black fabric. Strapless, obscenely short, with a neckline that would leave nothing to the imagination. But it was the collar that made my hands shake.
Black leather with silver studs, and a matching leash sat beside it like an ominous promise of what was going to happen.
The servant gestured to the outfit, her expression disturbingly neutral. This was just another Tuesday at the Volkov Estate. Degrading outfits for newcomers, and yet, not a crease of worry covered either of the women’s faces.
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to tell them to go to hell and demand to keep my clothes.
But the memory of Vladimir’s cold eyes and the casual way he’d threatened to make me his “personal breeder” kept me silent.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be difficult. Some men preferred the hunt, to break the spirit of a woman who denies them.
I’d gone through it to some extent, but it was clear that Vladimir Volkov was on a whole new level that Barry, my ex-boyfriend, could never reach, even if he stretched.
When I returned to the dining room, Vladimir’s smile was pure satisfaction. He gestured to a spot on the floor beside his chair, and my jaw almost dropped.
“Much better,” he purred, taking the end of the leash from my trembling fingers. “Come, sit where you belong.”
Slowly, I walked towards the dining table, feeling Nikolai’s eyes set on me throughout the whole parade. I stole a single glance at his face, but couldn’t decipher that expression. Disgust? Revolt?
The snarl had his top lip curled, his eyes dead set on me in a way that told me his mind was going a million miles an hour.
My cheeks burned from embarrassment, and I fought not to cover myself with my arms.
Lowering to the ground, I did as I was commanded, taking the spot right next to Vladimir as he guided me to his seat.
The marble floor was cold against my knees.
Vladimir yanked the leash down with more force than necessary, making the collar dig into my throat as he tied the other end to the heavy leg of his chair.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Nikolai sat across from us at the massive dining table, his face a mask of controlled rage. His knuckles were white where they gripped his napkin, and I could see that muscle jumping in his jaw again.
“Now,” Vladimir said, settling into his chair with obvious pleasure. “Let’s discuss business over Italian food.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me, even if, in reality, I had as little Italian in me as Vladimir had kindness.
An army of servants brought course after course. Rich smells that made my empty stomach cramp with hunger while I knelt beside Vladimir like an animal, watching him eat.
“Tell me, Nikolai,” Vladimir said, cutting into his steak with worrying precision. “Did you know that it was this little tramp who orchestrated the deal between the Yakuza and the Cartel that left us high and dry, with a warehouse full of coke to cut and no one to do it for us?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but Nikolai seemed to be following perfectly. “We could have worked out a new deal. I’m not sure taking her will have the desired effect.”
“Of course it will. I’ve taught you better than that, Syn.
I know you see the depths of this move better than you’d like to admit.
Working with the Yakuza was always a placeholder for my bigger plans.
There’s no reason to cut profit with middlemen when you can do it yourself and retain one hundred percent of your business.
Taking out the Battaglias will allow us to do exactly that.
” Vladimir turned to me, holding my chin up with his index, making me hold back a shiver from the way his touch made my skin crawl.
“And you, my dear, are our golden ticket to New York.”
“What’s the next step?” Nikolai asked coldly.
“Proof of life.” Vladimir’s voice was cold and detached, like he wasn’t talking about another human being. “Funny how that comes when you’re here for the dead.”
Vladimir talked to Nikolai in circles, speaking in riddles and half-truths that seemed designed to frustrate his son.
“You can thank them for having a shot at your megalomaniac plan.”
“Your dear mother always did think she was better than she was,” Vladimir said, taking a bite of his meal, his mouth spurting the thoughts that ran through his mind with no connection to the actual conversation, but the goal was clear: rattle Nikolai’s barely restrained rage.
“Irina believed her delicate sensibilities made her special.”
Nikolai went rigid across the table, his jaw locked so tight it had to hurt.
“She begged, you know. At the very end, when she realized what was happening. All that pride, all that dignity, and she died on her knees just like any common whore.”
The fork clattered against Nikolai’s plate as he set it down too hard. His face had gone completely white, but those blue eyes burned with a fury so intense I could feel the heat from across the table.
“What? Can’t a man reminisce about his late wife?” Vladimir’s voice took on a mocking tone. “And Anya. Such a pretty child. Shame she inherited her mother’s weakness instead of the Volkov strength. I mean, how hard can it be to just swim?”
I could see Nikolai struggling to maintain control, his hands shaking with the effort not to reach across the table and strangle his father. The pain in his eyes was so raw it made my chest ache.
“You see, my son has quite the sentimental streak,” Vladimir said, trying to feed me a piece of meat from his fork. “He’s been begging me for twenty years to tell him where I buried his precious mother and sister.”
I turned my head away from the fork, refusing to be fed like an animal, trying my best to reel in the shock from that statement. So that’s what this is. That’s how Vladimir has been manipulating his son.
Vladimir’s grip tightened on the leash, yanking it hard enough that the collar cut into my neck. “You’ll eat what I give you, when I give it to you.”
I couldn’t help but think back to the moment when Nikolai fed me in that dirty train car. It was degrading and wrong on so many levels, but it was never like this.
“I’d better starve then,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.
Vladimir’s laugh was cruel and cynical. “Spirited. I do love breaking the spirited ones.”
“Where are they?” Nikolai's voice was barely controlled, coming out through his gritted teeth. “You said if I delivered the Battaglia girl…”
“I said perhaps. I said maybe. You chose to hear promises where none existed.”
“Tell me where you put them.” His hand curled around his steak knife, and I saw the murder in his eyes flashing brighter than any emotion I’ve seen him have.
“I don’t know how many times I have to warn you, Syn.
Dead blood is poison in the veins.” Son.
Vladimir’s voice was almost gentle, paternalistic and condescending, which made it more terrifying.
The knife he slowly carried to rest on my throat pinched into my flesh, and I could feel the moment it finally broke skin.
“The more you cling to ghosts, the more they drag you down with them.”
My eyes were wide, looking straight at Nikolai, silently pleading with him to set down the weapon and regain control. “Please,” I mouthed, and after a few seconds, he reluctantly did.
“You seem tense, Syn,” Son. Vladimir mocked, studying his son’s face. “Having second thoughts about our arrangement?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I’d hate to think you’ve grown attached to our guest. That would be disappointing.”
“She’s a deal. Nothing more.”
“Prove it.” Vladimir grabbed my hair roughly, yanking my head back so I was forced to look up at Nikolai. “Feed her yourself. Show me she means nothing.”
Nikolai’s jaw tightened, and forever passed before he spoke. His eyes met mine for just a moment, and I saw something flicker there. Conflict. Whatever he did next was a conscious choice between standing by his father or defying him and risking losing the chance to get what he wanted.
“I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
Vladimir’s grip on my hair tightened until tears sprang to my eyes. “After all these years, after everything I’ve given you, you still question my methods? You are who you are because of me.”
The silence stretched between them, thick with twenty years of hatred and manipulation. I could see Nikolai’s internal war playing out across his features.
Finally, Nikolai stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
“Slabak.” Vladimir sneered, and I was sure it was something derogatory, but Nikolai just kept walking. Weakling.