Chapter 10 - Victoria
Every second I spend in the back of the Range Rover with Roman feels more torturous than the last. And yet, there’s nowhere I can go. Nowhere I can turn to for relief.
As the driver takes us away from the house, I can still feel the warmth of his palms against my thighs, along with the jolt it sends through me. I don’t even want to admit how it shook me up, but those sensations persist anyway.
Not to mention, my chest is still tight with irritation, as it seems to always be around Roman. He has a way of spiking that response in me, no matter what he’s saying or how he tries to speak to me.
I was convinced my fighting would turn him off and help him see I’m not worth the hassle of keeping me around, but it seems he’s unwilling to accept that fact.
Roman’s too busy believing he’s the right one in this situation. That he’s being the good guy.
Stewing over it only makes me feel worse, but it’s so hard to think of anything other than all the reasons I have to be angry with him.
Trying to force it out of my mind, I stare out the window and watch as the city moves around us, littered with giant neon signs and all the temptations Vegas has to offer.
I’m not one to find those things all that tempting, but even so, it provides me with enough of a distraction to help the drive pass.
Even if I try to keep my gaze out the window, I can’t help but catch glimpses of him in the corner of my eye, able to see how he lounges in the seat beside me like he owns the very air I’m breathing.
Keeping my legs together and angled away from him, I try to force as much distance between us as I can, regardless of how intimate the back seat feels.
Strip malls, gas stations, pawn shops, and other storefronts move by us; in a way, it all reeks of desperation. Las Vegas is, unfortunately, uglier in the daytime, regardless of its nighttime counterpart. It’s too exposed and vulnerable, and not at all in its element.
In a way, that’s how I feel, too, and I hate it.
Pulling in a slow breath, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I glance over at Roman, even if only briefly. “Where are we going?”
He idly scrolls through his phone, not pulling his eyes away from it. He gives me a vaguely bored tone, or perhaps, slightly irritated.
“We’re seeing my family.”
My heart freezes in my chest. “What?”
“You heard me. They want to meet you.”
Furrowing my brows at that, I let my eyes rest on him a moment longer while I try to conceptualize that idea.
They want to meet me…like I’m some girlfriend of his? The thought seems ridiculous until the realization sets in…the reality is even worse than that. I’m his wife. I never even had the chance to be a girlfriend in the first place.
His words echo in my head, and I can’t wrap my mind around how insane it sounds. How he’s saying it like this is a normal introductory dinner and not a result of him kidnapping me and taking over my entire life.
I blink back at him. “Why would they want to meet me?”
His expression is far too neutral. Too casual. “Because you’re with me now…my family is important to me, and whoever is with me is also with them.”
How…cozy of him.
“Do you have anything for yourself?” I ask pointedly, heavy-handed with the sarcasm.
Roman shrugs. “Some things, sure. But a wife? That’s not something I’m keeping hidden from them.”
It’s not necessarily something I expected him to do, but it still feels strange for some reason. It feels too fast, just like everything else.
“And do they know the truth?”
“The intricacies of this arrangement? Yes, of course, they do. They know everything that happens in this business. They are a part of it, after all.”
So they’re all like him. Great.
With a deep breath, I face the window again, well aware of how much faster my heart starts beating.
Reminding myself to breathe, I try to focus on the passing buildings. I try to keep myself level and not let all of it get to my head.
But it already feels too late.
Seeing his family is like a confirmation, as if that’s what makes the marriage real. Meeting them makes my chances of waking up from this nightmare even slimmer than they had been in the first place.
Now, I won’t be able to wake up in my apartment or find myself returning from some state of psychosis in the elementary school.
No…Roman said he already erased my life. He handled it .
Eventually, the SUV slows and pulls into a private entrance hidden mostly out of sight. The valet waits wearing all black, and it doesn’t take much to realize it’s clearly one of his.
As the door is opened, Roman gets out first, but I hesitate.
No part of me wants to cooperate. I don’t want to play along with the game set up by him, for him. I sure as hell don’t want to be his unwilling wife.
But for whatever reason, seeing the few men around us, knowing we’re in public, stops me from sulking as I feel inclined to.
Instead, I follow him out.
Muted music reaches me first as we approach, with Roman staying behind me with a hand hovering over my lower back.
At a glance, it might look protective or even tender. But I know better than that…it’s him bracing for my attempt to bolt.
As tempting as that sounds, I also know I wouldn’t make it two feet before being tackled by one of his men, if not Roman himself.
Once the back door opens, the bass carries out of the club, and we approach the ever-growing music with every step.
The place is sleek and strangely well-concealed. If you don’t know, then you won’t know. It all seems very intentional.
Everything inside feels just like the interior of his house: expensive, polished, and laced with dark, rich colors. It somehow screams organized crime, and immediately, I don’t fit in.
I feel like someone wearing a costume, trying their hardest to blend in, only to do the opposite.
Roman leads me down a hallway until we reach a private section fit with plush couches, a bar off to the side, and a more intimate atmosphere. The glass divider walls provide a look into the rest of the club while still maintaining some separation.
At once, I see them there too. His family.
Their heads turn in our direction the moment we walk in, and I feel like even more of a poser if that were possible.
The resemblance is uncanny—all with sharp jaws, high cheekbones, and some blue eyes and dark hair variation.
A man leaning against the bar grins to himself. “If it isn’t the bride and groom.”
At once, a mutual sense of amusement seems to break their reserved expressions, and they look us both over.
Roman nods, giving a quiet but insistent nudge against my back to usher me on.
“Everyone, this is Victoria,” he says, almost showing me off like something he won at a county fair.
Something in me feels the urge to say hi, or some other lame-sounding greeting, but my throat is dry and tighter than it ever has been.
One of the men sitting on a couch stands with a glass of neat vodka in his hand, and he extends the other with a warmer grin.
“I’m Sergey…the brother everyone likes.”
He catches me off guard, but I shake his hand anyway.
Before I can say anything, one of the others, whom I believe Roman referred to as Mikhail before, snorts.
“Yeah, sure. The shit-disturber is more like it.”
The others chuckle, and the only other woman in the room stands with a practiced smile. At least, that’s how it looks to me.
Her long, dark brown hair sits perfectly over her shoulders while she reaches for my hand next.
“Ignore my brothers. I’m Elena. The normal one. And Roman’s actual favorite.”
At that, Roman’s lip pulls slightly, giving away that she might be onto something.
The others all make their rebuttals, and before long, they’re talking over each other like a normal family would, waving one another’s claims off and teasing one another.
It’s all a bit much at once, but something about it is strangely endearing.
After a moment, Elena sighs and returns her attention to me. “Honestly, they’re all animals. But it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I manage to say despite how hard my heart is racing in my chest. Even if I don’t want to be there.
Elena grins, then guides me by the hand away from Roman, who huffs a quiet breath and moves further into the space behind us.
I blink through my faint surprise as I’m led over to the couch and introduced to the others.
Mikhail, Sergey, Ivan, Nikolai, and Elena...
… and, of course, Roman—their leader.
Trying to remember who is who feels daunting at first, but as they talk and start to show more of their personalities, it gets a little easier to place a name to a face.
With the initial introductions out of the way, they all seem to fall into a natural progression…sliding into casual conversation without missing a beat.
Their presence is overwhelming, yet they seem perfectly at ease with each other. Within themselves, as well.
I hang back while sitting next to Elena on the sofa, holding a glass of whiskey I didn’t ask for, somewhat awkwardly. Part of me wants to disappear into the cushions.
Instead, I mostly spectate—watching and listening. Quietly suffocating.
Well aware that I’m not one of them, and that I’m certainly not built to be as ruthless and effortlessly dangerous as they are, I swallow back the desire to get up and flee. I try not to look as small and insignificant as I feel.
Every once in a while, I catch Roman’s eyes sliding over to me, but I look away. It feels harder than ever to meet his gaze.
As the others talk and joke, I look down at the whiskey and realize I have the perfect distraction right in my grasp.
So I drink.
It burns on the way down, but the next one goes down easier. Followed by the next one.
As his siblings slowly become tipsier, they continue pouring more liquor, and I get even drunker.
By then, their laughter starts to sound contagious. Their conversations sound funnier. The rigidity in my body slips away, along with the crippling anxiety from before.
Elena turns to me with her cheeks vaguely splotched, and she grins while taking my hand again.
“Come, come… I’m tired of being stuck with my brothers.”
Before I can say anything, I’m swept off my feet, and at once, we receive a questioning glance from Roman.
Elena scoffs and chuckles, waving him off. “Relax…we’re going to dance.”
Dancing…something about that suddenly sounds incredibly appealing. I haven’t danced in forever. That explanation seems to disarm him, and despite his lingering gaze, Roman waves us on.
Looking pleased with herself, Elena guides me into the general crowd, off to the side so as not to get lost in the sea of people. Immediately, she pulls me in to dance, and we both let ourselves get lost in it.
Despite myself, I feel lighter than usual…less stressed. Less oppressed by the heaviness of my current situation.
I feel as if my inhibitions dissolve, and before I know it, I’m moving like I haven’t in far too long.
It’s easier than I expected to drift with the music, the lights, and the other bodies around us, and with the booze in my system, all I can think about is holding that rhythm.
I have no idea how much time has gone by, but eventually, I feel someone come up behind me as their body heat seeps into my back.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find Roman standing over me with a brow raised. “What are you doing?”
As I lose track of Elena, I try not to be fazed by his presence, but something about meeting his gaze then feels different. It’s almost…exciting, in a way.
“Dancing.”
There’s a pause, then his voice sounds closer to my ear. “This doesn’t seem like your typical scene.”
Not caring to be too careful with my words, I continue moving with the music, slurring my words slightly. “Maybe you don’t know much about me then.”
When I glance over my shoulder again, I catch how both of his brows go up, but he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, I feel him move even closer, then his hands slowly slide to my waist.
To my surprise, he joins me.
There’s nothing choreographed or practiced about it. It’s certainly not what I’d normally do, as he guessed, but it’s magnetizing.
His hands brush along my ribs, sending small bolts of lightning through my body and making it all feel so much more electrifying with the whiskey clouding my head.
As we fall into that less-than-innocent rhythm, able to feel him pressed up against me, I don’t stop him. It doesn’t even cross my mind to.
While I’m aware of how dangerous the moment is, I can’t pull away. Not when I feel so weightless. Not when his cologne surrounds me and his warmth is far too tantalizing to abandon.
It’s probably stupid on my part, but I can’t help it. For the first time in days, I feel good . Too good to ignore.
So I keep dancing, and Roman follows my lead.