17. Tatiana
TATIANA
I llias shook his head and let out a sardonic breath.
“No, Tatiana,” he uttered. “My mother had an affair with Adrian’s father.” My shocked gasp filled the air. “It’s what got her and Adrian’s father killed. I was there that night, I saw it.”
“How old are you?” I asked him. I knew the irony of not knowing my husband’s age, but it wasn’t as if our courting-slash-dating was normal.
“Forty.”
Adrian would have been forty-two. Maybe Illias was right and his mother had an affair with a married man.
“What happened that night?” I asked him quietly.
Illias’ jaw clenched and his eyes darkened to black pools.
“My mother woke my brother and me up in the middle of the night, to run away with her lover. We met them in a parking lot outside Moscow. The guy had another kid, but my father knew her plans. He showed up there with his men. They killed him, then her. When it was time to kill the little boy, I begged him to spare his life.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “If you remembered it, so would Adrian.” In fact, I had no doubt he remembered it. He took me to that parking lot after we eloped. He left me a clue there. Except, I had no idea where it went from there. “He came after you.”
Illias nodded. “He did.”
I searched for something in my mind when a headache nearly split my temples open. Distorted images of the accident flashed, but they made no sense. None of them were connected. Faces were unrecognizable.
In the back of my skull, the headache intensified by the second. I closed my eyes, desperately searching through my memories, but it made the ache in my skull multiply tenfold.
When I opened my eyes, I found Illias watching me. The unnerving darkness and answers I wasn’t sure of lurked in his depths, frightening me.
“Why did you marry me?” I asked, shelving the memories that refused to come forward for now.
“Because you’re mine.” His voice was cold. Dark. Possessive. The tenor of his voice was calm, but there was a harshness to it.
“Not for leverage ?” He remained silent and then realization fell into place. The wedding dress he had ready for me. It was tailored. It was fucking tailored. “How long did you plan on marrying me?”
Our gazes clashed. There were secrets there and something akin to carnal possession. Although as I stared at him, I watched his walls build up and his features slowly close off.
“How long, Illias?” I demanded, keeping my anger at bay.
“Since the gazebo.” My mouth dropped. It wasn’t the answer I expected.
“B-but… But that’s like seven, eight years.” I swallowed. I got to my feet and wrapped a sheet around me. “Have you been stalking me for all those years?” I narrowed my eyes on him. “That’s not healthy.”
“If you say so.”
“Jesus, it’s like I’m talking to my brothers.” A strange look passed in his eyes. It flickered and disappeared before I could decipher it.
“That’s it,” I said. “Nothing else to say?”
Without warning, he stood up. “Get some sleep.”
* * *
I tossed and turned for hours, expecting Illias to come back to bed.
He didn’t. It was almost midnight, Moscow time, before my eyelids started to droop and sleep pulled me under.
Adrian’s hands grasped the wheel in a steel grip as we drove away from Vasili’s home. It was their traditional Halloween-slash-anniversary party. It was my favorite time of the year too. The holidays were right around the corner, yet I couldn’t muster the energy to be happy about it this year.
My eyes darted my husband’s way.
He was in a strange mood.
Something had pissed him off. He was irritable, and by the way his jaw ticked, he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Was it my comment about wanting a baby? He didn’t want kids. It was another thing he kept from me. So many damn secrets, I started to feel like I didn’t even know him.
Or maybe there was something bigger going on?
I saw Vasili, Sasha, and even Alexei get into a heated discussion with Adrian, but the moment they spotted me, the four of them abruptly stopped talking. There was only one thing my brothers didn’t share with me - Bratva business.
Adrian stuck more to legal businesses, but every so often he ventured into the illegal side. I’d be a hypocrite if I held that against him considering where my family came from. But there was something amiss, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I studied my husband’s face.
His expression was dark. His jaw clenched. His knuckles white as he clasped the steering wheel.
“Are you still mad about the baby comment?” I demanded to know. My heart clenched remembering how fast he shut me down when I first mentioned it a month ago. It had slowly progressed from there - the anger simmered, the bitterness swallowed, and the betrayal grew.
Ironic really. It only took one major topic and only a month for our differences to manifest.
But I refused to cower or accept defeat. I’d been honest with Adrian from day one. I wanted a family. If he never had any intention of having children, he should have told me before I pledged my life to him.
He flicked his eyes my way, then returned them to the road. I waited for an explanation. For another argument. Anything.
Instead, I just got silence that felt heavy and thick, suffocating us both.
“I just want a simple family,” I rasped, my heart fluttering with broken wings. “A simple life. I don’t need all the fancy stuff.” He scoffed, throwing me an incredulous glance. “I totally would,” I protested.
“You’d give up your wardrobe? Your jewelry? Your Gucci, Chanel, Dior, Hermès?” he asked with a snicker.
Okay, so I liked nice stuff. I couldn’t help it.
It made me feel good when I was down. Whenever I was sad or upset, my brothers would take me shopping.
They hated it, but it was the only way they knew how to compensate.
Sasha would hug me, try to talk to me, then drag me out to the fanciest store within our vicinity.
Vasili would just grumble about hormones, then drag me to the store.
He’d find a corner where he’d brood while working and order sales ladies to satisfy my every whim. Father was rarely, if ever, around.
Hence, my brothers created a monster. A stylish monster.
“I would give it all up,” I claimed. There was no doubt in my voice. No second guessing. I just wanted us to have a family. A child. Maybe two. A boy and a girl.
“No.” One word, but it had so much power to hurt. Pain sliced through me. Anger followed. He had no right to take that away from me without an explanation.
“Why not?” I snapped, but as the last syllable left my lips, Adrian floored the gas and my body flew back into the seat. I shot him a glare to find him peering into the side mirror.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed.
No answer.
Worry furrowed his eyebrows. The vein in his neck pulsed. I opened my mouth to say something, but it was like the switch was flipped.
My head hit the passenger window. Again and again.
Adrian said something. His lips moved. He said something else. I couldn’t hear it. I tried to focus on the words. “Tatiana, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have used you.”
Smash.
The world was turning. We tumbled, the car rolling over with a loud thud. Until silence came over us. Until the world settled the wrong way.
I shifted, trying to reach out to Adrian. He wasn’t in the driver seat.
My eyes darted out the window.
Men in suits surrounded him and they all studied Adrian with disdain. A disgusted look on their faces.
“Meet Marchetti, stronzo.” He had to be a bodyguard.
My heart leapt into my throat. Something about the name, Marchetti, sounded ominous. Dangerous. I had heard the name somewhere, but I wasn’t sure where.
I studied him, unable to peel my gaze away from him.
He was handsome. Older. Slightly older than the other devil with a deep voice.
Marchetti had thick dark hair and piercing eyes.
The kind that could shred your soul into pieces.
By just snapping his fingers. Silence stretched, ready to snap like a fragile rubber band.
It was Marchetti who broke the silence.
“Adrian Morozov, we finally meet.” His voice was smooth. His words rolled off his tongue with a smooth Italian accent. “Do you know why we’re here?”
My husband nodded once. No words.
“Then you understand there is no escaping this alive,” he said softly. Yet, there was nothing soft about his words nor the look he gave him.
“Where is it?” Marchetti demanded to know.
Adrian’s eyes flickered my way as I watched the whole exchange with wide eyes. I had no idea what they were talking about.
Adrian. My mouth moved, but nothing came out. My throat was too dry.
He turned his gaze away. “It’s no longer here.”
Then as if Marchetti read my mind, he snapped his fingers and one of his men slammed his first into Adrian’s chin.
His head snapped back from the force of the impact.
I tasted blood in my mouth and realized I bit into my tongue.
Another fist came at my husband but he didn’t fight back.
It was hardly fair, five against one. But why wasn’t Adrian fighting back?
The man in an expensive Italian suit kept his hands clean, tucked in his pants as he watched dispassionately as one of his men beat Adrian.
My fingers finally found the button and pressed it. The seat belt came undone, hitting the door with a loud bang. It sounded like a gong going off and instantly everyone outside stilled.
A quick burst of shots rang through the air. It felt like they went on for hours, when in fact it was just a few seconds.
Instinctively I ducked down, although I was already crammed down, and I placed both hands over my ears to block out the loud noises. It reminded me of the crescendo of a bad opera piece. The pitch got louder and harsher, piercing my brain.
Then it stopped. A deafening silence. I should be relieved but it felt even more ominous than the sound of gunshots.
My heart squeezed in my throat, the pulse choking me slowly.