Chapter 7
“What does the book say?” I ask Ivan as he drums his tattooed fingers on the cover.
His eyes return to focus, having been lost in some deep thought. We have that in common. We’re always lost in our heads. Sometimes, I wonder if every moment I’ve ever lived was really all just inside my mind.
“The book is instructional, very old, and a little hard to understand unless you already know what it means,” Ivan explains, rubbing the aging cover. “Esoteric, hidden meanings, and all that.”
“Sounds like a cult,” I say, knowing very little about Esoteric things. Dimitri never spoke of them, and I’m not one to mess with things that could be dangerous.
Ivan chuckles. “Nothing like a cult, my dear. It’s purely instructional. It’s just written in a way that would be hard for outsiders to understand. If this book ever fell into the wrong hands, it’d be useless.”
“That makes sense, and it explains why you always talk in riddles,” I say, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. This entire situation has brought out a different side of me. I’m not just scared; I’m also irritable, especially when Ivan is taking a long time to explain things that shouldn’t take so long.
Too many questions, not enough answers.
Ivan raises a thick eyebrow at my response, but he doesn’t comment on my snippiness. “So, this book explains the rules of the Bratva. Some of them are simple and straight forward, such as prioritizing loyalty to the organization over personal gains, but others are more specific. We only need to get into those if you choose to join our ranks.”
“Never,” I blurt, “and I doubt Dimitri was part of this, either.”
Ivan rolls his eyes. “Come now, sweetheart, we shouldn’t have to have this conversation again. You see this ring?” He leans toward me, holding out his pinky. The ruby on his ring catches the candlelight, glinting a beautiful blood red on the gold band.
“You have the same ring. That’s not… that’s not proof of anything,” I say, my voice dying in my throat a little. There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s probably telling the truth, and I’m being immature by not accepting it.
“The engraving on this ring is our oath,” Ivan continues, running his finger across the band. “Only important members of the Bratva have these rings. They’re for the people who call the shots. If someone is to be killed, well, you need to have a ring to decree it, or it won’t happen.”
My heart sinks. Imagining Dimitri calling for someone to be killed almost seems impossible until I remember the way his eyes grew cold the time I joked about strangling my professor for giving me a bad grade. The look in his eyes freaked me out, which is why I still remember it.
“You know it’s true,” Ivan says, keeping his voice low as he leans in even closer. I can smell his cologne, and the faintest hint of smoke on his clothes. That familiar smell clings to him as well, spicy with an earthy undertone. I wonder what that is. Dimitri smelled like it too.
“Why didn’t Dimitri tell me about any of this?” I ask, my voice dry and raspy.
“Would you ever admit to killing a person?” he replies. “Think about it. You’re a civilian, and your first reaction to being in danger was to try to call the police.”
I scoff. “Stop calling me a civilian. It’s weird.”
“You’re either a civilian or you’re part of the Bratva. That’s how this works.”
“I’m not going to be fooled into joining your ranks,” I snap, pulling away from him. “I’m not interested in wearing a ring.”
“You don’t get a ring for simply joining,” he says, his green eyes dancing with mischief in the flickering light. “You have to get blood on your hands first. Ten members of any chosen opposition.”
Suddenly, the deep red borshch no longer looks appetizing. I push it away, feeling sick to my stomach. “I think I’m done with this conversation for now. I want to go home.”
“Unwise,” Ivan says, grabbing his bread and tearing a piece off with his teeth. “The cops will get you.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose and groan. “I’m not like you, Ivan. They’re not going to get me.”
“They will,” he growls, grabbing my arm and jerking it away from my face. His expression is terrifying, a harrowing mix of anger and intensity that only comes from a place of deep trauma. “You have no idea what they’ll do to a girl like you, Lily. You’re not safe anywhere but with me.”
His grip is like an iron clasp, heavy and oppressive, refusing to let me pull away. “Ivan, ouch, you’re hurting me,” I whine, even though the only reason I feel any pain is because I’m pulling myself so hard to get away from him.
He lets go immediately, a panicked look in his eye. “Sorry, I… I just want you to understand what you’re up against.”
I get up from my seat, taking a long step back while keeping my eyes locking on him. I don’t know what he’s capable of, especially after that little outburst. I like to think I’d be able to outrun him, but his reaction time is incredible. He’d be on top of me before I could even turn away.
“You can’t leave the property without my permission,” he says, his voice deep and authoritative. “So don’t even try. Like I said, you’re much safer here with me.”
“I don’t know if I am, honestly,” I reply, my voice shaking with fear. This is too much for me. I don’t want to be a scared girl like he insists I am, but I’m starting to break. Tears are rushing to my eyes, and my legs feel like jelly.
Be strong. Be so strong it scares him.
I look him in the eyes, my lower lip trembling as I try to pull myself together. “Just let me go, Ivan. I’ll be alright.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, darling, you know I can’t do that.”
“I won’t go to the police,” I insist.
He gets up from his chair, taking a cigar from his pocket and tucking it between his lips. He follows it up with the blue flame of a lighter, puffing smoke into the air between us. When he speaks, his voice is warmer. “You won’t need to go to the police because they will come to you. The Red Hitters have you on their radar, and they will torture you to get information about me.”
Torture? It sounds too extreme to be true. How could a police group have so much leeway with how they execute justice?
“I see that you doubt me,” Ivan says, scratching his prominent chin as he puffs smoke into the air. There’s a layer of stubble that wasn’t there a few hours ago.
“It’s hard not to doubt what you’re saying about the police. They sound more like a group of criminals than law enforcement.”
Ivan’s index finger shoots up into the air. “Ah, now you’re getting it. You need to play a criminal to catch a criminal, and that’s exactly what they’re doing. Nothing is out of bounds in this treacherous game. The moment you start thinking there are rules is the day you end up in a grave.”
“Please, don’t talk about graves,” I reply, pressing my palm into my forehead.
“It’s necessary.”
“I get your point,” I reply, looking up at him. “So, let’s move on from it. I’ll be careful, and the cops won’t be an issue.”
“You’re still not getting it,” he says, laying his hand on the black book. A bit of ash falls onto the cover from his cigar, which he brushes off. “But, according to the rules, I can’t force your hand. You will stay the night, and if you’re not convinced to remain here, you may return to your home in the morning.”
It seems like a fair deal, but a lot can happen between now and tomorrow morning. Because I live alone, nobody will miss me for the night, and possibly for a while after. If I go missing, it could be weeks or even months until someone checks on me.
Ivan gives me an earnest look, and I relent. “Okay, but just tonight.”
“Great, let”s finish dinner. We can talk about anything. It doesn’t have to be about Dimitri,” he offers, pulling my chair out for me.
I sit down, tugging the end of my shirt over my bare thighs. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as Ivan lifts the chair, moving me back in place with so little effort that I feel like I weigh less than the shirt I have on. I can feel the heat of his large body behind me, and I smell smoke from his cigar.
I love it and I hate it at the same time. I always tried not to pick of the habit of smoking, but the stress from college gave me both a caffeine and a nicotine addiction. I managed to kick the caffeine for the most part, aside from the occasional afternoon coffee, but I crave cigarettes sometimes like crazy.
The itch is back, despite the weeks that have passed since my last relapse. Quite suddenly, I want to pull the cigar from Ivan’s beautiful mouth and stick it in mine.
I refrain, but as Ivan sits down, he notices me staring and takes the cigar from his mouth. “Care to join? It was rude of me not to offer, but I assumed you didn’t smoke.”
I shake my head so hard I get dizzy. “No, no, I don’t smoke.”
He smirks. “Trying to quit?”
I can’t help but laugh at how quickly he reads me. It’s amazing how he’s been able to do that, but it’s also terrifying. What else does he know about me that I haven’t told him? Can he see the way he makes me feel, the way my heart flutters when he is close to me? Does he know that when he grabbed me, I was equally frightened and turned on?
“You’ve had a tough day,” Ivan says, placing an unlit cigar in front of me. “That will take some of the pressure off.”
“You’re the devil,” I say, snatching the cigar off the table and putting it in my mouth. “But I’ve never been much of a saint either.”
He shrugs, pulling out his lighter and flicking it open. A blue flame licks the end of my cigar as I puff it to life. “I don’t claim to be anything but a purely wicked man, with purely wicked intentions. Rules don’t exist for men like me.”
“Except in that book,” I say, pointing my cigar at it. “You’re bound by some rules, at least.”
He narrows his eyes at me, choosing not to respond with words.
I’m glad that I can find ways to stump him. If not, he’d have so much power over me that I’d be forced to surrender to him. I can only imagine what he’d do to me then.
He’d look at me with hunger in his eyes… That’s something he already does.
He’d put his large hands on me, exploring my body… I’m sure he wouldn’t wait long to do it.
Then, I’m certain he’d want to press his lips into mine, just like I’ve been thinking about doing since the moment I saw him.