49. The Deal
THE DEAL
Iprefer to exercise around sunrise because the gym is normally silent. There’s commotion during fights. I like my workouts quiet.
Today, there are a dozen men in the gym, even though we’re here earlier than we were yesterday since Carina’s conditioning has improved. I’ve added small increments of distance, but we mainly run the same route.
I attempt to hide my irritation as we walk toward the ring, nodding at those we pass.
I could tell them all to leave, but that would defeat the partial purpose of this—getting the men used to Carina and Carina used to them.
I introduce her to the guards on shift every time we pass them for our run.
It’s been over a week, so we’ve covered all the rotations, although they stopped acting surprised a while ago.
They all gossip. Everyone has heard I married the woman Igor had wanted to trade and that I am training her, and now they’re starting to show up to witness it in person.
“Everyone wakes up at the crack of dawn here?” Carina grumbles as she pulls a pair of gloves on.
The stitches in her left palm came out a couple of days ago, the cut now a straight pink line.
It’s fucked up that I like looking at it.
That it reminds me we’re married, the same way her ring does, but as a permanent mark she can never remove.
It’s also a symbol of her strength. She let me slice her hand open, then took my name while it was still bleeding.
“They’re here to watch you.”
She pauses with the right glove only half on. “What? Why?”
“They’re curious about you. Ignore them.”
“Easy for you to say,” she says, fixing the glove.
I don’t say what I’m thinking—I’m more distracted by the eyes on us than she is.
Carina bought a lot of athletic pants that mold to her thighs and ass during our shopping trip.
No other man would dare touch her, but I’m bothered they’re looking.
Even more annoyed by how much I care. I’ve always avoiding thinking about where, with who, she spent our many nights apart.
I forced a certain level of detachment between us, for her safety and my sanity, that lasted for twelve years.
I wasn’t expecting some paperwork to be what blew those boundaries to smithereens.
Plenty of people marry and lead separate lives. My parents, for one. Aleksandr and Victoria are another obvious example. I knew we’d be different from them, but I didn’t think we’d be … this.
“You’re not wearing gloves?” Carina asks, mimicking the way I climbed through the ropes.
More heads swivel this way, and I try harder to ignore the attention.
“It’s going to hurt you more than me,” I tell her. “Even with the gloves.”
I’m two hundred forty pounds of solid muscle.
My body is its own weapon. Being faster and stronger than my opponent has saved my life more than once.
This is going to be a frustrating process for Carina, but I’m not being arrogant when I say that training against me will improve her odds against anyone else.
Once we’re both in the ring, I move behind her, gripping her hips so I can adjust her stance.
Her breath catches as I deliberately graze a thumb along the thin strip of skin between her shirt and pants, and I reconsider asking everyone else to leave.
The novelty of fucking Carina Sokolov hasn’t worn off.
I adjust her position so she’s in a fighting stance—feet shoulder width apart with hands raised. We’ll practice footwork once she has the basics of punching down.
“Igor wants to see you.”
I glance left, at Maksim, who’s appeared beside the ring. He’s not looking at me. His gaze is fixed on Carina.
I haven’t spoken to my father since I returned a married man. He’s ignored my existence for the past week, and the rest of my family has followed suit. Summoning me now means one of two things: he’s decided how to respond to my betrayal, or he needs me to handle something. I’d bet on the latter.
“I’ll stop by his office later.”
Maksim scowls, probably at the prospect of delivering that message. “He won’t like being kept waiting.”
Twenty-nine years of being at my father’s beck and call, of funneling more money and consolidating more power, and all it took for Igor to turn his back on me was my marrying a woman without consulting him.
No matter what he wants, he’ll have to wait.
Or have one of his other sons handle it.
If this is related to an assignment, he asked Maksim to fetch me rather than having my brother deal with it directly.
“He can add it to my list of disappointments,” I reply, knowing that’s a short one.
Carina wouldn’t be here if not for me. Igor’s anger about not being able to use her the way he wanted to is misplaced.
I walk so I’m facing Carina, noticing her curious expression. Her basic lessons haven’t covered the exchange between me and Maksim; she’s wondering what was said.
“Throw your punches from the chin,” I say. “Let the rest of your body follow. Rotate your hips and shoulders, and then”—I watch Maksim step into the ring out of the corner of my eye—“move your hand back to protect your head.”
Carina has noticed Maksim hovering, too, but she does an admirable job of keeping her focus on me.
“I heard you were teaching your pet to fight,” my brother drawls. “Are you expecting an ambush?”
I ignore him, nodding at Carina to go ahead.
Her first hit is flimsy, lacking the power I know she’s capable of.
I use the momentum against her, stepping left when she follows through so I can flip her over my arm.
Carina lands flat on the mat. She grunts from the impact before getting to her feet, face red from embarrassment and exertion.
I’m careful to keep any remorse off my face. A different opponent won’t take it easy on her; neither will I. I’ll be the villain as many times as it takes if it keeps her alive.
Carina stretches. Grimaces. “I never thought I’d say this, but can we practice shooting instead?”
I allow a small smile. “That was a good start.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’d hate to see what you consider a bad attempt. Falling on my own?”
Carina swings without warning. At full force this time. I grab her wrist and twist her arm so it’s behind her back, letting her go after a few seconds.
She’s scowling when she turns to face me again. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. It takes practice, like anything. I’ve spent more time training than you have playing violin. Try again.”
We grapple for another hour before I state, “Enough.”
Carina relaxes, visibly relieved. She’ll be sore tomorrow and have bruises, but she’s improved.
I avoid looking at my brother as I hand her a water bottle and a towel. He’s remained to rattle me, I know, and I wonder what he’ll report to Igor. But I’ve glimpsed some genuine curiosity on his face.
My family is furious about what I did. The more time passes, the more they’ll start to question why I did it.
At some point, I’ll have to decide how much to share with them.
Hearing how long I’ve known Carina will give away how much she means to me.
But I’m not exactly hiding that fact, training her.
I’m drawing attention because mistresses rely on the reputation of their protector and wives have a security detail.
Women are not expected to protect themselves. If they need to, that’s a failure.
Stares follow me and Carina back outside. So does Maksim, trailing us like a stray dog.
I escort Carina upstairs and into our room, leaving her to shower and change while I head back downstairs. I’m still in a black T-shirt and mesh shorts, a fine sheen of sweat dried on my skin.
My tardiness and my appearance are both disrespectful, but I don’t currently care.
Igor is my pakhan, but he’s also my father.
As a parent, he’s never been especially considerate.
But I expected him to ask, I guess, why I married Carina.
To give any credit to my choices, which have always been correct.
Maksim is waiting outside the office. He opens the door and enters first. I follow a step behind.
Igor and Aleksandr are both standing rather than in their usual spots by the fire.
My father scowls when he sees me. “Finally,” he snaps, striding out of his office without saying anything else.
My brothers follow after him, neither exhibiting the confusion I’m trying to hide.
It turns to apprehension when I realize our destination—the door that leads to the basement.
The cells down there are rusty from disuse, none inhabited since my grandfather was the pakhan.
It’s unusual we capture prisoners. When we do, they’re taken to an off-site location.
Our operation is much larger than it was several decades ago.
We have the resources to conduct business elsewhere.
I can think of a very short list of reasons why that precedent would have been changed, and none of them are pleasant.
The basement is damp and musty. At the bottom of the stone stairs, I smell blood. Urine. The source of both smells is tied to a chair, which is the only furniture down here.
Metal and ammonia mix with the other odors, prompting a host of unpleasant memories. The cells against the walls all sit empty, most of their doors hanging off broken hinges.
Mikhail, the head of Victoria’s security detail, stands next to the man in the chair.
Igor instructs him to leave, the command echoing ominously off the windowless walls. A bulb buzzes overhead.
I listen to Mikhail’s steps upstairs, followed by the slam of the door shutting.
The man is gagged, in addition to being bound, his wide eyes bouncing between the four of us. There’s a shallow cut above his left eye that I’d guess was from when they knocked him out.
“He was found skulking outside of Aleksandr’s home,” Igor states. “Find out why. What he knows.”
All of this is directed at me.
My brothers lack the patience and imagination torture requires.
Aleksandr is too hasty. Maksim, for all his bluster, doesn’t have the experience.
It takes a lot of trial and error to learn how to hurt someone enough that they’ll tell you anything you want to know without you killing them before they actually can.
There’s a horrific art form to keeping someone on the cusp of death.
I don’t enjoy it, but I’m good at it. They all waited for at least an hour for me to finish training with Carina and come deal with this.
I glance at the terrified man, then at an expectant Igor. There are no tools down here. I have my knife, my gun, and my fists.
“I want two weeks off,” I state.
Igor stiffens, surprise and then anger bleeding across his expression. “You’ve had the past week off.”
“That was your decision, not mine.”
My father is visibly vexed now. “I could have done much worse,” he sneers. “You come home, married to—”
I wait, wondering how he’ll choose to refer to Carina. I appreciate his pause—proof that he took my threat seriously.
“I must have missed that marriage was no longer allowed,” I say when he fails to summon the words. “I thought you wanted more Sokolovs? Carina might already be pregnant.”
That comment has Aleksandr bristling too. Starting the month after their marriage, Igor asked, repeatedly, why Victoria wasn’t expecting yet.
I’m not trying to offend my brother. Or knock my wife up faster than he did his.
I don’t know if Carina wants kids—if I do—and we’re taking measures to prevent an unplanned pregnancy.
But it’s another way I can protect her. Igor doesn’t want grandchildren so he can spoil or spend time with them.
I don’t think he’s even held Ilya, on the infrequent occasions he’s been brought here and not left with a nanny, but his legacy does matter to him.
He wants to know another generation is ready to take over the responsibilities he’ll leave behind.
“They won’t be Russian,” Aleksandr says dismissively.
I hold Igor’s gaze for a few seconds, then start toward the stairs. “Torture him yourself.”
“Fine. Two weeks.”
I turn back in time to watch Aleksandr’s expression shift from furious to blank. It’s an eerie transformation. I wonder—again—when he won’t be able to strangle his resentment.
Igor just capitulated to me, and he’s never backed down from my brother.
I can’t enjoy the small victory because it means I’ll be stuck in this basement for the rest of the morning.