Chapter Fifteen - Janice
I wake up in Dimitri’s bed.
Sunlight streams through windows I forgot to cover again, illuminating a room that’s slowly becoming familiar.
Dimitri’s side of the bed is already empty, sheets cool to the touch.
He’s been gone for a while; he probably left before dawn like he does most mornings, slipping away to handle business I’m not supposed to know about.
I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles that are still adjusting to regular use.
My body wears the evidence of last night: faint bruises on my hips where his fingers gripped, marks on my neck I’ll have to cover with makeup, the lingering soreness between my thighs that makes me hyperaware of every movement.
Two days married, and I already can’t remember what it felt like to sleep alone.
That should terrify me more than it does.
I shower in the en suite bathroom that’s bigger than my old apartment, using products that cost more than I used to spend on groceries. The hot water feels like a luxury I’m still not used to, even though Dimitri made it clear everything in this penthouse is mine now.
Everything except freedom.
When I emerge, there’s coffee waiting on the nightstand—black, no sugar, exactly how I take it. A note beside it in Dimitri’s precise handwriting.
Meeting until noon. Driver available if you need anything. D.
No “good morning.” Though I didn’t expect it, honestly.
I should be relieved by the distance. Should appreciate that he’s not treating this like some romantic fairy tale.
Instead, I feel oddly disappointed.
I dress in clothes from the closet that appeared fully stocked as if by magic.
It’s all designer labels I recognize from magazines I used to flip through while waiting for coffee.
Everything fits perfectly because Dimitri had measurements taken, had stylists consulted, had my entire wardrobe constructed without asking my opinion once.
Control disguised as generosity.
I choose fitted black pants and a silk blouse, professional enough for whatever today brings. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The woman staring back looks polished, expensive, like she belongs in this world of marble and money.
She looks like a Bratva wife.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
The penthouse is quiet when I venture out.
There’s no staff immediately visible, though I know they’re here.
I’ve learned to recognize the subtle signs of their presence.
Fresh flowers that appear overnight. Meals that materialize without being requested.
The way everything stays pristine despite being lived in.
I’m pouring a second cup of coffee when I hear voices from the hallway. Male voices, one raised in anger, the other pleading.
My body tenses instinctively. I should stay out of it. Whatever’s happening isn’t my business.
I walk toward the sound anyway.
The scene reveals itself as I round the corner—one of Dimitri’s men, someone I recognize from the wedding, has a younger man pressed against the wall. The kid can’t be more than twenty, terror painted across his face, stammering apologies I can’t quite make out.
“You spilled coffee on Mr. Rudenko’s documents,” the guard growls. “Do you have any idea how stupid that is?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was an accident.”
The guard’s hand tightens around the kid’s throat, and I move before thinking.
“Let him go.”
Both men freeze and turn to look at me.
The guard’s expression shifts through several emotions. “Mrs. Rudenko. I’m handling this.”
“I can see what you’re handling. I said let him go.”
“This is a security matter.”
“This is a terrified employee being assaulted over spilled coffee. Let. Him. Go.”
The guard hesitates, clearly weighing his options. Then his hand drops, and the kid stumbles away, gasping.
“Get back to work,” I tell the employee. He doesn’t need to be told twice, just nods frantically and disappears down the hallway.
The guard watches him go, jaw tight. “Mrs. Rudenko, with respect, you don’t understand.”
“I understand that terrorizing staff over minor mistakes is unacceptable.” I keep my voice level, channeling every ounce of authority I don’t feel.
“If there’s a legitimate security concern, document it and bring it to Mr. Rudenko’s attention.
You don’t put your hands on anyone without cause. Are we clear?”
He stares at me for a long moment. I can see the war happening behind his eyes—does he defer to my position or dismiss me as someone playing at authority she doesn’t actually have?
Then he inclines his head. “Clear, Mrs. Rudenko.”
He walks away, and I’m left standing in the empty hallway, heart pounding, hands shaking with residual adrenaline.
I just gave orders to a Bratva enforcer. Even weirder, he obeyed.
The realization settles over me slowly, heavy with implications I’m only beginning to understand.
Dimitri’s name opens doors. My position—Mrs. Rudenko, his wife—carries its own weight.
People listen when I speak.
***
I test it again at lunch.
The driver takes me to one of Dimitri’s properties—a restaurant in Midtown where we’re supposed to meet for a meal I didn’t request, but apparently can’t refuse.
When I arrive, the staff treats me like visiting royalty. The best table, immediate attention, nervous deference that suggests they’ve been briefed on exactly who I am.
Dimitri’s wife. Therefore, someone to be feared.
He arrives fifteen minutes late, sliding into the seat across from me with the casual confidence of someone who’s never had to wait for anything.
“You intervened with one of my men this morning,” he says without preamble.
News travels fast.
“He was assaulting an employee over spilled coffee. I stopped it.”
“You didn’t think to ask me first?”
“You weren’t there. Did I need permission to prevent someone from being strangled?”
Dimitri’s mouth curves slightly. Not quite a smile. “No, but most people would have come to me rather than confront a trained enforcer directly.”
“I did what was right.”
He signals the waiter, orders for both of us without asking what I want. I should be annoyed by the presumption. Instead, I’m distracted by the way he looks at me—assessing, curious, almost proud.
“The man you protected? He’s been reassigned to a position where his clumsiness won’t cause security concerns.”
“You didn’t fire him?”
“You made it clear that wasn’t the appropriate response to a minor mistake. I’m respecting your judgment.”
The words land strangely. Dimitri Rudenko, respecting my judgment. Taking my intervention seriously instead of dismissing it as naive interference.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Why give me this kind of authority? I’m nobody. Just someone you married for—” I stop, aware of the other diners, the staff who might be listening.
“For strategic reasons,” Dimitri finishes quietly. “Yes, but strategy doesn’t work if no one respects you. They won’t respect you if they think you’re powerless.”
“So you’re letting me have authority because it benefits you.”
“I’m letting you have authority because you’re my wife. That comes with certain privileges.” He leans back as wine is poured. “Use them however you see fit. Just understand that your actions reflect on me. I will hold you accountable for consequences.”
It’s not freedom, not really. Just a longer leash.
Still more than I expected.
***
The afternoon stretches into evening. Dimitri has more meetings, more business that requires his attention. I return to the penthouse alone, mind churning with everything I learned today.
I have power here. Real, tangible power.
People defer to me. Listen when I speak. Adjust their behavior based on my presence.
The question is, what do I do with it?
The plan was always revenge. Learn his world, find his weaknesses, destroy him from the inside when opportunity presents itself.
Except I’m starting to see nuance I didn’t expect. The employee I protected this morning wasn’t some faceless cog in a criminal machine—he was a terrified kid who needed someone to intervene. The authority I wielded wasn’t just about power games. It actually helped someone.
That complicates things.
I’m standing by the windows, watching the city lights flicker to life, when I hear Dimitri return. His footsteps are distinctive.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he observes from behind me.
“How can you tell?”
“You get this line between your eyebrows when you’re working through something complicated.” His hand settles at the small of my back, warm through the silk of my blouse. “What’s bothering you?”
“Everything. Nothing. This entire situation.”
“You’ll need to be more specific.”
I turn to face him, and the proximity makes my breath catch. He’s still in the suit from earlier, tie loosened slightly, looking exactly like the dangerous man he is.
“I don’t know how to be this person,” I admit. “Your wife. Someone people listen to. Someone with authority in a world I don’t understand.”
“Then learn.” His hand slides around my waist, pulling me closer. “You’re smart. Observant. You’ll figure it out.”
“What will you do if I use what I learn against you?”
“Then I’ll deal with that when it happens.” His other hand cups my face, thumb tracing my jaw. “I knew what I was getting when I married you, Janice. A woman who tried to destroy me once and might try again. I’m not naive enough to think marriage changed that.”
“Then why—”
He kisses me before I can finish the question. Deep and thorough and completely derailing whatever point I was trying to make.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and furious and wanting him despite every rational reason not to.
“Stop doing that,” I manage.
“Doing what?”
“Kissing me instead of answering difficult questions.”
“Would you prefer I answer them?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.” His hand slides lower, finding the curve of my hip. “You don’t want answers. You want reasons to justify wanting me. Permission to stop fighting what you feel.”
“God, you’re arrogant.”
“I’m observant.” He steers me backward until my shoulders hit the window. “I observe that you’re thinking about last night.”
My face flushes hot. “I wasn’t!”
“Yes, you were.” His mouth finds my neck, the spot just below my ear that makes me shiver. “The answer is yes. We are. But not yet.”
Frustration spikes sharp and immediate. “Why not?”
“I want you desperate for it. Want you to stop pretending you don’t want me as much as I want you.
” He steps back, leaving me flushed and wanting against the cold glass.
“When you’re ready to admit that—when you can look me in the eye and tell me you want me without qualifications or excuses—I’ll give you everything you’re craving. ”
Then he walks away, leaving me alone with my racing pulse and the ache between my thighs and the crushing realization that he’s absolutely right.
I do want him.
Hate myself for it, but want him anyway.
Revenge was supposed to be simple. Learn his world, find his weaknesses, strike when he’s vulnerable.
Except I’m the one who’s vulnerable now.