Chapter 5 - Artyom
For the next two hours, I sat in front of the monitors, watching Ninel unravel.
She started with the windows, clawing at the boards like a desperate animal.
When that failed, she went for the bed, working the material of the mattress painstakingly slow with her earring, trying to pry a coil loose.
When nothing came of it, she pounded on the door, her voice rising with each useless demand.
Fifteen minutes later she slid to the floor, knees pulled tight to her chest, shoulders trembling.
I knew she was crying. These weren’t tears Scott caused, so I wasn't pissed that someone else had hurt her.
This time, they were because of me. And that was something I could live with.
In fact, I welcomed it. Her tears meant she was breaking, finally realizing her world would never again be what it once was.
My father, Grigori Rykov, drilled it into me that it was a husband’s duty to train his wife, not her family. It was all on me. Because only I knew what would be demanded of her in my world, by my men, under my name.
The same way he had “trained” my mother, Natalia.
He trained her through humiliating tests before his closest Bratva allies, to prove her loyalty to him and his faction. Each time my mother would pass a test she was rewarded with a kiss, a piece of jewelry or some expensive shit and he'd pledge his loyalty to her as her husband.
But, that was a lie.
The existence of Katya proved he was nothing but a manipulator, a hypocrite who broke every vow he demanded from her.
I began attending those sessions when I was ten. I couldn’t understand why my mother had to kneel before him on hot coals and swear her vows again and again, why she was thrown into a fighting ring against another wife, and then was whipped if she lost saying she was disloyal to her husband.
The first few times, I cried. She would wipe my tears, whispering that my father had sacrificed everything for his family and faction, and that it was only right she should sacrifice in turn.
One night, when my father caught her comforting me, he dragged me out back, tied me to a tree and whipped me until my back burned.
“A Bratva heir doesn’t cry,” he snarled. “Emotion makes you weak. Weak men don’t lead…they die.”
My siblings never knew the truth about the beatings, the training, the ways my father shaped me or our mother. I was sworn to secrecy.
I saw how my father acted differently with my younger siblings…gentler…more humane. He said they'd never have to bear the burden of leadership and that was my sacrifice to my family.
As I got older my father swore if I let anything slip he’d get rid of me and make Yegor leader, and I believed him. I didn't want this life for Yegor and I knew if Yegor failed our father would get rid of him, and Zahkar, being the last son, would bear the brunt of his cruelty.
So I distanced myself from my siblings, for their protection and mine.
Ninel had been coddled her whole life in the Safin mansion, treated like delicate glass.
But that ended the moment she became mine…
it needed to. She carried my name now, and with it came my rules, my expectations.
She would be trained to survive my world, to bend before me the way my mother bent before my father.
Once I broke her out of the fragile mold her family trapped her in, I’d sweep away the shards and rebuild her into the wife I demanded: obedient, and loyal.
I pushed back from my desk and stood, my decision made. It was time to take Ninel home.
It was a property I’d bought six months ago, far from my siblings, who lived in our family mansion. It wasn’t only furnished with luxurious pieces from Monaco, Spain, and Italy, but Ninel's walk-in closet was already stocked with designer clothes, handbags, shoes, and perfume.
Everything I picked out myself. Why? Because as the wife of a Bratva leader she had to have the best. And as the possessive bastard that I was, there were certain styles of clothing I wanted to see my wife in.
My wife wouldn't be caught dead in stuffy linen suits that wives of leaders wore in an attempt to be modest. Ninel had an hour glass figure and breasts that I couldn't wait to bury my face in. Until I could unwrap my package, I'd dress her as I wished.
When I got to the room, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. She stood a few feet away glaring at me, eyes red and swollen.
“It’s time to go,” I said flatly.
“Go where?” she asked suspiciously.
“Home.”
“We’re not staying here?” She looked around the room.
“We aren’t.”
“Can I have my phone to call my siblings to let them know I’m okay?”
“No.” My teeth clenched.
“Why not? You can't keep me away from my family! They’ll be worried…”
“I already told them we’re married,” I lied.
“And they know there’s nothing they can do about it.
Two of my sisters are married to two of your brothers.
Isn't it amazing how our marriage looks planned to anyone else on the outside?
Besides, I told them that this little phase is our honeymoon phase where we'll get to know more about each other.”
She bit her lip thoughtfully. Then, her chin lifted. “Do you plan on keeping me a prisoner?”
“You’re my wife, not a prisoner.”
She let out a humorless laugh. “You kidnapped me, forced me to marry you, locked me in a room. What would you call that?”
“Protecting my investment, the mother of the next heir to the Rykov faction.” My eyes darkened.
“And if I find out you’ve reached out to your family, or mine, you’ll find out exactly how different I am from Lev and Jaroslav.
They’re ruled by their wives. I’m not. You will obey me as a Bratva wife should. Do you understand?”
“And if I don’t?” she shot back.
I stalked towards her. I watched as her body tensed but she didn't step back, she held her ground. I stopped in front of her and grabbed her chin. Her breathing hitched and her pupils dilated.
“Then I put you in the basement, with a mouldy mattress, a flickering bulb and rats. Obey, pledge your loyalty to me and my faction and you’re treated well. Disobey, and dishonor my name and I will punish you.”
My knuckles brushed against her cheek. “It would be a shame to bruise skin as soft as yours.”
She flinched and the light in her eyes dimmed. She stepped out of my touch and my hand fell to my side.
“So,” I said, “are you going to obey?”
“Yes.”
“Smart, printessa.”
I offered her my elbow. She hesitated, then slid her hand through the crook of my arm. Outside, one of my men opened the SUV door. I guided her in and settled beside her. There were no handles in the back, so there was no way she’d get out before we reached home.
I took her hand in mine. She flinched and tried to pull away but I held it a little tighter. Enough to remind her that testing me in front of my men would come at a cost.
Turning her palm over, I saw the angry scratches. My brows furrowed. They were probably from her attempts at the windows. My thumb caressed them, watching goosebumps ripple along her arm, her breath hitching with each pass.
For the twenty-minute drive, she said nothing. Her eyes stayed fixed on the passing trees, her hand still trapped in mine, and I found myself watching every twitch, every flicker of her lashes, savoring how my touch controlled how slow or fast her chest rose and fell.
By the time we passed the gates of the compound, manned by four guards armed with high-powered rifles, her eyes widened at what lay beyond, ignoring my touches. My jaw clenched and I dropped her hand.
On one side of the winding driveway was a crystal-clear pond where two swans glided gracefully, and on the other, manicured gardens dotted with marble benches and ornate wrought-iron picnic tables beneath perfectly pruned trees.
The mansion itself was a two-story structure. Two towering Corinthian pillars framed the main entrance, leading up a sweeping staircase to massive double doors. Balconies crowned the upper floor, offering panoramic views of the estate.
Behind the house, a hand-carved stone and steel a gazebo sat among a meticulously landscaped lawn, while the flat for my guards overlooked the property, with surveillance equipment tucked discreetly into the architecture to monitor every inch of the compound.
When the vehicle stopped, my door was opened.
I stepped out and then offered a hand to Ninel.
She faked a smile as she slipped her tiny hand into mine once again.
It was important for my men to see her under my control.
I led her through the front doors and straight to our bedroom, closing the door behind us.
“You must be hungry. Take a shower and change.” I pointed to her walk-in closet. “Everything you'll need is in there. I'll get you something to eat.”
“If I'm sleeping in here, where are you going to sleep?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“You are my wife and I'll sleep where my wife sleeps.”
This time when her eyes widened I saw fear in it. “For now, we'll just sleep. I'll give you time to adjust to our home.”
Weak! A pakhan would claim what is his! Her body belongs to you, Artie.
I shoved the voice to the back of my mind as I watched the tension in her body ease a fraction.
“Now, go find something short to change into. I've already placed the shampoo and bodywash I want you to use in the bathroom. I'll wait here for you.”
I sat back in one of the armchairs, watching as she disappeared into the closet and returned with clothing in hand. Thirty minutes later, the vanilla shampoo and bodywash that Ninel used danced along the borders of my nostril. I'd order her something nice, maybe a necklace or a bracelet.
We sat at the dinner table in silence. The bubbly Ninel I’d gotten to know, was replaced by a quiet, guarded version of herself. I watched as she pushed dinner around her plate, not even eating half of what she was given. Today, I'd allow it.