Chapter 23 Mara #3
Ilya pauses in front of me. "I don’t know. And it doesn't matter."
My lips press together. "It matters to me."
"Why?" He moves closer, and I can see the possessiveness still burning in his eyes. "Why do you care what happens to her?"
"Because—" I stop, trying to find the words. "Because she loved you. Or thought she did. And you just—"
"I ended a relationship that should never have existed in the first place." His voice is firm, final. "She knew what our arrangement was. She knew it wasn't real. If she convinced herself otherwise, that's not my responsibility."
"But—"
"No." He cups my face, forcing me to look at him. "All that matters is that you're mine now. That you've accepted it. That you've finally stopped fighting what you know is inevitable."
Have I accepted it? Have I stopped fighting? Or have I just been broken down so completely that I don't know how to resist anymore?
I don't know the answer. I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
"I need to clean up," I say, pulling away from him. "I need—I need a minute."
He lets me go, and I walk out of the office on shaking legs, past the spot where Svetlana was standing, out into the empty penthouse and back to my… the room where I’m staying.
I make it to the guest room and close the door behind me, leaning against it as my legs finally give out. I slide down to the floor, my back against the door, and I let myself cry.
Not because of what just happened. Not because of Svetlana or the confrontation or the way Ilya claimed me so publicly, so completely. But because I liked it.
Because when he demanded that I admit I was his, when he drew out my pleasure until I was desperate enough to surrender completely, when he made me scream loud enough for his ex-fiancée to hear—I liked it.
I wanted it.
I want him.
I'm losing myself. Not because he's breaking me, but because I'm choosing to surrender. Choosing to become whatever it is he wants me to be.
And the worst part is that I don't know if I want to stop.
Before this, I would never have submitted to a man like Ilya, would never have found pleasure in my own captivity, would never have sobbed that I belonged to someone just to be allowed release.
But I feel like today unlocked something in me that I didn’t know was there, that I craved but didn’t understand. I’m not sure I want to go back.
I touch my lips, remembering the way he kissed me. I touch the marks on my arm where Svetlana's nails broke skin, and I wonder what it means that I'm more affected by Ilya's touch than by her violence.
There's a soft knock on the door, and I know without asking that it's Ilya. I’m startled that he knocked, that he is giving me any semblance of control over the situation at all.
"Mara," he says through the door. "Are you all right?"
Am I all right? I don't even know what that means anymore.
"I'm fine," I say, and my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"Can I come in?"
I should say no. Should maintain this boundary, this last piece of privacy. But I don't.
"Yes."
The door opens, and he's there, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read. There’s concern, and possessiveness… and something else that might be tenderness if I didn't know better.
"What happens now?" I ask as I push myself up, standing disheveled and red-eyed in my messy clothes. I’m a disaster, but Ilya is looking at me as if it’s taking everything in him not to fuck me again here snd now.
"Now?" He moves closer, and I don't back away.
"Now you accept what you are. What we are.
" He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and then his hand moves to my throat, resting there gently, and I know he's thinking about the choker. “You’re mine, Mara Winslow. You’ll never not be mine again.”
I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong, that I'll never accept this, that I'll never stop fighting.
But the words won't come. Because after what just happened in his office, after the way I surrendered so completely, after the way I sobbed that I was his—those words would be lies, and we both know it.
"I need time," I say instead, my voice still raspy. "I need—I need to process this."
"Take all the time you need." He leans in and kisses my forehead, gentle and almost sweet. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."
He slips one hand into his pocket and retrieves the diamond choker. “Here.” His voice is calm, assured. “You said you’re mine. Now put it on.”
I stare at the sparkling strip of diamonds in his palm. He’s right; I did say I was his. But everything in me rebels at putting that final symbol of acquiescence around my neck, no matter how beautiful it is.
I take a step back, and surprisingly, he lets me go. “No,” I say flatly, keeping my voice even. “Not until you’re honest with me. Completely.”
Ilya’s brow arches. This must feel like progress to him; that I’m considering it at all. That it’s no longer no, but not yet.
“What do you mean?” He slides his other hand into his pocket, nudging the door closed behind him and leaning against it. “I’ve told you who I am, Mara.”
“You’re Bratva. You said that. But you must be important.
To live like this…” I gesture at the room, at the penthouse beyond it.
“You have money. So much of it, it looks like. You’re obeyed without question.
Someone wanted to get to me to hurt you.
You’re more than just some… foot soldier for the Russian mafia. So tell me, Ilya Sorokov. Who are you?”
I see Ilya’s hand close around the choker. For a moment, I think I’m going to be the focus of his wrath again, but instead, he sighs.
He walks to the edge of the bed, the choker still in his hand, and sits down on the edge of it. He looks up, meeting my eyes, and there’s a hint of tiredness in them. "What do you want to know?" he asks finally.
“Everything.” I stare him down, refusing to give. “You’re Bratva. A criminal. So what do you do for them?”
Ilya shrugs. "I'm a businessman. The fact that some of my business operates outside legal boundaries is... incidental."
"Incidental." I laugh at that. "You're a mobster, and you think that's incidental?"
"I facilitate transactions that benefit all parties involved. The fact that governments have decided these transactions are illegal doesn't change their fundamental nature."
"What kind of transactions?" I can hear the sharp edge in my voice, my stomach twisting with dread. "Drugs? Weapons? Human trafficking?"
His jaw tightens. "Not human trafficking. Never that. I have lines I don't cross, Mara. I'm not a monster."
I snort. "Just a kidnapper who stalks women and keeps them prisoner in penthouses."
I see the muscle tick in the side of his jaw. "I'm protecting you."
"From what? From who?"
"From Sergei Volkov. And others who might want to do the same.” Ilya stands after a moment, walking past me to the window that overlooks a view of the city. “I’m not just a part of the Bratva, Mara. In Boston, I am the Bratva. I’m the pakhan.”
It takes me a moment to absorb that. “What… I don’t speak Russian. What does that mean?”
Ilya turns to face me. “I’m the leader. The boss.
I inherited it from my father. And walking into the territory of a man like Sergei without invitation, buying property and remaining here for any length of time, puts him on guard.
It can have consequences. And in this case, he decided that he wanted to use you to find out more about why I’m here. ”
"Your interest in me." I swallow hard "Your obsession. Your stalking. That’s why you’re here. Not for his… whatever."
“He doesn’t know that. He wanted to find out.
” Ilya pauses. “He’ll pay for coming after you.
But from a purely detached standpoint, I would have done the same.
That doesn’t mean I’ll forgive it.” He looks at me for a long moment.
“But you’re under my protection now, Mara. I won’t allow anything to happen…”
"I don't want your protection!" I snap, my head spinning. I need a shower, and sleep. My clothes feel damp, clinging, the cold stickiness of his cum between my thighs no longer welcome in the slightest. The leader. The boss. I’ve been held captive not just by a gangster, not just by a criminal, but by a mob boss. It’s so ridiculous it barely makes sense, but I can hear the words he’s saying, and I can tell he’s saying the truth.
"You don't have a choice!" Ilya snaps back, his eyes flinty, and then he draws in a breath and releases it, pausing as he clearly tries to calm himself. "Sergei won't stop, Mara. I haven’t left. Until I’m sure that he won’t continue to target you, I can’t just allow you to roam free…”
"Then eliminate him." I cross my arms, glaring at him. "If he's such a danger, if he's the reason I'm in danger, then deal with him. Don't use him as an excuse to keep me here."
Ilya sighs. "It's not that simple. Sergei has resources and connections.
This is his territory. I have no right to be here, and there are…
rules. Boundaries. I can't just kill him without starting a war that would destroy everything I've built. I need to ensure that he understands that this is not about him, that eventually I’ll leave, when I can take you with me…”
I stare at him. "So what are you saying? That I'm a target forever? That I can never go back to my life because you decided to become obsessed with me? That you’re just going to… take me to Boston eventually, and I have no say in the matter?"
The words come out sharp and accusing, and I see Ilya flinch.
"I'm saying that as long as you're connected to me, you're a target. And the only way to keep you safe is to keep you close. Under my protection. In my home."
"What are my options?" I clench my teeth, trying to think of a way out, how to get out of this impossible situation that Ilya’s obsession has trapped me in. "Really. What are my actual options here?"