Chapter 28
Aspen
S ilence fills the penthouse for an entire week now. Besides the occasional clanks in the kitchen from Nikolai making me a cup of coffee or my meals, it’s been quiet. No laughter, no conversations, no hate speeches, not even a sound from the TV.
His side of the bed has been cold and untouched. I’ve started my mornings without his lips, without his shadows, without his searing warmth. If Nikolai isn’t sleeping on the living room couch, he’s sleeping in his office on the dark brown leather love seat.
I miss him.
Some nights I find myself outside of his office, my forehead pressed against his door, working up the courage to knock. I never do. Other nights, I lean against the cool wall and watch him sleep on the couch. He never looks comfortable or peaceful, I always find a scowl on his face.
We move about in this house like total strangers, as if the other is invisible.
It’s mid spring and the weather is warming up, yet no semblance of heat flows in this home.
If we were in a true vampire tale, our current state would reflect that of a coffin.
Dark, reduced to no air flow, confined and suffocating.
I want out of the vacuuming black hole. I want him, I want us. I want our fire, our passion, our push and pull. I want a reset, to start over. I want his sweet firm caresses, his rough kisses, him burrowing so deep that even my body could never forget him.
What does all that even matter if he defends those that mean me harm?
Implying Quinn may have killed Helana may have been taking it too far.
I don’t have hardcore proof, but intuition is telling me I’m right on the money.
Her family having connections with the Yakuza that tried to kill me, is a hard lead.
Plus, Petro confirmed she ordered the assassination.
She even threatened me on the day of my wedding.
She said everything belonging to Nikolai is hers.
She believes that and that possessive ownership will make one do dangerous things.
Like kill.
Throwing the covers back, I get out of bed and pad to the bathroom. Walking to the sink, I take in my appearance. The woman looking back at me looks like a lost puppy drowning in my red bonnet. My eyes are puffy, the rims lined red.
Ok. So, I may have been crying myself to sleep last night.
Who wouldn’t when your normalcy has been crushed to ash?
Grabbing my toothbrush, I scrub my teeth hard, attacking the plaque and any bad breath bacteria on my tongue.
When the brush hits the back of my throat, I gag and cough, instantly doubling over the sink.
My fingers curl around the edge of the sink and every deep cough drains more and more of my energy.
I inhale a long breath and clutch my chest, panting heavily.
My sight blurs when I look into the white porcelain bowl in the sink. It’s completely covered in chunks of mucous and blood. My legs give out, my knees hitting the floor as the room spins. Hot and cold chills spread across my skin, sweat starting to bubble on my temple, neck and arms .
Help .
The word never escapes past my lips, it stays trapped in my head, with no exit.
I’m dying faster than I thought. I was supposed to have another four to five months before it came to this. Nikolai’s blood transfusion was supposed to give me more time.
It’s failing. My body is failing.
There’s a ring in the distance. My phone. I blink, willing my eyes to focus, willing the dark spots around the edge of my vision to pull back. The bright sunlight streaming from the bathroom window has turned dark blue. The bathroom floor is wet and cold against my face.
Shit. I passed out.
Scrambling to my feet, I catch my balance. I got up too fast, there’s still a blur at the edges of my sight. Stumbling into the bedroom, I grab my phone. It’s Nikolai. I wipe the dried crusted blood on the side of my face and answer with the taste of copper settling on my tongue.
I sit on the edge of the bed. “Hello.” I will my voice not to shake. If he suspects anything, he’ll rush me back to the compound for another treatment. And what would be the point? To drag out the inevitable?
“I’m on my way home, want me to pick up something?” The sound of his voice slows down my racing heart.
I scoot back until the back of my knees hit the bed. “Um, I can’t think of anything right now.”
“Are you ok? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be out all day.”
His first apology since that night .
A beat of silence covers us. I can imagine him running a hand over his face, not really sure how to go about this since it’s the first time we have spoken to each other after a week.
“Can we start over, again, Malyshka?”
I let out a shaking breath, a tear falling down my cheek. “Yes.” But this time our time is running out.
I don’t say the last part, it’s too heartbreaking to utter those words. They’re like a curse and there’s no spell to take them away once said out loud.
“I want to apologize properly when I get home. Can you wait for me?”
“Yes,” I whisper, wiping my tears away.
“I love you,” he says sincerely and it crushes me.
My chest feels like there’s a boulder lying on top of it. I know it’s not from all the coughing from earlier, it’s the guilt I feel towards him. He’s in love with a walking corpse. He’s losing his second wife. The weighty truth would end him, I know it.
“I know, Niko.” I disconnect the call. I love you too.
I get to work fast, cleaning the bathroom, leaving the tiles and sink sparkling clean. I shower, scrubbing every inch of myself.
When I’m dry, with new pajamas, I go to the living room and toss my bonnet, and the clothes I wore earlier in the electric fireplace.
No trace of my suffering is left behind.
The last remnant of my bonnet turns to ash when the elevator chimes. He’s back. I stand, slowly this time. I may look put together but I’m still experiencing vertigo.
The aroma of Pelmeni fills the air before Nikolai walks through the threshold. When he comes into view, he shakes the to-go bags in the air.
“Dinner is here, Malyshka.” An unsure smile plays on his lips.
Walking up to him, I grab the bag from his hands. He’s in his usual attire, black designer suit, his platinum hair in a low folded ponytail, smelling of coffee, lavender and gun metal.
My favorite combination of scents.
“I can prepare our plates.” I walk towards the kitchen when a pair of hands wraps around my center.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Aspen,” he whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “I believe you, I just needed time. Please understand you dropped a huge load on me. I needed time to think.”
“You hurt me, Niko.” My words come out choppy, vulnerable.
His shadows slither up my body, taking my face, turning it to look at him. He watches me with those penetrating eyes.
“I know.” There’s remorse in his gaze but that doesn’t erase how he treated me. How he protected them over me.
“You know but you haven’t spoken a word to me for a week.”
He tiptoed around me, drenching me with silence, showering me with despair.
“You didn’t want me to talk to you.” His mouth starts to form more words, but he shuts it, thinking better of it.
“When have you ever cared about what I want?” I challenge, my dormant anger reigniting. Any other time I wanted space, he crowded it. He would smother me until our hearts and breaths synced. So why was this time different ?
He removes the bags from my hands, placing them on the coffee table. He reaches for my wrist, I slap his hand away.
“Malyshka, please. Let’s sit.” His eyes are pleading, they’re tired.
He goes to sit on the couch, patting the seat next to him. Biting my lower lip, I reluctantly sit.
“I told my father, we’re investigating both Quinn and Sergei.”
He places my hands in his. His heat warms something deep within me. I’ve been so thirsty for his touch, his presence.
“We need hard proof before I can eliminate them. There are protocols we have to go through. We can’t do anything drastic, it’s a part of the Bratva laws. Next week, you will start your role in the organization and start learning more of our customs.”
I jerk back. “My role?”
He slowly nods his head. “Next week, you will ascend alongside me.”
Confusion crosses over my face. “What? Ascend to what?”
“My Queen. A Pakhan can’t ascend in his role without a mate, his wife. They’re a pair, they rule together until their heir is of age to do so.”
I snap back as if I’ve been burned with an iron. I knew he needed a wife in order to become the Pakhan, but he never mentioned I would become the Bratva’s Queen.
“You need to call Roman.” His hands drop to my knees, tracing circles. “I want you to invite him.”
I flinch. “Would that be a good idea? You said the Volkovs are extremely private, why invite my brother?”
“We are but he’s your family too. I want your family there to bear witness to one of the most important days of your life.
” He cuffs my face, bringing our foreheads together.
“You will be the Pakhan’s Queen. The Bratva’s Queen, Malyshka.
I’ve already robbed you of that moment on our wedding day.
I don’t want to mess this up again. He will be there this time around. ”
My throat tightens and I whisper, “you really want Roman there?”
He looks at me as if I asked the most ridiculous question ever spoken. “Of course. We may have started off rough but that’s not how we will end. He’s your family, which makes him my family.”
A small cry escapes my lips.
I feel guilty towards this man who is extending trust to not only me but my brother. With all his faults, he’s too good for me.
What am I going to do?
He tilts my chin up with a single finger and kisses me, slow, like we have all the time in the world. I wish we did. I need to tell him the truth, about me, about who I am to the Syndicate. About me coughing up blood today and how I passed out on the bathroom floor.
When his hands go under my shirt, his firm hands on my skin makes all those thoughts disappear. The only thing on my mind now is how can I have him closer, deeper, in my skin, in my soul. How can I pierce his heart like he’s done to mine countless times.
I climb on top of his lap, straddling him. Removing his hair tie, my fingers drag across his scalp, deepening our kiss. We grow frenzied and desperate for one another. The sound of ripping clothes echoes in the room along with the sound of our wet kisses.
His fingers slip inside me. “Already wet for me, baby?”
I let out a moan, my walls clenching his fingers. He scissors them inside my pussy, the slick sounds of him fucking me with his hand filling the room.
“Always. ”
Lifting up, I pull his dick out, lining it to my entrance, never breaking our kiss.
I slam down onto him. He bites my lower lips as we both groan out our pleasure.
The burn of his thick, long dick stretching me feels divine.
Him inside me feels like home. He feels like a safe place to plant roots with.
Something I have to claim for myself, to cultivate, to grow and maintain.
He’s my total damnation.
All eternal.
My seared fate.
***
Roman picks up after the first ring. “Pen.” His tone is shorter than usual, tired almost.
“Hi,” I respond nervously.
“When will you stop playing house with the enemy and come home?”
“I don’t think I will.” The confession lingers between us, my line drawn across the sand.
Roman can play big brother all he wants but I’m staying right where I am.
This is my home now. I belong right here next to Nikola.
“But I want you to come here. I’m ascending as the Bratva’s Queen next week. We want you here.”
“We?” He scoffs. “Or is it that you want me there? To what, witness a farce of a performance? Stop fucking around and come home.”
“I love him, Roman.” I sniff, fighting back my tears. It felt good to finally say it out loud. I would have preferred Nikolai to hear it first, but Roman needs to understand I’m serious and unwavering. I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.
Roman doesn’t respond. He lets the silence sit between us and breathe.
This is new territory for him. Roman is a man of rules, of lectures, of staying inside the fine lines.
Feelings aren’t natural to him. At Lincoln City Beach in New Orleans, before it closed, I dropped my doll and the waves carried it away.
I cried for days. Roman was beside himself, he found himself trying to console me by singing the most ridiculous songs.
Truth be told, he’s the reason I’m a singer today. He sang to me every time I was sad, hurt or disappointed. I wanted to do that for others and found myself on stage in front of millions, healing their hurt too.
“It’ll never work,” he says, his voice tender.
“I know,” I wipe my tears away, “but I want to try.”
He sighs on the other end of the phone. “Sure, but your photo shoot will still be taking place whether you’re ready or not Pen.”
In the end my mom’s rule is final. My days are numbered, physically and literally, whether I adhere to the blood contract or not.
Niko, please find it in your heart to forgive me when I’m gone.