Taisiya
My eyes are forced open by my stomach rumbling.
It’s dark out; the soft patter of rain against the window is a comforting white noise.
I groan and look around the bedroom. I’m alone, and I’m starving.
But for the first time in days, I feel like I’ve actually slept.
I shove the covers back and roll out of bed, heading for the bathroom.
I deal with the toilet first and then wash my hands and splash cold water on my face before brushing my teeth.
My eyes aren’t as bloodshot as they were this morning, but I look different.
There’s a weight in my expression that wasn’t there when I was just a bartender with a debt. I’m a Voronov bride now.
Crossing to the wardrobe, I root around for some comfortable clothes. I pull on a fresh oversized jumper and leggings. Tying my hair up into a high ponytail, I open the bedroom door and head down the stairs.
The house is quiet, but the lights are on. I reach the kitchen and stop. Vadim is sitting at the island with a glass of vodka and a laptop, a large uneaten sandwich next to him. He looks up when I enter, his gaze sweeping over me with that possessive intensity I’m starting to crave.
“You’re awake,” he says.
“I’m hungry. Did anyone die while I was out?”
He closes the laptop. “Pavel is dead. Tarasov will be soon.” He rises and comes to me, kissing the top of my head, his hand landing on the small of my back. “Ivan has been holding dinner.”
“Sandwiches?” I ask, eyeing up the one on the plate.
He frowns and looks at it. “No. Carbonara, I think.”
“Carbonara? Now you’re talking,” I say, my stomach letting out another loud, demanding growl.
Vadim nods towards Ivan. He steers me toward the dining room, his palm warm against the small of my back. “Sit.”
I drop into a chair. The house feels different tonight. The air is less sharp, the shadows less hungry. Maybe it’s the ring on my finger or the fact that the men who wanted me dead or sold are currently being erased from the map. It’s a terrifying kind of peace.
Ivan appears minutes later with two steaming bowls. The scent of pancetta and pecorino hits me, and I don’t wait for an invitation. I dig in, the rich, salty creaminess making me close my eyes in appreciation.
“Better than the lasagne?” Vadim asks, watching me eat.
“Different league,” I mumble around a mouthful.
Vadim looks like he is about to say something but then digs in his pocket for his phone and taps the screen. He slides it across to me and shows an old, scanned photo of a woman with two small boys. She looks exactly like me.
I put my fork down and pick up the phone. “Arseny Kaverin’s mother.”
He nods. “The boy on the right is Baron; the left is Arseny.”
“I see,” I say, putting the phone down and pushing it over to Vadim. I pick up my fork again.
He frowns at me. “That’s it? I see?”
I shrug. “What do you want me to do? Wail and gnash my teeth?”
He sits back, staring at me like I’ve grown another head. “You really aren’t bothered?”
“I’m completely unbothered.”
“You just found out you have a dad.”
“I always knew I had a dad. Now he has a name. Who cares? He didn’t raise me, didn’t help fund my life. He was a sperm donor. I don’t need or want him.”
“You are amazing,” he says, sitting forward again and gripping my free hand. “I expected more…”
“Dramatics? Hysteria? I thought you knew me?” I smile and shovel more pasta into my mouth.
“I’m learning,” Vadim says, his thumb tracing the knuckles of my left hand, right over the sapphire. “But you keep moving the goalposts.”
“Keep you on your toes,” I reply. I can feel the questions he isn’t asking yet. He wants to know if I’ll change my mind. He wants to know if the Kaverin blood is going to wake up and demand a seat at the table.
“Arseny thinks you’ll come around,” Vadim adds, his voice dropping an octave. “He thinks the name means something.”
I swallow a piece of pancetta and look him dead in the eye. “The only name that means anything to me right now is the one you keep trying to give me. If he wants to be a father someday, he can try sending a Christmas card. Until then, he’s just another Russian with too much ego.”
Vadim’s grin is slow and lethal. He leans over the table, ignoring his own food, and pulls my hand toward his mouth to kiss the centre of my palm. The heat of it makes my breath hitch.
“I’ll tell him the Christmas card idea,” he murmurs.
I return the smile and pull my hand back to finish my dinner. It’s not enough, but I think Ivan knows that as he arrives with seconds. I take it greedily and twirl the pasta around the fork, squirming uncomfortably as Vadim continues to just stare at me.
“Eat,” I say.
“I like watching you.”
I focus on my bowl, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me blush again. The rich sauce is the only thing tethering me to reality. “I’m not a show.”
“You’re my wife,” he replies. “I’ll look at you as much as I want.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“I’m honest.”
“Do we need a piece of paper?” I ask, looking at the sapphire.
“Eventually. Formalities. Do you want one?”
“Eventually. We don’t need to rush.”
“But you are still my wife.”
“My passport says otherwise.”
“I can fake one.”
I snort as he winks at me and I settle back to finish the last of the carbonara. I lean back, feeling satisfied. The silence of the house doesn’t feel like a threat anymore. It feels like a shield.
“I’m done with passports for a while,” I say, the memory of Aliksa’s voice still stinging like a fresh cut. I haven’t told him about her call yet. I’m not sure I want to see what his brand of ‘security team’ does to a bitter bartender.
Vadim finally picks up his fork and starts eating, but his eyes never leave me. “We’ll get the legalities sorted when you’re ready. No rush. But the ring stays on.”
“I’m not taking it off. I accept what it represents and what it means to you. I am Mrs Voronova in everything but legal terms. That is good enough for now.”
He chuckles, a low, dark sound that vibrates in my chest. He reaches out, catching my chin and tilting my head back. “I’m surprised you capitulated so easily.”
“I’m done making scenes and having fights about everything. Now, I just want to exist without someone trying to kill me.”
“That I can provide.”
As he eats, I think about Aliksa again. The memory of her voice irritates me. I should tell him. I don’t want secrets between us. Secrets lead to disasters.
“What’s on your mind?” Vadim asks. He puts his fork on the empty plate.
“A woman I worked with,” I say. “She called me earlier. She was angry.”
“Who? The woman I spoke to when I called you in sick?”
I nod. “Aliksa. I don’t know her surname. We were friendly, but not friends. She put me in touch with Gregor… and you.”
He nods slowly. “What did she say?”
“She asked why I never told her I had a husband and then assumed it was you. She made it sound like she had dibs on you. Do you know her?”
Vadim’s eyes turn into frozen chips of glass. He doesn’t move a muscle, but the air in the room suddenly feels heavy enough to crush my lungs. He picks up his glass of vodka, his knuckles white against the heavy crystal.
“Can’t say I do,” he says. His voice is a low, dangerous velvet.
“She was the one who gave me your name. She said you were the man to see if I needed to disappear.”
He lets out a short, sharp bark of a laugh that holds zero humour. “She sent a desperate woman with a debt to my front gate? She didn’t want to help you; she wanted to see what I’d do to you and then swoop in to ‘help’.”
“Ivan spoke to her the second time she called. I made him. He threatened her, and she hung up.”
“Good man.”
“Are you worried?”
“About some woman I don’t know with delusions of being with me? No. I’m not worried. Are you worried?”
“I’m not worried about her exactly. When she called the first time, she said the police were poking around Gregor’s death. If she suspects me, she didn’t say, but I wouldn’t put it past her now to grass me up.”
Vadim doesn’t look away. He sips his vodka, the liquid catching the light as he swallows. “She won’t grass you up, Tai. People who live in the margins know better than to invite the police into their lives. Especially when they’ve been brokering meetings with the Bratva.”
“She sounded unhinged.”
“Unhinged is a scent I know well. It usually leads to a shallow grave without the right backup.” He sets the glass down with a soft click. “I’ll have Bogdan look into her. If she’s a risk, she’ll be neutralised. Not because of Gregor, but because she’s bothering my wife.”
“Neutralised. Nice euphemism.”
He stands up and pulls me into his arms. “Don’t waste your energy on her. She isn’t worth the breath you’re using to talk about her.”
I lean into him, the scent of his skin and the weight of his arms making the world feel small again. “Already forgotten. I didn’t want to not tell you, and then she lands on your doorstep.”
“She wouldn’t get past the gates.”
I laugh quietly. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he murmurs, letting my head rest against his chest.
Vadim holds me for a long minute. His body is solid and warm. I don’t move. I just exist in the space he creates for me. He is a dangerous man, but he is my dangerous man.
“Go upstairs,” he says. “I have work to do.”
I pull away and look at him. His face shows nothing but control. I don’t see the man who fucked me against the window. I see the man who runs his business with blood.
“I’ll be up soon,” he adds.
I turn and walk out of the dining room. I take the stairs one at a time.
My body feels heavy. I reach the bedroom and stop.
The curtains are still torn. I don’t fix them.
I just climb into the bed and pull the duvet to my chin before I reach for the remote and flick the TV on.
I lower the volume so it’s loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough not to bug Vadim.
Then I reach for my phone and order a pair of Bluetooth headphones because that’s what compromise is.