Chapter Three
In which Vadim is ambushed, and Oksana does not remember.
Vadim…
Moscow…
I stand in front of the enormous wall of windows in my parents' mansion, watching the glittering lights of Moscow blaze before me.
St. Petersburg is old world Russia, elegant and a little weary.
Moscow is rapacious, eager to gobble up everything in its path.
It suits my savage energy. But my mother is from St. Petersburg and the Morozov Bratva territory.
I’m the one she’s always asked to accompany her when she's missing home.
That's where I learned to love horses, the pleasures of riding something as powerful and unstrung as I am.
Galloping, hooves eating up the distance between where I am and something I can never quite reach.
There's something missing in me, a crucial part that got carved out when I was kidnapped. The scars from the torture that shaped my skin and bone made me something different. So, whatever is out there, tantalizing me, will likely never be found.
I take another sip of my vodka, Balkan 176, so high octane that I can feel the heat from the alcohol fumes against my skin as it burns a path down my throat. Most of me feels cold and the heat of the vodka is pleasurable. It keeps me focused.
"There you are, moy syn." Mother crosses the room briskly, giving me the traditional three kisses.
She is the only one who is allowed that right.
Physical contact is something our colleagues and allies have learned to never attempt with me.
Though most tend to recoil from me instead.
"Thank you for coming home on such short notice," she says.
"I know how focused you get on business.
I'm sure it was difficult to pull yourself away. "
Her eyes are sparkling, a rich brown color. I have her black hair, and my father and my grandfather's ice blue eyes. She told me once that my gaze could chill the soul. I don't know if she meant it as a compliment, but I took it as such.
"Hello, Mother. Would you like to give me some forewarning before Father joins us?"
She frowns. "You know better than to think that your father is going to try to ambush you. You're not the sort to be easily ambushed, anyway. But we must have a discussion before dinner."
My finger taps against the glass I'm holding. "Tell me what unfortunate Bratva Princess is in consideration to be offered up as a sacrificial lamb."
"Sacrificial lamb?" she says haughtily. "I'll have you know that my boy is a catch.
" I don't laugh when she does, but Mother has learned to expect that and doesn't seem to mind.
Sliding her arm through mine, we walk along the bank of windows.
"She's been raised here, of course. But also, partially in Chicago.
Her mother persuaded her father to allow it, so she could go to school there.
And, I suspect, to keep her away from him, because he is an utter bastard. "
"All of the Moscow Six Pakhans are bastards, aside from Father, of course," I say.
"Of course," she winks. "She's twenty-four, very bright. She works with a women and children's charity there. And she loves horses." She says the last word with a bit of a teasing lilt, as if both of us liking horses means this match is foreordained.
"Every proper young girl in the Six Families likes horses," I say, shrugging.
"Your father and hers think that her Chicago connections would be good for you, in order to establish a position of legitimacy. Since she does a great deal of work in the charity scene there, it would be an excellent way to make connections. It never hurts to be established as a patron."
I release the faintest sigh, and she laughs again.
"Not that I'm expecting you to go to fundraisers and shake hands and kiss babies.
Bozhe moy, I can just picture you in that position and it wouldn't be pretty.
But this is a good time to add a level of credibility to your position.
It makes the police and all the little criminal nibblers reluctant to take a bite.
" She eyes me with some amusement as she smooths my black suit jacket.
"Though I do not think that is a real concern, of course. "
Father comes out, his dress shoes clicking on the marble floor.
"Moy syn." He grips my shoulder briefly before stepping back slightly.
He knows I don't like people standing too close.
My mother, I endure, but even that becomes unbearable after a while.
"I see your mother has already started the conversation," he says, narrowing his eyes at her.
She, of course, narrows hers right back. "I was giving him the basics. Expecting Vadim to walk into a situation unprepared is ridiculous."
"The first issue is her father is an asshole," he says bluntly.
"Oh, we already agreed on that," Mother says.
"Her two brothers, I have some hope for them," he continues, heading over to the bar to pour a glass of wine for my mother. "Ideally, the father will be killed horribly - and quite soon - and they can take over."
Mother chuckles into her glass.
"But I agree with your mother and grandfather-"
"Dedushka knows of this?" I ask with a frown.
"Yes. He was the one who initially suggested it," Father says.
Why does that feel like a betrayal? I am more like my grandfather than anyone. He knows how I'd feel about this.
"Having someone there who already moves through the elite is a good idea," Father continues. "Because she is one of the Six Families, she would know what to expect from an arranged marriage, which will save a lot of time in establishing ground rules."
Mother listens to this with a sad little frown. "Maybe they could find happiness together," she says acidly. "Have you considered that? Don't dismiss that so easily, Konstantin."
"I'm sorry, moya lyubov'," he says, lifting her hand to kiss it. "It's true. Anything is possible."
"Which family? What is her name?"
"The Vasiliev Bratva," Mother says. "Oksana, their only daughter." She's watching me closely.
Everything inside me goes still.
After a moment, my gaze moves back to the view outside their window. "Did you request this alliance?"
"No," Father says. "The Vasiliev Bratva contacted us."
"This was an ambush," I say quietly.
By their silence, I can tell my parents have the good grace to feel some guilt.
"Will you accept this marriage?" Father asks, and steps closer, forcing me to look at him. Concern and worry for me have carved lines in his face, deeper than they should be at his age. "I will end the agreement if you ask me to."
I take a healthy swallow of vodka and grimace, which is the closest I can come to a smile. "I will marry Oksana Vasilieva."
Later that night…
Benedikt Vasiliev is one of those men who loves to be heard. His hearty tone echoes through the marble entryway, met by my father's calmer, more confident one. Walking down the hallway, I watch the Vasiliev family turn.
"Ah, there's my son," Mother says with a loving smile. "Vadim, You know Benedikt and Sofia Vasiliev, of course."
I nod, but ignore Benedikt's hand stretched out to shake mine.
"Their children," Father says smoothly, moving past the moment before Benedikt can take offense. "Nikolay and Maks, and of course, Oksana."
Oksana's standing next to her mother, as far away from her father as possible without appearing rude.
Her brothers are both tall, dark-haired, with the easy, entitled attitude of the Russian Oligarchs.
Oksana is... beautiful, tall and lanky, with thick blonde hair flowing down her back.
Her eyes are wide and a little apprehensive, a beautiful silver-gray.
And pink. Full, pink lips, a light flush staining her skin.
She's staring at me. Right at me, examining my face. Her gaze meets mine and doesn’t skitter away again. No one looks me in the eye.
She does.
Does she remember?
Stepping forward bravely, she says, "Privet, Vadim Turgenev."
I don't realize I've moved until I'm right in front of her. She's looking up at me, her breath warm on my neck. "Privet, Oksana Vasilieva." She nods and smiles at me, a flicker of one, at least. I search her eyes, but they're clear of anything but a cautious curiosity.
She has no idea. She remembers nothing.
***
Bozhe moy - Russian for Oh, my God
Dedushka – Russian for Grandfather