Chapter 20
LEAH
Although I haven’t communicated with Viktor very much over the past week, he made it clear that I’m expected to attend a large gathering for the Bratva.
I don’t pretend to know what it’s about or why it’s happening.
Iliya told me it’s a yearly meeting of all the most important people in the organization, from both the US and Russia, and wherever else the Antonovs have a presence.
I’m looking at myself in the mirror, and I don’t recognize myself.
Viktor sent a team to get me ready for tonight.
It took hours to create a flawless mask of sophisticated composure with makeup, to put my hair into an elegant chignon, and for a seamstress to adjust the gown in deep blue to fit my ever-expanding middle.
The blue, I realize, is nearly the color of Viktor’s eyes and the blue on the Antonov crest, yet another way he’s showing the world that I am his.
The dress of flowing silk and organza drapes beautifully over my baby bump, designed to conceal rather than accentuate. The necklace and bracelet Viktor gifted me hang on my wrist and around my throat, dazzling and cold.
Looking back at me in the mirror is a stranger: regal, elegant, untouchable. I feel cold despite the warmth of the room and the beautiful reflection in the mirror that should enchant me.
“Leah.” Iliya sticks his head into the room. I turn my face to him, and his eyes widen for a split second as he takes me in before he looks quickly away. “Are you ready to leave?”
I almost want to say no, to rip my dress off, take my hair down, and wash all this makeup off, so I can spend the evening with my daughter. But things are rocky enough as they are.
“I’m ready.”
The venue we pull up to is the grand ballroom in a historic hotel transformed into a lavish spectacle.
Chandeliers drip with crystals, casting a warm, golden glow over a shifting kaleidoscope of well-dressed men and women.
The air hums with hushed conversations in multiple languages, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing in an unobtrusive corner.
Tables are laden with exotic foods, and servers in formal wear circulate with expensive champagne.
The wealth and the power of the Antonov Bratva, and of Viktor in particular, are on full display tonight. It’s a world away from the one in which I live; a world I don’t understand and don’t belong in.
But Viktor does. He looks every inch the master in a bespoke tuxedo that showcases the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his body, making him appear even more like an elegant, refined predator.
I watch as everyone in the room shows him deference and gives him a wide berth.
This is Viktor’s world, and he is very clearly the king.
So what does that make me?
He turns in that moment, and much like Iliya, his eyes widen for a split second before he masters the emotion.
The guests, tightly packed, somehow open and close around him, making a clear path for him to the stairs, which he climbs to reach me.
It’s a real fairy-tale princess moment; I just don’t want anything to do with it.
Viktor stops before me, a dark, imposing figure, a dangerous creature of the night parading as a man. His eyes, when they meet mine, are unreadable. He leans down, his lips brushing my ear in a way that sends a shiver through me.
“You look extraordinary tonight,” he murmurs, his voice a heated purr.
“Thanks,” I manage as my pulse picks up.
A flicker of a smile ghosts across his lips before it’s gone again.
He offers his arm, and I take it, his sleeve warm against my skin.
His grip is firm as the fingers of his other hand close around mine, and I wonder if it’s some kind of silent reminder of my place and our conversation the other night, or just a sign that he’s happy to see me after a week apart.
As we descend the stairs and move into the crowd, a path opens up before us again.
Heads turn; whispers follow. I feel like an exhibit, a prize on display.
Viktor introduces me to various men, sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in languages I don’t recognize but sound vaguely Eastern European.
Their faces are all etched with a mixture of wariness and respect, just as it is for their wives, or girlfriends, or whoever accompanies them.
I offer polite greetings to them all, a smile plastered on my face, my mind whirling.
The champagne flows, the music swells and falls and swells again, and the sound in the room, the conversations, grow louder.
I try to blend in, to observe, to understand this strange, dangerous world, but I feel entirely out of my depth.
It doesn’t help that the weight of Viktor’s presence beside me, the unresolved tension between us, is a constant, suffocating pressure.
Eventually, Viktor leaves me to speak privately with several men, and after wandering for a time, I finally find myself at the tables of food.
I’m not hungry, but I’m curious; the partners don’t have a spread like this at their annual party.
I’m not even sure anyone is eating. Drinking, certainly, but the level of food on the table doesn’t seem at all diminished.
Another woman, this one in a dress of bright crimson and wearing a diamond choker, detaches from the crowd and comes toward me. She smiles at me, but the smile is brittle and insincere.
“So,” she says, her gaze sweeping over the food with barely hidden distaste; she doesn’t take a thing, “you’re Viktor’s new interest.”
Interest. Not girlfriend, not partner.
“I am,” I reply, offering as little information as possible.
The woman finally picks a red, ripe strawberry, a single one, and plops it onto her plate. “You carry yourself so well,” she purrs. “One would almost not notice your condition. Such a brave choice to attend tonight.”
The remark is so casual, said in an oddly friendly tone, and it hits me like a physical blow.
Suddenly, the elegant dress feels like a flimsy curtain, and my carefully constructed composure crumbles. The insecurities I’ve fought all evening, all day really, surge, hot and humiliating. I feel exposed, vulnerable, despite the layers of fabric and diamonds.
I’m entirely out of my depth here, and I don’t belong, and both of us know it. The woman’s smile is cruel now, and so is the gleam in her dark eyes.
Before I can restart my mind to formulate any kind of response, an arm tightens around my waist.
“It’s kind of you to be so thoughtful, Maria.”
Viktor’s tone is casual, conversational, but I hear an edge of warning I might be imagining until I see the woman’s face pale, and her smile disappears entirely.
“I understand everyone is worried for Leah’s safety after the attempts on her life, but you know I will keep her safe.”
When I crane my head to look up at Viktor’s expression, I see a wolfish smile that makes me shiver, and I’m not even the subject of the dangerous warning. The woman, Maria, nods her head, her face pale, before she mutters something in Russian and backs away, disappearing back into the crowd.
If I needed any more reason to understand how dangerous the man with his arm around me can be, any more proof that he rules his world and the people in it with an iron fist, this is all I need to see.
His goal was to frighten the woman into submission, but I’m the one who’s afraid now.
Before I can do anything about it, Viktor steps forward, drawing me closer, his voice booming, cutting through the din of the ballroom.
“My friends! My brothers!” His voice commands immediate silence, and every eye in the room turns toward him; the music cuts off sharply.
Suddenly, everyone is looking at us. “Tonight, we celebrate. We celebrate the greatness of the Antonov Bratva, an empire that spans three continents, one that has required us to dedicate blood, sweat, and tears to build and maintain. But tonight, I also wish to share with you a personal joy, a new chapter in my life and the life of my family.”
My heart begins to pound, a frantic drum against my ribs. What is Viktor doing?
He turns to me, his gaze intense, the blue blazing with a strange glint I can’t decipher.
He reaches into the inner pocket of his dinner jacket and pulls out a small box.
My breath hitches, my ears buzz, and the world draws in, until all I can see is Viktor standing in front of me as he opens the box. No. He wouldn’t. Not now. Not here!
The box, wrapped in what looks like genuine leather and velvet, is fully open, and he holds it up for everyone to see, a theatrical gesture that sends a ripple of murmurs through the crowd. Hundreds of eyes are fixed entirely on me, waiting, expectant.
“Leah,” Viktor says, his voice softer now, but still carrying to the crowd, “you have brought light into my life, and soon, a new life into the world. You are strong, intelligent, and the mother of my child. I want you by my side always. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
The diamond in the ring box glitters under the chandeliers, blindingly bright. It’s enormous, flawless, a symbol of Viktor’s power and wealth; the sapphires surrounding the diamond convey a clear message of his claim on me.
My mind reels. This is not a proposal; it’s an announcement, a declaration of ownership, a power play in front of the most important members of the Antonov Bratva. He is attempting to make this official, to tie me to him, to his world, irrevocably.
My mouth is as dry as the desert, and my voice feels trapped. I stare at Viktor, at the mixture of expectation, desire, and unyielding demand on his face. I look at the sea of faces around us, curious, waiting, assessing.