CHAPTER 22
Anastasia
After we landed in Moscow, we spent the rest of the weekend and Monday at Rodian’s penthouse, where I was only allowed to wear lace underwear whenever my husband wasn’t fucking me senseless.
When we returned to the estate this morning, Irena and Marina were very happy to see us, and only after I assured them four times that I’m okay, could I finally sneak out of the kitchen.
I walk through the yard, looking for Artem so I can say hello, but instead, I cross paths with my father-in-law. Seeing him on his knees, pulling weeds out of the flower bed, I walk closer and ask, “Morning, Mr. Volkov. Can I help?”
He glances up at me, then mumbles, “Sure.”
I lower myself to the ground and get to work.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Yes.” I smile to reassure him. “And you?”
“Always fine.”
Silence falls between us as we move from flower bed to flower bed, and every time I have to get up, he offers me his hand.
It feels like we’re bonding, more than I have with Rodian’s mother and aunt, and it fills my heart with warmth.
Movement catches my eye, and when I see Artem, a smile stretches over my face, and I wave at him. “Hi!”
He hurries closer, and before I can get up, he hugs me awkwardly for a second or two before pulling away and fidgeting with his hair.
“The blasts were loud.” He crouches and begins to move leaves aside to check for insects. “Very loud.”
“I’m sorry.” Taking a chance, I rub my hand up and down his back. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
He nods a couple of times, then locks eyes with me quickly before looking at the leaves again. “You’re happier.”
It doesn’t surprise me when I feel a burst of affection for him, and I tuck it deep into my heart. “I am.”
Spotting a row of ants, I point at them, and Artem follows the line, wandering away from us.
“You’re good woman,” Mr. Volkov grumbles.
“Thank you, sir.”
Just as I pull a weed out, he shakes his head. “Pap.” He pats my back while climbing to his feet. “No sir or Mr. Pap.”
As he walks in the direction Artem went, I press my hand to my heart and swallow hard on the lump in my throat. Even though I had a father, I never got to call him dad.
Rising to my feet, I call out, “Pap, would you like something to drink?”
He pauses and links his hands behind his back while shaking his head. “No, thank you, milaya.”
Walking to the back door, I grin so wide my cheeks hurt. When I enter the kitchen and see the women peeling potatoes, my body tenses and my heart jerks in my chest.
‘Faster, Tolstukha! We hungry,’ Bogdan barks.
The guard who always watches me chuckles darkly, ‘If we cut off piece, lose weight fast.’
Others laugh, and as they come into the kitchen, terror makes me tremble too much to work faster.
“Rodian!” I hear a woman scream, panic making her voice shrill, but it becomes one with the memory.
One of the men saunters closer, and picking up a carrot, he waves it under my nose before smacking me in the face with it. Everyone laughs again, and when I just keep peeling, he rears his arm back and punches me in the side.
Air whooshes from my lungs as searing pain tears through me.
The second I fall to the floor, they all cheer, and just as the man grips the front of my blouse to hit me again, Bogdan barks, ‘Enough. She must cook. Beat her later.’
Something is pushed into my mouth, yanking me out of the memory. Slowly, I become aware of my surroundings while my heart beats a mile a minute.
When my sight focuses on Rodian, he says, “That’s it, Moya Krasavitsa. Come back to me.” He brushes his hand over my hair in soothing movements and presses his mouth to my forehead. “You’re safe. I have you.”
I feel someone patting my back, then Artem coos, “Shh… Shh… Shh...”
Glancing around the kitchen, I’m met with the worried faces of my new family.
Rodian bends, and hooking one arm behind my knees and the other around my back, he lifts me bridal-style. His familiar scent registers, and I press my face into the crook of his neck.
When he sits down with me on his lap and I lift my head, I see we’re in our bedroom. He holds me tightly, tenderly rocking me, and presses his mouth to my forehead again.
I have no idea how long we sit like this, but it helps so much, and I soak up all the comfort he’s giving me like a dry sponge.
“Better?” he asks, his tone gentle.
Nodding, I pull back. “A lot.”
He takes hold of my left hand, and seeing the dirt, he stands up with me in his arms and carries me into the bathroom, where I’m placed on the counter.
When he begins to clean the sand from under my nails, a smile tugs at my mouth. I stare at my husband as he takes care of me, feeling unbelievably lucky.
“You have to wear gloves if you’re going to work in the garden,” he orders in his no-nonsense tone.
Rodian even puts lotion on my hands, and once he’s done, I whisper, “Thank you, my love.”
He cups my cheek and searches my face. “What happened?”
“When I walked into the kitchen, your mom and aunt were peeling potatoes and…” I shrug. “It brought back a memory.”
Tilting his head, he asks, “Want to talk to me about it? It can’t be good bottling it all up.”
“I don’t want to burden you with my issues.”
He braces a hand on either side of my butt and looks me dead in the eye with one of his brutal expressions that commands all my attention.
“You don’t have issues. You are dealing with severe fucking PTSD, Anastasia.
Surprisingly well, may I add. And let me make myself very clear.
You can never burden me. Let me help you in whatever way I can.
” His eyebrows draw together. “Your mental health is just as important to me as your physical safety.”
I’ve never loved anything as much as I love Rodian in this moment, and it gives me the strength to say, “It was a memory of when I was peeling potatoes. Bogdan was shouting at me to work faster, and the guard who always kept an eye on me threatened to cut off pieces of me. It made the others laugh, and they all came into the kitchen, then one of the men hit me.” Once I’m done recounting that part, I continue, “After they ate, that man made me crawl through the night, and whenever I collapsed, he would kick me until I started crawling again.”
For the first time since it all happened, anger surges through me, speeding up my breaths. “I wish I could do the same to him.”
Rodian’s eyes narrow, his expression turning downright savage. “Can you face going back to the factory?”
His question catches me by surprise, and I think for a moment. “What happened to the men who were there?”
“Some were killed when I found you. The others are still there.”
They’re alive?
“What will happen if I go back?”
“You give the order, and I will kill whoever you want. But if you don’t want to go there, I can bring you photos, and you can just point out the men who hurt you.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, then I say, “Maybe if I go back to face the demons and see them die, it will help.”
“It’s your choice, moya Krasavitsa.”
When I nod, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. A few seconds later, he orders, “Come pick me up in the helicopter. We’re flying out to the factory in Chekhov.”
Rodian
Looking out the window as we land, I’m pissed off with myself for not doing this sooner.
I’ve been so focused on Anastasia, I never thought once to stop and consider that some of the men who hurt her might still be alive.
It’s my fucking duty to defend her, and I slipped up.
Never again. It’s time to get my head out of the clouds and to do my fucking job as her husband and the pakhan of the Bratva.
Even though we’re wearing headsets, she leans into me to ask, “How are we going to do this? Do I just point out the men?”
I nod, gripping her hand tighter. “Yes. That’s all you have to do. I’ll handle the rest.”
I brought her medication in case she needs it, but so far, she’s doing really well. I honestly didn’t think she would want to return to the factory.
When we touch down, we remove the headsets and wait as two guards get out first before Sergei and Andrei follow.
A man appears in the open doorway, his eyes widening when he sees I’m here.
“Is he one?” I ask.
“No,” My wife answers, her voice sounding fragile. “I haven’t seen him before.”
I glance at Sergei and order, “You don’t leave Anastasia’s side. No matter what happens. She’s your priority.”
“Yes, sir.” He moves to her side while scanning the area.
When we enter the factory, most of the men are hard at work, converting the place into a functioning manufacturing plant.
“Pakhan!” someone shouts, and all the men stop what they’re doing.
“Show me who hurt you,” I tell Anastasia.
When she starts pointing out men, Andrei and the guards train their weapons on them, indicating for the fuckers to line up by a wall.
“The very tall one,” she says, and just then two make a run for the back door that leads to the pens.
Yanking my gun from where it’s tucked into the back of my pants, I don’t hesitate for a second and shoot one in in his thigh while one of the guards tackles the other to the ground.
Anastasia jerks from the bang, then says, “The guy you shot is the one who loved making me crawl, and the other one watched me while I worked. He repeatedly made comments about cutting off pieces of me, and one night when I was washing the dishes he pushed my head into the water until I passed out.”
When four in total are singled out, my voice is deadly as I growl, “The rest of you can get back to work.” Glancing down at my wife, I ask, “What did the other two do?”
“They hit me.”
“Stay with Sergei.” I walk to the first one, and while Andrei and the guards make sure the other three stay put until I get to them, I stop in front of the fucker.
He avoids making eye contact with me, but then makes the mistake of glancing at my wife.
“Remember her?”
He shakes his head. “No, pakhan.”
“She’s Yegor’s granddaughter. The woman you all starved, degraded, and beat.”
Finally, a light goes on behind his eyes, and he frowns.
Then I add, “She’s my wife.”
All four move at the same time, trying to duck past us, but I hook my arm around his neck and haul him right off his feet before slamming him down on the ground.
Not needing to say anything else, I begin laying into him with my bare fists while Andrei and the guards keep the others pinned face down.
The memory of the woman I love more than anything cowering in a disgusting pen and barely hanging onto live flashes through my mind, and I punch the fucker so hard I accidentally crack his skull, killing him.
Shooting to my feet, I stalk to the next one, and not bothering to say a word, I burn more of my anger by beating him to death.
Just as my guard hauls the one I shot to his feet, I kick it from under him and shout, “Crawl, kusok govna!” The gunshot wound to his leg makes him drag the limb, and I kick him again. “I said crawl.”
“I can’t!” he dares to snap angrily at me.
I slam my boot so hard into his gut that he rolls before falling onto his back, then I keep going until he passes out.
Turning around, my eyes lock on the one who almost drowned her, and stalking to where Andrei is restraining him, I grab him by the scruff of his shirt and drag the fucker, who’s protesting and begging for mercy, all the way to the kitchen.
I haul him onto the large steel table, and when he tries to scramble off while I search for a knife, Andrei stops him with a fist to the nose.
Finding a nice meat cleaver, I turn around, and when I notice Anastasia standing in the doorway, I say, “It’s going to get ugly, moya krasavitsa.”
“I know.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I need this.”
Nodding, I focus on the fucker again as I stop beside the table. “My wife told me you liked to threaten her.”
“I’m sorry,” he shouts in Russian.
I bring the cleaver down on his left arm, but the thing is so dull, it only goes in an inch or so. As the fucker screams from the pain, I have to hack at his flesh to get a piece off.
Picking up the bloody mess, I shove it into his gaping mouth, growling, “Here’s your piece of flesh to chew on.
Let’s get you something to drink as well.
” Once again, I grab him by his shirt collar and drag him to the sink, and while I shove his head under the water, I glance at Anastasia and ask, “How are you holding up, moya krasavitsa?”
“Okay-ish.” Swallowing hard, she looks a little green, but she doesn’t let that stop her from watching as I drown one of her demons.
The bastard has a good set of lungs on him, and it takes a few minutes before he stops struggling and his body slumps against the sink.
When I let go, he slides to the floor with a wet thud, and to make sure he’s dead and not faking it, I pull out my gun and put two bullets in his head.
“Having fun?” Andrei asks when I walk past him to check if the other guy has woken from his nap.
“Too much,” I mutter. When I reach Anastasia, I wink at her before heading into the main section.
“Can you just shoot him?” she asks as she follows me. “This place gives me the creeps, and I’d like to go home.”
Blyad?.
I told her she was in control, and as much as I want to make the fucker crawl for two weeks, I have to listen to her.
“Whatever you want,” I say, indicating to one of my guards to kill the man.
When I reach for Anastasia, she jumps back, shaking her head. “First, wash your hands.”
Shit. Right.
I dart into the kitchen and quickly rinse off all the blood, patting my palms dry on my pants as I leave again.
This time Anastasia comes to take my hand, and as we walk to the exit, she inspects my knuckles before pressing soft kisses to the bruising.
“All your demons are dead, moya krasavitsa.”
She glances up at me, worry creeping into her eyes. “But they were your men. Won’t the others resent you for killing them because of me?”
“No, they will learn that I won’t tolerate those who prey on the innocent. I didn’t overthrow Yegor just to have the Bratva continue down a depraved path. They all know I want a better future for the organization, and I’ll kill anyone who stands in the way of us achieving that.”
I can see my explanation makes her feel better, and when we climb into the helicopter and take our seats, I cross my arm over her chest and grip her outer thigh. It’s become my go-to position so I can keep her pinned in case of an accident.
She rests her cheek against my bicep and says, “Thank you, my love.”
Leaning down, I kiss her hair. “You okay with seeing me kill them?”
With her pointer finger, she traces the outline of the snowflake tattoo on my forearm while nodding. “I am.”
“You handled it very well,” I praise her. “Going back there took a lot of courage.”
“I didn’t know it was something I needed. Seeing you command your men and take revenge for me made the place seem less horrific.”
“That’s good.”
I know it won’t magically heal her, but I feel we’ve taken a huge step in the right direction.