Chapter 5
Ekaterina
I haven’t played since my father was murdered by someone who, apparently, turned their attention toward me afterward.
The man who supported my passion and wanted me to have a quiet, happy life is gone, cut down by a storm of bullets fired by someone who wanted to make sure he did not survive.
I didn’t even have time to mourn him, because I was thrown into a vortex I could no longer control. I woke up trapped once again in the world I had left behind, taking orders from people I thought were no longer part of my life.
I left Moscow many years ago to put distance between myself and that world.
And here I am, right in the middle of it again. I want to run. To leave everything and
everyone behind, but the only way I can do that is through music.
The moment my fingers touch the keys, I lose myself in a magical world.
Music becomes the air I breathe, and the piano is my only connection to the real world, until even that disappears and becomes part of me. It feels as if I can see the sounds floating in colored waves around me, offering me the most beautiful moments of the day.
Except, near the end of the piece, surrounded by light, a shadow in dark shades of gray and brown shatters my dream, distorting the beautifully tinted rays around me before turning them into black smoke.
I suddenly stop, striking the keys with all my fingers in a chorus of hideous notes that would horrify any composer.
But the image does not disappear. It takes shape behind my closed eyelids, becoming the man with mismatched eyes, that I met earlier.
My melody is not ruined by a fresh image from the last half hour. Instead, it brings an old, almost forgotten memory to the surface, from the Christmas party I attended a few months ago.
I immediately feel my cheeks warm, and I don’t understand why I am having such a naive reaction to such an ordinary memory.
It was the first time I had seen him, and I had no idea who he was. Even though I saw him speaking with my brother, I felt it was better not to show even the slightest curiosity toward the man who, that night, looked like the most beautiful monster I had ever seen.
Dark.
Impeccable.
Dangerous.
His flawless image made you realize that everything about him was attractive. The way he moved among people, or spoke to them, was fascinating.
Masculine.
But lethal.
Something, however, made me stay away. Made me avoid crossing his path, even though, for a moment, I caught him watching me with unsettling intensity.
He was probably curious, seeing me beside Mikhail.
But his connection to my brother was not a good thing at all. And today, I understood why.
Because of those eyes, the ones I could only truly observe up close today.
The ones that made shivers run down my back for the first time in my life, as if they were meant to reflect the soul of a devil hungry for blood.
Artem Voron Koronov.
I grew up among the most dangerous men in Bratva, but I never once felt real danger around them.
Because of my father’s reputation, those monsters smiled in my presence.
They respected me, and they knew my father would be very displeased if any of them so much as looked at his daughter the wrong way.
And he was not the only one who made sure I was treated like a princess. My brother did too, showing his potential as a future leader of the organization since he was little.
I did not feel safe surrounded by the worst criminals, but I was not afraid of them either.
I never had been, even when perhaps I should have been.
Until today.
None of them ever made my blood frozen the way the man with those magnificent, mismatched shades of gray and brown did today.
His gaze made me feel like prey.
One he would stalk in silence only to destroy slowly.
Painfully.
Whatever rumors I may have heard about him, I am beginning to think they underestimated him. “Miss, are you alright?”
I startle when I hear the man’s voice in the room, and my gaze immediately flies to the powerful body of my new guard. I hadn’t even realized he was still here.
“I thought you’d left.”
“I was thinking we should finish the tour.”
From the moment I saw the piano I felt an almost hypnotic need to take refuge in its music for a few moments. I needed a break from everything happening around me, even if I was in the middle of the tour Dima was giving me through the house, right after we left my luggage in the immaculate bedroom.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” I say quickly, with a polite smile, and I rise from the bench at once, following him farther.
After a complete tour, during which I meet Polina, the warm-smiling cook who resembles a caring mother to everyone here, as well as two other people busy with household duties, I return to the elegant bedroom in shades of cream and brown.
I slowly sit on the edge of the bed and take in the situation I am in.
This is a cage.
A golden one, but still a cage, surrounded by strangers who won’t even let me drive my own car.
And not just any strangers, but some of the most unhinged members of the organization.
Their reputation has reached my ears, of course.
The Angels of Death.
The three brothers who became famous for their bloody methods.
In other words... I am in deep shit.
And I want to scream with frustration because no one listens when I say that this solution, imposed by the senior Vor, forcing me to stay in this house, is A BULLSHIT.
With my fists clenched at my sides, I remember I received a message from my best friend, Oksana, who is waiting for me to give her a sign and confirm I am still alive.
It probably isn’t a good time to call her, but my frustration needs an outlet, and Oksana is always ready for that, especially when men are involved.
And she is terribly curious about the Koronov brothers, about whom she knows almost as much as I do, having been raised in an environment similar to mine.
That alone is more than enough to make her extremely intrigued by the subject.
“You’re alive!” she exclaims, amused, because she always turns everything into a joke, especially when she’s trying to cheer me up.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re in the demons’ nest?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to upset them.”
Then I stop.
Actually, I may have already done that, judging by the tight line of Pakhan’s lips when I gave him replies worthy of someone who genuinely wants to die.
“Did those guys drag you out of the car by force?”
I can’t help smiling, realizing once again how well she knows me.
“Almost.”
“And?” she says with more enthusiasm. “Tell me everything. What are they like?”
“What are they like, or how I am?”
“You are beautiful and badass. Now tell me about them.”
I can almost see her grin while I huff.
“They’re...”
I pause, thinking not only about the dark and dangerous brunet, but also about his brothers.
Yaroslav seems cold, but at least he gives the impression of being human, compared to his brother with the psychopath stare.
And the youngest, Aleksandr, or Sasha, as he allowed me to call him, seems cheerful and very friendly.
But I know how badly I could be mistaken if I drew the conclusion that they are good men. They are not.
They are all cold-hearted Bratva men with a hunger for blood and power, just like everyone else in their organization.
And the Koronov brothers are not far from becoming Baba Yaga to anyone who knows them.
“They’re...”
I try again, but I realize I am inside the house of mafiosi who have surely planted microphones everywhere, and it would not be wise to tell my friend absolutely everything.
“Are they really as bad as people say, or the opposite?”
I limit myself to short answers, hoping she will understand.
“Both.”
But my frustration is too great for me to hold back, and my patience goes straight to hell in a single second as I explode with anger.
“You know what? They’re not the problem. The problem is everything happening to me. Why do all men have to be bastards who expect a woman to be nothing more than a silent little doll? To keep quiet in public and pretend she’s having an orgasm when he doesn’t even know where to touch her,
just to boost his overinflated self-esteem? I am sick of being looked down on by brainless animals while I am trying to live my life the way I want. I am twenty-six years old, and the world still thinks it has the right to tell me what to do and control my every move.”
Filled with anger, I begin searching through the room during my frustration-fueled speech.
“And here I am, living in the same house with three men who look like they were torn straight out of fashion magazines, but who also seem to be searching for the most unique way to get rid of me. Probably one that makes sure no one ever finds my body again...”
I freeze with my hand tucked beneath the edge of the bed, right where it joins the metal leg.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss, ripping the small device stuck there and staring at it in my palm.
I clench my teeth and feel the hair rise along the back of my neck.
“All I heard was that the three of them look like they were torn out of magazines,” Oksana says with a dreamy voice. “Are they that hot?”
“Oksana! That is not the point!” I say quickly. “They’re all the same.”
“Beautiful? Send me the address. I’ll come to comfort you.”
I roll my eyes and growl out loud, but I don’t stop my current search.
Meanwhile, she sighs.
“Katya, I get it. Your father was a man with many enemies, and now those enemies may hurt you too. A lot of awful things have been happening in your life lately, and you’ll get through them because you’re strong. But look on the bright side. You’re living in the same house with three gorgeous men.”
And I do look at the bright side.
More precisely, at the palm of my hand, in the form of another microphone I find this time beneath the lamp.
So predictable... it almost disappoints me.
“I’m going to kill them,” I hiss quietly through clenched teeth.
“Come on, don’t be so dramatic. They haven’t done anything to you. You’re there because, apparently, they’re the most capable of taking care of you.”
All at once, her voice changes, now loaded with seduction and enthusiasm.
“Or do they want to take care of you in another way? Katya? Am I sensing a reverse harem? You know I love that stuff, even if I’ve never tried it. Swear you’ll tell me what it’s like.”
“Oksana, you are not helping at all!” I raise my voice, irritated by the madness running through her head. “What on earth are you talking about? Don’t forget I’m engaged.”
“But you don’t love him.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh.
“Don’t say that ever again.” My voice is more serious than ever.
“I don’t understand why you’re still going through with this. It was your father’s promise, but he’s dead, Katya. Break the engagement, because this whole thing is making you miserable.”
“I can’t do that,” I say with a sadness I still manage to keep restrained, while anger boils inside me at the thought that I am being forced to move forward with an arranged marriage I no longer want.
“I promised my father I would see through the agreement he made in the family’s name. Besides, we both know very well what the consequences would be if I changed my mind.”
She curses in Russian, and I curse in English, but I stop abruptly when I find another microphone, this time behind the dresser.
“Fucking hell… How many more are there?”
I am mostly talking to myself, but she answers me anyway.
“A few weeks,” she says, thinking I mean how long is left until the wedding. “And if I come up with any idea to get you out of this entire situation, I’ll do it. Believe me, I think about that more often than what dress I’m going to wear that day.”
“You’re the maid of honor. You already tried on the dress.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this unenthusiastic about a wedding. Not even when my father remarried five years ago to wife number three, who was only a little older than me,” she says, bitterness sharpening her voice.
“You and I are on the same page,” I add, smacking my lips in the same sad tone.
I push the dresser back into place with my hip, and this time the background noise catches her attention.
“What are you doing over there?” she asks, intrigued.
“Looking for little gifts that were left for me around the room.”
“Gifts?” she asks, confused. “Jewelry or something?”
I huff, but I can already feel my breathing growing heavier from all the moving around.
“Not quite that precious. But they are just as small.”
“What the hell are you... Wait!” she exclaims loudly, almost outraged. “They planted microphones in your room?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the p loudly.
“I can’t believe it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a hidden camera somewhere too.”
I clench my teeth, then my eyes, drawing in a deep breath.
Slowly, I let the air out and open my eyes, which could very well be full of flames with how furious I am right now. I am fully convinced my friend is right, and my bedroom is equipped with those kinds of accessories too.
“I wouldn’t be surprised either,” I say through my teeth, scanning the room for seemingly innocent objects that could be hiding such a device.
Damn it.
Even the TV has a tiny light in one corner that could be a built-in surveillance camera.
I think I am losing my mind, and I haven’t even been here for three hours. For that exact reason, my next move is worthy of an insane person, because I leave the room and go straight to the Pakhan’s office to interrogate him.
“Oksana, can we talk later, please? I have something to discuss with the small birds living in this nest.”
She doesn’t miss the reference I make to the organization’s name, the Birds of Darkness, and it makes her whistle softly.
“Yikes... Please be careful. You know they’re not people to joke around with.”
“Neither am I.”
I hurry down the marble stairs, covered in the center with an anti-slip runner, while dragging my fingers along the glossy, black-painted wooden railing.
The dominant shades in this house do not surprise me at all.
Black and charcoal gray, contrasted here and there with light gray tones, clean architectural lines, and furniture as simple as possible.
Even though the style is contemporary, traditional Slavic elements are visible in the frames of the large paintings on the staircase wall and in the decorative objects placed throughout my room.
Objects that could very well be hiding surveillance cameras.
The large, solid wood door to his office is closed.
I hesitate for a moment, my heart pounding hard in my chest, but I gather my courage and knock on it with my fist, while in my other hand I hold the three microphones I have found so far.
He doesn’t answer.
Not even after I knock harder, taken over by the frustration growing with every second this confrontation is delayed. I want to shout, scream, hit something, but there is no one here to take it.
After the third attempt, I realize the room is empty.
But an even better idea comes to my not-sorational mind.
If he gets to invade my privacy, how about I give him a taste of the same medicine?