Chapter 10
NIKA
Idon’t talk on the drive over to the restaurant.
I keep looking at myself in the window, catching glimpses of my face: diamond earrings, diamond necklace, makeup, hair done.
I look like an entirely different woman.
Like a stranger. Even the dress I’m wearing is strange, even though it’s beautiful and flattering.
Navy blue, satin, flowing, cut low and clinging to my hips.
I thought Gabe was joking when he dumped it on the bed earlier this afternoon and told me to get ready.
But it turns out my husband takes dressing me up very seriously.
“You don’t have to be nervous.” His voice is low and soft. He’s only halfway paying attention to me. His phone glows and he’s tapping out a message. I wonder what he’s doing on that thing.
“Who said I was?”
“I can tell.” He glances up with a frown, eyes moving down my body. “You look good.”
“Yeah?” My heart flutters and my mouth goes dry. God, I’m so eager for praise from this man, and I don’t even know why. “You think so?”
“My people are going to love you.” He looks back at his phone.
I sink back into my seat. Right, it’s not about what he likes. It’s not even about me.
This is about my use.
The driver parks out front of a fancy place in West Hollywood. It’s Italian, lots of dark woods and glass. Daniel meets us out front wearing all black. He grins at me, greets Gabe respectfully, and takes my hand to help me up over the curb.
“You look fantastic, Nika,” he says happily.
“Easy.” Gabe shoves his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket. For the first time, he’s fully present. “Keep that to yourself.”
“I thought you wanted them to like me?” I pointedly turn away from Gabe and loop my hand through Daniel’s arm. “Thank you for the compliment. I appreciate it.”
He laughs and leads me into the entrance. “You’re going to get me killed,” he murmurs, his face never once betraying anything but amusement, and I wonder how much of that is a joke. I glance back at Gabe and he’s staring pure death and fire right back at me.
Inside is dark and loud. I don’t know how anyone can have a meal in this place.
The tables are all packed though and everyone is wearing nice clothes.
I thought I might be overdressed, but I blend right in with all the other rich ladies.
Daniel takes us straight through the dining area and I feel more than a few eyes follow me.
I wonder what they’re thinking: trophy wife of a rich man?
Or foolish moron married to a vicious gangster?
At the door to a private party room, Daniel steps aside and gestures for us to head inside.
Gabe takes my arm, replacing him. Instantly, the tension and heat ratchets down my spine.
I glance at my husband, a tremor running through me.
I’m not sure why his touch does this to me.
He glares straight ahead, jaw tight, and drags me into the back.
There are a dozen men around a massive table.
Cigar smoke curls at the ceiling. More bottles of vodka than people litter every available space.
Food is piled on small plates. The men are eating, drinking, and laughing loudly.
Some of them are visibly armed, although I’m sure the gun laws in California are strict.
The second Gabe enters the room, the chattering dies down.
I’m partially aware of Daniel slipping in behind us, but mostly I’m caught by the intense scrutiny of a bunch of scary, hard-eyed men.
“Bratsy,” Gabe says, smiling easily now. The confidence in this man is stunning. He speaks in Russian, but I only understand half of what he’s saying. Something about an important day, the future of our group, the final piece to the war—
And I realize he’s talking about me.
Heat flushes my cheeks. Gabe turns me toward the men, practically making me strut for them. He switches to English, probably for my benefit.
“This is my wife, Veronika Kiselyov, daughter of Vadim, and together she is going to help me drag what’s left of our glorious brotherhood into the future.
The Dragon’s seat is mine now, brothers.
Power will be ours. Blood will be ours. Glory and wealth unimaginable is within reach. Za bratvu i za volyu!”
To the brotherhood and to freedom.
“Za svoikh!” the men shout in reply.
To our own.
Vodka flows for a while. A drink gets shoved in my hand by several overly drunk men.
I’m introduced to them all, one after the other, though I barely remember their names.
Pavels, Olegs, others. They’re a swirl of laughter and menace.
They remind me too much of the men that used to visit from my father, the men who guided my life, taught me how to be small, made me feel like I was a speck of filth not to be trusted with my own decisions.
It’s possible they are those same men, though they all blur in my mind now.
Always different, never friendly, never visible for long, but lurking in the background of all my failed relationships.
“This is the daughter.” An older man called Marat sneers at me from his seat. He’s haloed in a crown of smoke. His dark eyes burn like embers. Several of the other men treat him with utmost respect. Gabe waited until last to bring me to him over in the far corner of the room.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I say it meekly, keeping myself as tiny as I can. That’s working so far. The men glance at me but don’t see anything of note, which is exactly what I want. They’re happy if I’m a thing, a symbol of their future. They don’t need an actual woman.
“Strange that a strong man like Vadim could have a girl like—“ Marat waves at me dismissively, watching Gabe’s reaction.
“He should have been more active in raising her then.” If Gabe’s insulted, he doesn’t show it.
“Pah, you’re right perhaps, but still, look at her.” Marat wrinkles his nose. “Pretty, yes, but pretty women are, how do you say it? Disposable? Cheap?”
“This one has the right last name.”
I bristle at the way they’re talking about me. I’m standing right here, listening to every word, feeling completely mortified. They’re talking like I’m a prized cow.
“Yes, a good last name, a man I believe in. Gone now, sadly, and here we are. You are married to this shadow of him.”
“The girl will be useful.”
“Yes, yes, you and your useful. Tell me, how useful is she, truly? Good tits, yes, maybe hips for having babies, but what else? She is a girl, and meanwhile, we have problem to deal with. Turkish problem. Russian problem. Dragon problem.”
“You think I’m wasting my time.”
“Your time is our time, pakhan. That is what I am saying.”
I have to fight the urge to cover myself with my arms. This beautiful dress feels like I’m naked.
Marat clearly already weighed and judged me, and he found me lacking.
Which pisses me off: this old bastard doesn’t know me.
He has no clue what I’m capable of, but he talks like I’m a pair of tits attached to ovaries and a pussy and not much else.
“What makes you think you can talk about my wife so casually?” Gabe sounds almost bored.
I want to scream at him to do something.
How is he letting this old bastard embarrass me?
But this feels wrong. He was burning with jealous rage when Daniel so much as touched me and spoke a single friendly word.
Now it’s like Gabe’s shut himself off, like his emotions have been drained out, and I don’t understand it.
“The girl is nothing. She’s, how does it go, she’s a marionetka, a little puppet.” He mimes making a doll dance on strings. “I know you, Gabriel. People are contracts.”
Gabe leans forward. “And do you think our contract means you can insult the woman I married?” There’s a glimmer of anger in his expression, a sharpening of his eyes, and the room feels like it’s about to explode with tension.
Men are watching, most pretending to be disinterested, but we’re the focus of a room filled with violent, hardened men, and the moment’s teetering on disaster.
I don’t know what makes me do it. Maybe I’m tired of the way I’m treated, like I’m nothing but a checkbook.
These men don’t know me, they have no idea what I’ve been through, and they sure as hell don’t have any clue what I plan on doing in the future.
They think I’m weak, and they should. I’ve spent the night reinforcing their preconceived ideas about me, all because I learned to make myself small a long time ago.
“Actually, Mr. Marat, I have no strings, and my husband does not have access to my bank accounts. If any of you want to fund your conflict with my money, you’ll have to get my permission first.”
The room goes still. Marat looks at me in surprise. His shaggy eyebrows raise. Gabe pulls back, expression unreadable, but he doesn’t seem upset that I’m undermining him. If anything, there’s a strange fascination.
“Are you telling me, Mrs. Kiselyov—“
“My surname is Russo now.” I raise my chin, heart rate hammering. I’m not sure if that’s officially true or not, but it doesn’t matter. The point stands. “And what I’m telling you is you should be more respectful if you want something from me in the future.”
Marat’s jaw tightens. His grip on his cigar threatens to break it in half.
Laughter shatters some of the tension. Daniel’s head is thrown back as he howls.
Several more of the men join him, cheering for their Pakhan’s new wife in garbled, alcohol-slurred Russian, all while Gabe continues to watch me with naked fascination.
After a moment, he turns to Marat and speaks quietly, so most of the room can’t hear over the roar of drinking and cheers.
“Speak to my wife like that again and I will cut your throat myself. She is my partner now. You will respect it.”
Marat’s eyes dart to Gabe. He nods once, sharply. “Yes, Pakhan. I see I was mistaken.”