Chapter 9
ISABELLA
This is so weird. I can still feel him.
I get in the shower after waking up alone this morning.
As I stand under the warm water, I wonder how different things will be now that I’ve finally had sex.
My body still feels the same other than the monster cock-sized ache in my pussy that Alexei left behind.
I’ve heard that women have a certain glow after they’ve had sex for the first time, but I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I stepped in the shower. I look pretty much the same.
But… the things he did to make me feel something so intense…
This is what comes from being raised Catholic and being told to keep my hands to myself when it comes to sex.
I think I might’ve been more prepared for it if I’d been giving myself orgasms all this time.
Coming was frightening at first. It really did feel like I was going to die for a second, but then it happened and it was like heaven.
I didn’t hear bells or angels singing, but if that had happened, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
I could definitely do it again… with somebody else. Alexei might be good at making a girl come, but he’s far from husband material.
The warm water flowing over my body brings me back down to earth.
This arrangement is bullshit. And given the way Dad has treated me throughout it, I’ve got a good mind to take off.
It’s not like anybody’s watching me now.
I could probably just get dressed, pack a few things, and hop a cab to the train station.
Hell, I could probably be in Canada, or wherever Annie went, by the afternoon.
I get out of the shower and as I dry off and get ready for my day, I think about what my leaving would mean for my family.
Dad’s the big boss in Fortune and while I don’t know a lot about how the money works within the whole of the family business, I do know that if he’s broke, then that means it affects all the people who work for him and maybe even the big, big bosses in Sicily somewhere.
I know that if the Mechnikovs decide that now is the right time to take over his territory, they could, and then the Pecora family empire would be no more.
Yeah. That would be it for the lot of us. But when I think about the fact that Dad was so ready to sell me out, well, it would serve him right if I just split.
Maybe. I don’t know.
I get dressed, then look through the closet. Half of it is filled with my clothing, all neatly hung up and arranged by color. Who the hell did all this, anyway? Did my father hire an interior designer or something? It’s ridiculous.
The rental I was staying in is probably gone. The lease is broken and new tenants might already be moved in by now. It’s shitty. I loved that little house.
The doorbell rings, then there’s a knock. I flinch, wondering who would be calling at this hour. Whoever it is, it can’t be for me.
But… I mean, I am the mistress of the house or whatever now. I go to answer it.
Anya stands at the door, her long, curly hair up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a T-shirt and denim shorts.
She’s tanned and pretty and smells faintly of coconut.
If she weren’t Alexei’s cousin, I’d say she’s a better match for him than me.
She seems well versed in this odd old-world Russian thing.
“Good morning,” she says, her slight Russian accent peeking through her words. “You’re up and dressed. Good. You sleep well?”
Hmm. At least she’s not being lewd. “Yeah,” is all I say. “Alexei isn’t here. If you’re looking for him.”
“That’s fine. I was actually looking for you. I was in the neighborhood, on my way to get breakfast. You hungry?”
I am. And, of the family I’ve met so far, I hate Anya the least at the moment. She’s been pretty cool to me through this. “Yeah, I could eat,” I say.
“So, you probably have questions about this whole thing.”
We’re sitting on the patio of a little cafe around the corner from the penthouse.
I’m only vaguely acquainted with this neighborhood.
Dad always used to call it ‘Little Moscow’, but now that I’m actually sitting in the middle of it, it doesn’t look any different from any other part of the city.
On the way over, I saw a few signs to stores that had Russian lettering under the English, but otherwise, it’s just a place like any other.
I adjust myself in the wooden chairs we’re sitting in.
The inside looks entirely too pretentious.
Wooden-paneled walls with old-looking lamps in the walls, a bar in one corner of the room that’s curved with bottles in little display boxes above and behind the counter, books on bookshelves built in the walls.
I’m kind of glad we’re out here on the patio.
I feel underdressed for the inside of this place.
I shrug at her statement. “I don’t know,” I say. “It seems a lot like how things go in my family. You know, except for this whole… arrangement.”
She nods. “I guess that part must be pretty disorienting, but it is what it is. You’re here now, and that means you need to get the lay of the land pretty quickly if you want to survive.”
I snicker. “Survive? That’s a funny way to put it.”
She takes a sip from her coffee cup, her smile faltering a little. “Yeah, well, there’s not really any other way to put it. You might be married into the fold, but you’re still an outsider, Isabella. This whole thing is about trust. You can’t fuck it up.”
I chew on my bottom lip, my nerves poking at me. “Why are you making it like everything depends on me? Isn’t Alexei just as important?”
She sighs and says, “How do I put this? Alexei is… well, in a way, he’s way more important. If things go badly between you, it will look bad for him and in turn, it looks bad on his father. And his father is a Pakhan. He can’t look bad. They’ll do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
I don’t know exactly what that means, but it makes my stomach turn the moment she says it.
She takes another sip of coffee and says, “I’ll be clear.
In the Bratva, or the brotherhood, loyalty to the family is everything.
Our structures and hierarchies are more fluid than other families, and there are rules that apply to some and not others, and in time, you’ll learn about how that works for us as women, but if there’s one thing that is clear, you never betray your brothers.
You don’t betray your father. The punishment is severe.
You do not want to be on the business end of a Pakhan’s wrath. ”
My mouth has gone dry so I take a sip of the tea. It’s too strong and a little bitter. “So,” I say, “What are you saying? If Alexei and I don’t work out—”
“There is no ‘working out’.” She says that with a little laugh. “You’ll stay together because if you don’t, Maxim Mechnikov will take his debt from your father. In cash or in blood. Whichever way he wants.”
I look down at the deep brown of the liquid in my cup. “What if Alexei decides he doesn’t want to be with me anymore?”
“Same thing,” she says with a little smirk. “Maxim could suddenly decide that Alexei is no longer as useful as he previously thought. In which case, Pavel will get his chance to carry on their father’s legacy instead.”
I don’t like the sound of that. Maxim deciding that his own son isn’t ‘useful’…
That sounds more like he thinks of him like a tool rather than his son.
Is that how it is with fathers and their children in this family?
I can say a lot about my father, but at least I never felt like a wrench he could take out and use whenever he wanted.
At least, not until recently, anyway.
“But let’s not dwell on the bad parts of this arrangement,” she says. “You’re a Mechnikov now, which puts you in a very, very fortunate position. You’re adjacent to the prince, my friend.”
I snicker. Making me out like I’m a princess is a weird description for all this. “So, what, I’m royalty now?”
“In a way, yes. And that changes things for you, socially speaking. For one thing, your little reputation? It doesn’t matter anymore.”
My face flushes. The words my father said to me, calling me a slut and all that, it comes back to me like a searing flash of light. She reaches across the table and touches my hand gently.
“If anyone,” she says, “and I do mean anyone has anything negative to say about you now that you are married to Alexei, they will have to answer directly to him. And trust me, no one wants to anger him. Not even in passing.”
I think back to Mike Piscelli bleeding to death in the alley across from my father’s house. Alexei didn’t even know me, really, and he beat that poor sap to death for trying to hurt me. What the hell would he do now that I was his wife?
“I don’t know if I want that on my conscience,” I tell her. “His hurting somebody just because they were talking shit about me.”
“It won’t be tolerated,” she says as she finishes her coffee. She looks around and waves down a waiter.
“Did you hear me, Anya? I don’t care if someone talks about me. I mean, they’re just words—”
“It’s disrespect. No one disrespects us. Understand?”
A waiter practically appears out of nowhere and speaks to her in Russian.
She side eyes me then responds to him in English.
“Mrs. Mechnikov is still very new to the Russian language,” she says to him.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s impolite to speak in your native tongue in front of English speakers? Or were you raised in a barn?"
His face goes beet red. He looks over at me and his eyes widen. “Apologies,” he stammers. “I wasn’t aware.” He swallows hard and looks back at Anya. “What may I get for you, Ms. Volkov?”
“More coffee for me, please.” She’s not looking at him as she slides her empty cup to him. “What would you like, Isabella?”
I’m a little speechless. In my dad’s restaurant, I’d sometimes get timid waiters who trip over themselves trying to serve me, but the ones who have been around for a while just treat me like I’m a regular. There’s no legitimate terror in anyone’s eyes when they look at me. Not like this poor guy.
“Um…” I look down at my half-eaten plate of eggs and toast. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Nonsense,” she says, then to the waiter, “Why don’t you bring us a plate of pashka with two forks? I think she deserves something sweet to soften your rudeness.”
“Of course,” he says. “Whatever you ladies need.”
He takes Anya’s cup and practically runs back inside like his ass is on fire. Anya leans over to me. “They don’t serve Pashka here this time of year,” she says with a little smirk. “It’s strictly a dish that they bring out around Easter.”
I blink. “If they don’t have it—”
“They will find some. Trust me. He wouldn’t dare come back here and tell me that otherwise. And just think, I’m only a cousin. But I’m sitting here with the new wife of Alexei Mechnikov of the Samorodokaya Empire. We’ll be eating pashka before he dares bring us the bill.”
I’m stunned. If I tried something like that at one of Dad’s restaurants, I might get what I asked for, but boy, would I hear about it later. I hope I don’t hear about this from Alexei later. Anya seems pretty confident that this is just what’s done.
Her eyes drift up to my hair, which, at the moment, is just a collection of waves hanging at my shoulders. “After the pashka, what do you think about doing something with your hair?”
I touch the ends self-consciously. “It looks bad, huh?”
“Not bad,” she says with a little laugh. “In fact, I think it’s lovely. Maybe you might consider getting some extensions. Just something to lengthen it and thicken it out some. It’ll definitely make you more appealing to Alexei.”
I can feel myself scowling at that. “Yeah. He, uh, he sort of mentioned that my hair was too short for him. I don’t know why he cares either way, actually.”
She shrugs. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt since you’re stuck together in this. And I know he likes long hair on his women.”
That makes me look at her long, curly tresses. It’s in a ponytail right now, but even with that, it hangs nearly to the center of her back. I wonder if that whole thing is a fetish or something with Russian men.
Minutes later, the pashka appears and it’s absolutely delicious. It’s just like a lemony, slightly softer, cheesecake with flicks of chocolate and almonds. I could really eat this all the time. I might have to ‘insist’ that they serve this every time I come to this cafe.
And after, she takes me to a salon and the moment that I walk in, I have a crazy thought.
Just because Alexei likes long hair doesn’t mean I have to comply.
Honestly, the sex with him last night was great, but…
if I can get through all this with him paying as little attention to me as possible, the better.
I get in the chair and the hairstylist looks me over. “And what are we doing today?” she asks me in a heavy Russian accent.
“How about a pixie cut?” I say to her. Anya’s sitting in the next chair and I feel her eyes on me. “It’s warm out. I think I’d like something low-maintenance.”
She looks over at Anya, as if for approval, but what can she say? If what she says is true, then what I say goes, right?
“All right,” she says. “Whatever you want, Mrs. Mechnikov.”
Okay. Maybe this whole Bratva Princess business isn’t so bad after all.