Page 52 of Ruinous Need
VIKTOR’S STOIC GUARD gives up with a sigh that reminds me of Viktor and answers my question.
“Mr Zakharov didn’t want to be here.”
But it’s been days.
“Where is he?”
The guard falls silent, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. One of his tattoos matches Viktor’s. He seems tense. Like wherever Viktor is right now, he doesn’t approve.
This is the first time I’ve been allowed out. I don’t know where they’re taking me.
Outside the window, the city streets roll by, slick with rain. The guard refuses to play music. Daria sits beside me in the back seat, to make sure I don’t try to roll out, but escaping is far from my mind right now.
Everyone seems to be in a mournful mood. Like we’re all going to our fate.
I smooth my hands over the gauzy dress I chose from the pile of clothing. I pull the camel-colored coat tighter around my shoulders when I see the dark mansion that we’re heading into.
It looks like a fortress.
I see the symbols on the gate and I recognize them from one of Viktor’s tattoos. This must be the Pakhan’s house. The Bratva headquarters. As I make the realization, I notice how many heavily armed guards there are. This isn’t just a building, it’s an entire complex of people.
I walk in stunned silence through the elaborately-tiled foyer and I’m led down labyrinthine corridors until I find myself in what appears to be the Pakhan’s office.
My heart races, but I try to keep my expression neutral. He fixes me with the penetrating, icy stare that haunts my dreams. There’s nothing behind these eyes. They’re unchanging as they regard me. His hair is a dark blonde, swept back from his face in a sleek helmet.
“Lisette.”
The voice is chilling and familiar.
“Semyon Zakharov. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
He rises smoothly from his chair and kisses my cheek. Based on his appearance, I expect his skin to be ice cold. It’s not, but my face is burning hot in comparison as nerves ravage my insides.
“I thought we should meet to arrange our nuptials.”
I nod, my throat too choked up to speak.
“I’ve moved the date forward. We will wed next Saturday,” he tells me. So soon.
I thought I had more time with Viktor… I control that thought. Because it feels like this man can see inside my head.
“I’ve come back from Chicago specially.” He bares his teeth in something approximating a smile. “The unexpected threats to your safety make it all the more urgent that we get things wrapped up soon.”
I thought, after all this time, the Pakhan must feel some kind of passion towards me. Nothing suggests that. He talks aboutour marriage as coldly and impartially as though it’s another part of his business.
Part of me is relieved. This will not be a marriage where I’m trying to fend off the advances of a man I don’t want. It will be loveless. Chilling. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life at the side of this haughty man.
Would he melt if I got to know him? The way Viktor has? I don’t think so.
There’s something impenetrable about Semyon. As though I’m standing in front of an iceberg that is miles deep. The ice in his eyes keeps going and going right to his core.
He wanted this, I remember Viktor telling me. To lead this organization. To have the power and restrictions that went with it.
I think, in aiming for the top, he also cut off the parts of himself that were inconvenient. Like love.
In two weeks, this will be my life. No passion. No anger. No clashing with a man who’s always in my space. I’m sure we’ll sleep at separate ends of the house, barely interacting, except what he considers necessary to produce an heir.
A year ago that might have seemed like an ideal scenario for this marriage. Nothingness, at least, is better than repulsion.
