Page 4 of Cruel Russian King
I stepped into the crowded subway and claimed a seat with my back against the window. I nodded politely at the older gentleman beside me, offering a kind smile.
Though my headphones were in, no music played. I was subtly watching those around me. A few seats down, a man held a small plastic bag in front of him, his knee bouncing, fingers constantly brushing under his nose. The bag in his hand probably had drugs and he couldn't wait to get off the subway to take a hit. Then there was the young mother nodding off with a baby in her arms, fighting sleep her body clearly needed.
Using the subway meant that if I got into trouble I'd be a sitting duck. I'd have to fight until the subway doors opened and I could escape. And hopefully by then I wouldn't be too worn out or injured to get away.
Still, something about being out here alone without my usual guards or siblings thrilled me. It was reckless and bold…my own little daredevil arc, and I loved it. Here I wasn't the baby of the family, the one they'd always pamper and worry about. Here, I was just…me.
Besides, I wasn’t unarmed. A blade was strapped in a holster under my dress. If someone tried anything, I might not win, but I’d leave them with something to remember me by.
As early as I could remember Lev and Jaroslav ensured that Mariya and I were trained: in combat fighting, weapons and escaping bondage situations. They wanted to ensure that we could hold our own until help arrived. And I was happy for the training since it gave me a level of confidence to do what I was doing now.
I was heading to the other side of Philly to meet Scott, a guy I went to college with and had a major crush on from day one. But back then, I had to focus on school. Education wasn’t a privilege many Bratva princesses were given, so I took it seriously.
After graduation, Scott went abroad. Now he’s back, and we’ve been talking over the phone for a few weeks. This would be our first time seeing each other since he returned, and I was nervous.
Scott was cute in a classic, all-American way: blonde hair, blue eyes, the kind of jock who looked like he belonged on a billboard. He was normal. And in my world, normal was something I craved. Just the idea of living freely, without a constant target on your back. Of being a woman with the right to choose her own life, to marry who she wanted. Of raising a family without always looking over my shoulder.
Two of my older brothers, Lev and Jaroslav, had kidnapped and forced their wives into marriage. But their wives were lucky. My brothers would never hurt a woman, and somehow, they’d both ended up in love, and happily married.
Still…I didn’t want that for myself.
A forced marriage to someone I didn’t know or love felt barbaric. I hated the idea of being used as leverage in a political play, but I wasn’t naive. I knew it could happen to me.
I liked to believe my brothers would talk to me first. That they’d give me a say. But I’d been raised with one core value above all else: loyalty to my family. If marrying someone helped strengthen our faction, I would do it.
…Even if it made me sick to my core.
Hopefully, Scott and I would hit it off and maybe even start a relationship. But would my brothers ever accept him as a suitable match? They’d assess everything, from whether he could give me the kind of luxurious life I was used to, to whether he had the strength, man power and skills to protect me. Our lifestyle wasn’t for the weak, and if my brothers so much as smelled fear on Scott, he’d be done for.
That’s why there was no way I could tell them where I was going or who I was meeting. First, they’d run a deep background check on him. And even if he passed that, and ticked all their ridiculous boxes, they’d still want to meet him.
Maybe Avit and Pyotr would give him a fair chance, but Marten, Jaroslav, and Lev? Not a chance.
Lev’s the head of our faction, Jaroslav is his underboss, and rarely smiles unless it’s absolutely necessary. And then there’s Marten…bald, muscular, and built like a biker. No way would they sit across from Scott without grilling him to the point of no return. He’d probably block me before dessert.
So, I did what I’d gotten good at since I was twelve…sneaking away.
Mariya was busy running the Hearth, and my brothers were all busy taking care of Bratva business. I told them I might go shopping today, which they all knew could mean hours in just one store. That would buy me enough time.
Scott and I were meeting at an art gallery first, then grabbing lunch. I’ve always loved art. It was something I shared with my mother before she and my father were killed. I was just eleven when it happened, but even twelve years later, the pain still hit like it was yesterday.
When the subway jerked to a stop, I stood, smoothing my coat, and stepped off as others shuffled on. The art gallery was just a block away.
A few minutes later, I pushed open the gallery door and was greeted by a waitress with a warm smile.
“Welcome. Can I offer you a glass of champagne?” she asked politely.
“Thank you.” I took the glass and stepped deeper into the gallery, already buzzing with a modest crowd.
I wandered through the space, eyes scanning for Scott, hoping he had arrived before me. When I didn’t spot him, I let myself admire the artwork, each brushstroke revealing the talent of its creator.
Still, I kept glancing at the time.
After an hour and a few unanswered calls, I sighed. The sting of disappointment settled in. I really thought we had something, at least enough for him to show up. I guess I was wrong.
Leaving the gallery, I had my phone in hand, typing out a quick message to Scott to let him know I was heading out. I was tempted to let him have it for standing me up, and then block his number for good, but I’d learned a thing or two from my brothers’ mess-ups with their wives. Until we talked face to face, I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. I had just slipped my phone into my handbag when I turned the corner, and bumped into someone.
“I'm so sor…”
