Chapter 13: Vow of Deception: Chapter 12

I remain slumped against the table long after Adrian leaves. I didn’t look at him, because if I had, I would’ve been creeped out by the total darkness in his eyes.

My shorts are still bunched around my ankles because I didn’t have the energy to pull them up. My dignity is somewhere on the floor, too, as I stay here, hugging the table even after the click of the door has echoed in the silent dining room.

I don’t want to think about what just happened or how embarrassingly I reacted to it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel it. The handprints, the flames on my ass. The damn tingling in my core.

Slowly closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath and straighten. The movement shifts the tingling, and it’s like my world is set on fire. I’m careful in pulling up my shorts, but my ass is burning. The friction causes me to moan. I don’t bother hiding it now since he’s not here and won’t be able to hear me.

This is so messed up.

I need a drink.

I’ve been sober for way too long and that’s probably why I’m reacting this way. If I’m half-drunk, as usual—or better yet, completely drunk—I’ll return to my robotic self, who barely feels anything.

Larry never approved of my drinking habits and I miss him, but I can’t see him, so this calls for more drinks.

I search the wooden cabinets on the sides of the room, but I find nothing. They probably keep alcohol in the kitchen.

After leaving the dining room, I follow the path Ogla showed me earlier until I find myself in the entryway. I go in the opposite direction, assuming that’s where the kitchen will be.

Sure enough, I find it. The space is large and way cleaner than any cooking space I’ve seen before. The white counters are shining and the stainless-steel kitchen tools occupy a portion of the counter, waiting to be used.

I’m nervous about touching anything in case I ruin something. But my need for a drink overrules that feeling. There’s a constant ache at the front of my head that will only ebb with alcohol.

I start with the fridge. There’s water, fruits, vegetables, and bottles of juice. But there’s no sign of any beer. So I move on to the cabinets, checking them one by one. I find cereals, probably for Jeremy, spices, some utensils, but there’s still no trace of alcohol.

My search turns more panicked as I open and close every cabinet, rummaging through them frantically.

“Are you looking for something, Mrs. Volkov?”

I flinch, jerking back, but my hand remains on the handle of the cabinet as I face Ogla. She stands at the entrance, expression closed off as usual.

“I…umm…do you know where the beer is?”

“We don’t have beer.”

Adrian seems like the type of snob who doesn’t drink beer, so that makes sense. I try again. “Whiskey?”

“No.”

“Wine?”

“No.”

“Do you have any alcoholic beverages here?”

“No.”

“How is that possible? Doesn’t Adrian drink?”

“Not in the house, Mrs. Volkov.”

I want to ask her why the hell he doesn’t, but her closed off tone and face deter me from it. I doubt she’d answer if I asked, anyway.

The lack of alcohol is hurting my head. It’s even worse than a few seconds ago. Every addict like me holds on to the promise of the next hit, a sip, something to alleviate the ache. Contrary to common belief, we do endure, but only because our brains are attuned to the idea of instant gratification after a certain wait time. Now that my brain has figured out there will be no alcohol, it’s actively trying to split my head open, and so I give in to its demands.

“I’ll go to the grocery store to buy some beer. Can I tell them to put it on Adrian’s tab?” I ask Ogla ever so casually, attempting to get past her.

She raises an arm, blocking my exit. “Mr. Volkov gave clear instructions that you’re not to leave the property.”

The asshole did mention that.

“It won’t take long,” I bargain.

“No.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Ogla. I can push you away and go.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that, Mrs. Volkov. You’ll be stopped by the guards outside with less gentle methods.”

He has more guards outside? I thought Bulky Blond and Crooked Nose were the only ones, and I’d assumed they followed him wherever he went.

“So you go,” I say hopefully.

She shakes her head once.

“One of the guards can go, then?”

“No alcohol is allowed in the house. You’ll have to get used to it.”

I can’t just get used to it. I’ve been drunk for most of my life. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but I’ve always been kind of drunk and that’s how I’ve managed to stay out of my head. That’s how I’ve numbed my feelings.

If I’m sober, all my emotions will be unfiltered and raw, like everything I experienced this morning. Come to think of it, I probably had the nightmare because I didn’t sleep drunk. I don’t want to find out what will happen if I stay like this.

I’m not ready to experience it.

I wish I could get in touch with Larry so he could smuggle me some beer. But that would be as hard as searching for a specific ant in an ant farm. Larry has always been the one to do the finding, not the other way around. Besides, I have no clue where this mansion is located and how far it is from the city.

And if I attempt to escape, Adrian will turn me in without a second thought.

Ogla is still watching me as if expecting me to bargain again, but I already know she’s a lost cause. I have no doubt that she’ll report everything I say or do to Adrian, so I have to be smart about dealing with her.

I stare back at her, meeting her quiet maliciousness with contemplation. Adrian said that I can ask her about anything ‘I don’t remember.’ Hmph. Manipulative bastard.

“Hey, Ogla.”

“Yes?”

“What does Adrian do exactly?”

She pauses as if she didn’t expect that question, then says, “Why do you want to know?”

“He said to ask you for anything and I believe this belongs in that category. I’m sure I knew all about his work before I lost my memories, so you’re just going to have to refresh them for me.”

I expect her to shrug me off, but she says, “Mr. Volkov is part of the Russian mafia.”

He’s not a spy, after all, but that’s not a shock. He can pass for a mobster, even though his style and features are sophisticated.

The conversation I overheard from the Giants fans about the Bratva rushes back again and I swallow. They said they were dangerous people who didn’t hesitate to kill. Not that I should be surprised that Adrian is a killer, but this information puts everything into real—and terrifying—perspective.

He’s one of those dangerous people. It’s not only the vibe he gives. His entire existence is set to elicit fear in the hearts of anyone who talks about him or his organization.

“Part of?” I ask, opting to continue probing Ogla. I need to have an accurate assessment of my situation so I’ll be able to deal with it.

“Yes.”

“What does part of mean?”

“It means he’s a member.”

Trying to get information from this woman feels like pulling teeth, but I rein in my exasperation. “He seems higher up, having guards and living in a mansion.”

“He is.”

“How much higher up?”

“Right under the .”

I heard that term once. “Is that the leader of the mafia?”

“The leader of the brotherhood, yes. Mr. Volkov is the brains behind most of the operations.”

Again, I should be surprised, but I’m not. Adrian seems like the type of bastard who strategizes from the background to inflict more damage with fewer casualties.

But now that I know he’s higher up, I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous. A thousand thoughts occupy my mind and the most prominent of all is that I shouldn’t be here. The second one is that I’ve landed myself in trouble.

However, it’s not like I had a choice. It was either become a mafia man’s wife or rot in jail.

Though, the more time I spend in Adrian’s company, the more seriously I entertain the jail idea.

“If you’ve finished your breakfast, you need to study,” Ogla pulls my attention to the present.

“Study?”

“Follow me.”

I do, not sure where she’s going with this. She leads me to a sitting area and motions at the coffee table, on which there is an iPad and a phone.

“That will be your phone. My number is three on speed dial. Kolya is two.”

“Kolya?”

“He’s Mr. Volkov’s second-in-command.”

“Oh, is he Bulky Blond or Crooked Nose?”

She pauses, probably at the terms I’ve used. “The bulkier one.”

“What’s Crooked Nose’s name?”

“Yan. He’s four on speed dial.”

“Let me guess. Adrian is one?”

“Yes, but you’re not to call him unless it’s a matter of life or death and you can’t reach any of us.”

“I won’t be calling him at all, thank you very much,” I mutter.

She narrows her eyes but doesn’t comment on my tone, so I ask, “Is the iPad for my entertainment?”

“It’s for studying.”

“Studying what?”

“The brotherhood. You’re Mr. Volkov’s wife, and while he doesn’t take you out frequently, you have to make a few appearances per year by his side. For that, you need to know about the structure, the hierarchy, and learn the names of everyone in the brotherhood and its closest circle.”

“But why? I thought he’d tell everyone I’ve lost my memories.”

“That’s out of the question, Mrs. Volkov. You need to act as you did before.”

“But you guys know. You and Kolya and Yan.”

“We’re loyal to Mr. Volkov. People on the outside aren’t.” She tips her chin toward the iPad. “You’re expected to learn that within a week. If you have any questions, ask me.”

She then turns and leaves, her heels clicking on the wooden flooring. I flop on the sofa and wince when my ass burns, the feel of Adrian’s hand on me barging back to the forefront of my mind. The way he touched me so firmly, surely, with no hesitation whatsoever. He provoked a part of me I didn’t think existed, a part that intrigued and scared me at the same time. Fear is definitely more present, though.

I gather the iPad in my hands and flip it open to find a document that’s hundreds of pages long. Holy hell. Who took the time to write this? I was never much of a reader, so this will be like pulling teeth.

But hey, at least there are pictures underneath every name.

I’m about to start when I recall something far more important than all this.

Jeremy.

I was too preoccupied with my craving for alcohol earlier—still am—that I forgot about him. I abandon the iPad and shove the phone in my pocket before I head upstairs, where I assume his room is. I go in the direction of Adrian’s bedroom, thinking he and Lia would’ve put their child near them.

After trying a few doors, I don’t find Jeremy’s room. It takes me several more attempts at the opposite side of the hall before I spot a young woman shutting a door. She’s blonde with her hair cut short, not in a provocative way, but more in a book nerd kind of way. Freckles line her cheeks and nose and she has honey-colored skin. She carries a tray of cereals that appear to be untouched and doesn’t notice me as she goes down the hall. Are there other stairs over there? I’ll explore them later.

I creep to the room she left and stop in front of it to suck in a breath before opening the door.

Sure enough, Jeremy is sitting on the floor, surrounded by countless toys. His hair falls over his forehead in desperate need of a cut. His eyes are a shade of gray that seems mysterious, even for a kid. He looks so much like Adrian, it’s a little disturbing.

Although he’s playing, there’s no expression of joy. Only concentration and sadness, like there’s something inside him that’s missing and he’s trying to fill it by playing.

“Hey, Jeremy,” I say softly.

His eyes snap up, fingers freezing on a toy soldier, but then he lifts it and throws it against my chest. It hits my breastbone before it drops to the ground.

“Get out!”

But somehow, I can see past his aggressiveness and to the reason he’s acting this way.

The look in his eyes says it all. It’s part of why I felt out of sorts and fainted after the first time I met him. I share that look, but on the opposite side.

He misses his mother and I miss my baby girl.

We’re both two incomplete pieces who might have been brought together by fate.

Or his asshole father.

When I don’t attempt to leave, he throws another soldier at me. “I said, leave.”

I close the door and approach him slowly so as not to trigger any negative reaction. When he doesn’t throw anything else at me, I crouch in front of him, bringing myself level with him as I soften my voice. “Are you sad that I left before, Jeremy?”

“No.” His lips tremble around the word as he grabs a soldier in each hand.

“I was, though.” My own voice shakes as I see my daughter through his innocent eyes. “I missed you so much that I couldn’t survive in the world without you. It became so bleak and boring. All I wanted to do was to find you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he whispers, peeking at me from beneath his lashes.

“Because I have to live for both of us. I couldn’t die, baby.”

“You were going to die?” His voice holds so much fear, I internally kick myself in the butt for it.

“No, of course not.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He head-butts the two soldiers together and stares at them as he murmurs, “Are you going to leave again?”

“Absolutely not.” I meant it as a lie, but the words come from my mouth like the truest thing I’ve ever said.

Before I can think on that, Jeremy lunges at me in a tight hug. His arms wrap around my waist with a force that pushes me down on my butt.

I can feel him sniffle against my chest. “I m-missed you, Mommy. Please don’t leave me.”

“Never.” The words escape my mouth with so much conviction that it leaves me breathless. I hug him close and kiss the top of his head, taking my time to smell him. He’s like a little marshmallow, soft and beautiful.

“Don’t become a ghost either,” he whimpers.

“A ghost?”

He nods in my chest without lifting his head. “You were a ghost the other day. I don’t like Ghost Mommy. She was scary.”