Under Control: Chapter 26

Icome home from an afternoon sitting beside my mother to find a note waiting on the kitchen island: Pick a box and put on what’s inside. I’ll be home to pick you up shortly. V.

My heart’s beating hard as I hurry up into the bedroom. Sure enough, there are three dress boxes, each of them closed and wrapped with red ribbon, and I find one more note.

Pick one and only one. Don’t peek. I’ll know if you do, and you won’t like your punishment. V.

“Cheeky little bastard,” I say, smiling to myself.

It’s been a long day. I feel guilty over how boring it is sitting beside my mother’s unconscious body, which makes me want to stay for as long as I can physically handle, but I’m not even sure she knows I’m around. The doctors say she’ll be ready to wake up soon, and Luka promises me they’re not bullshitting, that she really is healing very well.

I need this distraction. For as difficult as things have been lately, Valentin’s the only bright spot in my days. I see him when he comes home at night, and most of the time he doesn’t even hesitate before pulling my clothes off and taking what he wants from me. And it’s not like I complain.

In the end, I pick the left box and unwrap it. Inside, there’s a Givenchy box with a dress, about knee-length, plunge V-shaped neckline, all beautiful shimmery silk. But sitting underneath is a black choker necklace studded with diamonds and another note. Wear it all and nothing underneath. The dress is for me. The choker is so the world knows you’re mine. V.

I shower the hospital away and get ready as quickly as I can. Right as I finish pulling on the dress, no bra, no panties, and fastening the choker, I hear sound of Valentin’s footsteps coming toward the door.

He’s the only man in this entire house that would dare stomp around so loudly, much less come anywhere near our private sanctum.

The door creaks open and my husband stands with one hand on the frame.

“What do you think?” I ask, giving him a little turn. I’m in matching heels and my hair’s down the way I know he likes it.

Better for him to get his fist through.

His eyes burn into me. They rake down my body, lingering on my legs, my breasts, and finally on the diamond-studded choker around my throat. It’s not really my style, but it looks so much like a collar, and I know what he’s thinking. He wants to see what it looks like when his dick’s in my mouth.

I want him to grab the back while I gag on him.

I’m in dark makeup, my hair swept around one shoulder, and I’ve never felt so chic before in my life.

“Beautiful,” he says and comes toward me.

I’m grinning like an idiot despite myself. I can’t remember the last time I got this excited to play dress-up. We could never afford nice clothes before, and pretty things always felt like a luxury I couldn’t really let myself think about.

Now though, my life is very, very different.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask as he pulls me against him. He buries my mouth in a blistering kiss, and I feel a little dizzy as he pulls back. “Don’t tell me you made me get dressed up just so you could take it all off again?”

“No, I don’t plan on undressing you at all tonight.” The implication sends a shiver of excitement down my spine. “We’re going to dinner. I realize that I haven’t properly introduced you to many of my most important brigadiers, and I want to fix that.”

“Brigadiers?” I ask as I take his arm and he leads me downstairs.

“Captains, you might call them. They’re some of the most important and trusted individuals in my organization, and if you’re going to be my wife, that will make you their queen. I need them to see you and to accept you.”

I chew on my lip as he gets into the back seat of a dark sedan. A man I don’t know is driving with another in the passenger seat. Both are heavily armed guards, and both give me respectful nods before the driver pulls out.

Nerves jangle in my stomach. I didn’t realize this was important, and I want to make a good impression. I’ve met some of these men, but never in a formal setting, and I realize that I don’t know all that much about the structure of the Zaitsev Bratva.

“How much can you tell me about your family?” I ask him, not sure how else to phrase it, and feeling slightly self-conscious around the guards.

“I’m the Pakhan,” he says, frowning at me, and he lifts my hand to his lips. He kisses each finger as he speaks. “Beneath me are my brigadiers. Beneath them are their lieutenants, and beneath them are the soldiers. Each brigadier is the head of his own family, and there are other associated organizations that are subservient to the Zaitsev, whether through treaty or domination, it doesn’t much matter. They essentially function as arms of my operation.”

“Where does Anton fit in all this?”

“Anton is my lieutenant.” He smiles slightly. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

“You keep calling me a queen, and I just feel like I’m totally out of my depth. I guess I’m trying to catch up.”

“You don’t have to worry about any of this.” He kisses my palm, the heel of my hand, the inside of my wrist. My lips part as he stares at me. “I’m the power here. Trust in me, malishka.”

I trust him, though I’m not sure that I should.

The level of wealth I’ve seen in the last few days eclipses anything I could’ve dreamed up on my own. Right now, in this car, I’m wearing more money than I’ve had in my bank account at any point in my entire life. Hell, it’s probably more than all the money I’ve ever made added up together.

But the money is just one part of it. Valentin drips with power and a ruthless energy. His men are respectful to a fault, and he doesn’t take any bullshit from them. I’ve seen the way he handles disrespect, and it’s terrifying.

I would not want to get on his bad side.

His hands remain on my thigh, possessively touching me, until we reach the restaurant. It’s the same Russian place as before, and the staff practically falls over themselves as they take us back to a large table in a private room in the back of the building. They bring vodka for him and wine for me, and he doesn’t bother ordering, only tells them to bring whatever the chef believes is his best.

“Here’s to my queen,” he says, raising his drink. “And here’s to a calm moment before the storm.”

“That’s a little ominous.”

His tight smile is all I get by way of explanation.

But soon his meaning becomes clear. Like the last time, a parade of people enters the room. Except now, many of them sit down and speak with Valentin, sometimes about grievances they have with other members of the Bratva, and sometimes about problems with other criminal organizations in the city. Some of them I recognize, and some of them I don’t.

Valentin listens patiently to each. He is fair but firm with his decisions, and only rarely makes promises. Our food arrives, but the stream of men and women coming to him for help doesn’t slow, and we eat as he deals with his business.

The food is delicious, but I’m distracted. I don’t know why I’m here right now, except to be paraded in front of his people. I thought we already did that—though tonight, Valentin makes more of an effort to bring me into the conversation. He introduces me, lets his guests ask me questions, and even encourages me to offer my opinion on matters. I’m a little uncomfortable at first, since I’m not sure what anyone would care what I have to say, but I find everyone is aggressively kind to me.

“It’s as it should be,” Valentin says in a lull between meetings when I bring up how everyone’s treating me like I’m important. “You’re the pakhan’s wife.”

“Do wives normally get involved in this side of the business?”

He shakes his head. “No, not normally, but I like having you by my side. I don’t often do this, listen to all of these complaints and try to handle them, but it’s a part of the job. An organization like mine is big and complex, and I need to make sure it’s running smoothly. Having you here is my way of showing you off to the people who matter and signaling that you’re an important part of my life.”

I stare at him, at a loss. The next meeting begins, and I watch Valentin the whole time, sipping my wine and letting his words rattle around in my brain.

An important part of my life.

When did that happen? This marriage started out as a business agreement. I needed money and he wanted a wife. I was willing to sell myself to him in exchange for all my debts wiped away, and he only needed me for a short period in order to get close to the Brotherhood.

But now he’s treating me like we’re a real couple.

I have to admit, I don’t mind it.

Valentin still scares me. He has a darkness inside of him that runs deep and black. Violence is never far away when he’s in the room.

Except I feel safe when he’s with me. I know, beyond a doubt, he’d do anything to protect me. His strange, deepening obsession with me should be a total red flag, but instead it makes me like him more.

I like that he puts his hand on my leg. I like that he wraps his choker around my throat.

And I like that he wants to give me a glimpse into his business.

The night wears on. We finish eating, but the string of meetings doesn’t end until after midnight. By then, we’re both tired, but he says we can’t leave just yet. I should be bored and ready to get out of there, but I’ve honestly enjoyed myself. Watching him flex his power has been intoxicating.

His inner circle begins to filter into the room. Roman Egorov, Konstantin Pavlov, Pavel, Yegor, Anton, and Oleg Fedorov, and a few other brigadiers from minor families fill all the seats at the table. I’m introduced to the men I haven’t met yet, and they’re all polite and deferential, almost to a fault. Vodka gets poured, cigars are lit, and the men speak a mixture of English and Russian. There’s loud laughter, but I sense a strain beneath it all.

After some time drinking and smoking, Valentin calls the group to order. “We need to discuss our plans moving forward.”

There’s silence from the men. I notice several of them are looking at me. Oleg Fedorov clears his throat. “Yes, Pakhan, but is this something more suited to the war council only?” he asks, doing his best to phrase his question in the politest manner possible.

“If you’re speaking of my wife, she’s going to remain through the discussion.” Valentin’s tone is hard and suggests there’s no room for negotiation. “Now, you all know what I learned recently. I need plans and ideas.”

I can tell the men are unhappy that I’m still there, but they do their best to ignore me. The discussion is tense and dominated by Konstantin, who wants to storm the restaurant and kill Arsen Sirkissian on sight. Oleg suggests something with more subtlety, and thinks they should take the boy alive.

“We have to send the right message,” Konstantin snarls, slamming the table. “No weakness. No fucking soft shit.”

“It’s not soft to take the son of the man we’re fighting against alive,” Oleg snaps back. “He’s worth more as a prisoner.”

“Fuck prisoners. This is war, you soft sack of shit.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.” Oleg gestures in Konstantin’s face with his cigar. “You spineless pig. I’ll fucking gut you here and now.”

“Try it.” Konstantin shoves his chair back and gets to his feet.

Oleg stands too, facing him down.

That’s when I decide it’s a really good idea to talk.

“What if we do both?” I ask, staring around the table.

Valentin’s eyebrows raise. He seems surprised that I decided this is the moment to voice my opinion, but not upset about it.

The other men are a little more annoyed.

Konstantin looks over, practically snarling. “And what would you know about matters like this? Have you fought a war before?”

A hush falls heavy over everyone. I stare at the grizzled old Russian, and his face goes slightly pale as he glances at Valentin. Both he and Oleg take their seats again, and I can tell Valentin’s about to do something very drastic.

I put my hand on his knee to stop him and lean forward.

“No, I haven’t, but I do have an idea that might work. His restaurant gets regular food deliveries, right? It would be easy to find out who his suppliers are and what their schedule is, and break into his place masquerading as a delivery team. Once you’re inside, you can locate Arsen without tipping him off, take him into custody, and kill everyone else.”

Another silence follows. I don’t even know where that plan came from, but it just hit me while I was listening to the two men bicker. Why not do both? Why always one or the other? This way, they can accomplish both goals.

“I like it,” Valentin says at last. Pride swells in my chest and I sit back, trying not to smile. “Konstantin, tell my wife what you think of her plan.”

The old Russian grunts at me and nods once. “It’s a good idea.”

“I like it as well,” Oleg adds quickly. “Very good thinking, Tsarina.”

I frown at the nickname, but nobody explains. The conversation moves on, and the focus quickly turns toward the details of my plan and how they’re going to pull it off.

Once they have the shape of things, several of the brigadiers are dismissed to start implementing the plan. Others remain at the table, and more vodka is passed around.

Valentin gets to his feet. He stares at me with a hard, dark look, and I can’t read it. A nervous chill runs into my stomach.

“Karine. I need to speak with you.” He turns and walks to the door without another word. I get up as calmly as I can, but I’m aware of the men staring at me as I follow my husband out into the main restaurant. The poor staff is still working, even though it’s well past closing time; they’re gathered around the bar looking tired and bored, and they look over at us hopefully. Valentin ignores them, goes down the back hall toward the bathrooms, and pushes out an emergency exit door. That spits us into a narrow alley where Valentin’s car is waiting with his two guards.

“Go somewhere else,” he barks at them and yanks the back door open, glaring at me. “Get inside.”

I fucked up. I don’t know how, but I must’ve fucked up. He seems angry, like he’s barely holding himself back from tearing into me. I shouldn’t have spoken up back there, and maybe my idea was good, but I still overstepped an invisible line.

Now he’s going to punish me, and I’m fucking terrified.

Valentin climbs into the car behind me and slams the door shut. He leans forward, locks the doors, and rolls the divider up, encasing us in total privacy.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, eyes wide. “I screwed up back there. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve⁠—”

Valentin grabs me roughly and buries my mouth with a rough kiss.