Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

The only sounds in the room had been his heavy panting.

I’d drawn blood on my lip.

Done.

Finished.

No longer a virgin.

The romance books I read were so far off the mark, it wasn’t even funny.

Glancing at my husband, I saw he stood with his constant scowl, looking out over the room. I didn’t know if he had the first clue of how to smile.

It wasn’t my problem. That was the mantra I kept telling myself.

Every single night this past week, he’d arrived home, and each time I saw him, he’d been covered in blood. In our world, it was best not to ask any questions, so I didn’t.

Some would call me a coward. My mother had once told me it was all about survival. As women, we were so easily replaced.

In fact, as the men were all cheering at Slavik’s virgin, my mother was telling me he’d be bored now and would find other women to deal with his appetites.

What did I have to look forward to? The children he’d grant me unless he killed me first.

It didn’t matter. No one cared. I sipped at my champagne and simply waited. This was an engagement party for one of the other bosses’ brigadiers or whatever it was he called them. I didn’t even know if he kept to these terms as Ivan Volkov was supposed to be taking his Bratva into another era. A modern era of peace, where he set the hierarchy and the new rules and terms for how things were run.

I came from tradition. Where everything was done via the book, including arranged marriages.

Standing at a party, surrounded by a bunch of Russians, well, it was scary. They all spoke English. I knew my husband did speak Russian, or at least I thought he did. Sometimes I’d heard him in hushed tones. I didn’t even dare to learn the language for fear of where that would leave me.

Finishing my champagne, I chanced another glance at my husband, and shame washed over me when I caught sight of a barely dressed woman hanging around him. Her head was tilted back and laughter spilled from her lips. The way she looked so calm and collected around him, I didn’t get it.

He was scary as fuck.

Not that I’d say it aloud. In fact, over the years, I’d learned the fine art of saying stuff in my head. I’d even begun to cuss out my parents and tell the boss to fuck off. It was kind of fun. They controlled everything else around them, but not my thoughts. It was the one sense of freedom I got.

A waiter came by to offer me another flute of champagne, which I ignored. I didn’t know when the polite time would come to make my excuses to leave. Rather than come with my guard and driver, Slavik had brought us. The moment we’d entered the party, he’d left me here all alone.

This was … humiliating.

A week married and my husband couldn’t even be bothered to stand with me. Not that it came as any surprise. I wasn’t beautiful. All my life I’d been told I was the ugly one. The ugly, fat sister no one wanted. I had long, brown hair, the tips of which touched the curve of my ass, which again was another issue. I had a weight problem. On a good day, I fit into a size eighteen. I had huge tits, massive hips, a somewhat slender stomach in comparison, and chunky thighs. Even when I dieted and exercised, the curves stayed. It was something I had to live with.

Was it polite to fold my arms across my chest?

It was so hard to not show boredom when that was exactly what I was.

When the woman, whoever she was, seemed to be kissing my husband’s neck, I’d had enough of the spectacle and decided to make my way outside. The doors were wide open, and the moment I was out in the fresh air, I took a deep, calming breath.

Tilting my head up to the sky, I saw it was a clear night, which explained the cold. The chill made me realize I was very much alive. Not a single part of me was dead, even though people seemed to pray for my death.

The idea of my marriage being a peace treaty was so fucking lame and stupid. They thought it was going to bring peace. The truth was it now made more people hate me because they couldn’t continue their bloodshed.

“It’s a nice night out, isn’t it?”

The deep rumble of a voice startled me, and I turned around to see none other than Ivan Volkov smoking a cigarette in the shadowed corner, slightly hidden away by the door. I hadn’t known anyone else was out here.

“Do you speak?”

“Y-yes, sorry. You startled me.”

He chuckled. “The party is not to your liking?”