Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

I quickly glanced at the doors. Everything was an act of survival now. If I said the wrong thing, he’d kill me. If he wanted some entertainment with my screams, he’d kill me. There was no way to win.

“It’s wonderful.”

“And yet you escape to the cold outdoors.” He tutted. His accent was rather nice.

“I just needed some air.”

“Oh, please, I saw you in there.” He chuckled. “I would have thought Slavik would have known better by now.”

Crap! Was I going to get my husband in trouble? Did I care? He had another woman hanging off his arm. Girlfriends, mistresses, they weren’t exactly unheard of in our circles. For many, it meant the husbands had other places to go for them to sate their appetite. For others, they were a pest and destroyers of loving relationships.

Love.

I didn’t have love.

“He’s perfect,” I said. Internally, I cringed. I’d long ago developed the mask I wore now. Passive verging on submissive. They didn’t know I had my thoughts. How I spoke my own mind. Staring at Ivan, though, I didn’t like how he looked at me. It took every single ounce of control not to react.

He saw a hell of a lot more than most.

He chuckled. “You’re a little spitfire. It almost makes me upset that I gave you to Slavik.”

Pressing my lips together, I averted my gaze, bowing my head just slightly. More often than not, this appealed to men. It had worked to divert their attention.

Not Ivan.

He placed a finger beneath my chin and tilted my head back, looking into my eyes. “Such a shame. Slavik is usually a man who sees so much and yet, he doesn’t see you, does he?”

“He’s the perfect husband and loyal to you, sir.”

“Twenty years old and already know the way the world works. I don’t get those mafia men. You see, submissive women have their qualities in the world, Aurora, but the women who know how to bite back, they’re the ones who make our blood boil.”

Why was he telling me this?

“Maybe one day, when you’re not so afraid, we can have a proper conversation, don’t you think?” He still had a finger beneath my chin. “And when you’re dealing with Slavik, heed my advice.”

“Sir,” Slavik said, choosing that moment to interrupt.

I didn’t jerk back, captivated by Ivan’s gaze. I couldn’t look away. It was like he was trying to tell me a million different things in his gaze alone, and I nodded. That was all I did.

“Charming.” He released me and turned to look at Slavik. “You would be mindful to pay more attention to your wife than the whores who grace this place.”

Slavik nodded his head.

It wasn’t a warning or an order.

I got the sense Slavik and Ivan were more than just boss and employee. They were friends, which again was odd. Most bosses in our world didn’t have friends. They made sure people feared them.

Learning the ever-changing dynamics that now surrounded me was difficult, but it was something I needed to master. Years of being around my own family had given me a lot of chances to watch, to listen, and to find out all the details I needed to survive even my father.

“Come,” Slavik said, holding out his hand.

I moved toward his side.

He took my hand in his grip, and I expected us to leave. Instead, he led me inside and took me straight to the dance floor. One quick glance around the room and I saw we’d become the spectacle. I hated anyone’s gaze on me, but it was easier to get this over with.

Slavik had been scorned. Would he beat me when I got home?

Once, when I was a child, my sister Isabella had embarrassed my father by playing the role of a spoiled brat. When we got home, rather than punish the perfect one, he’d turned his wrath on me, smacking me so hard I’d fallen into furniture. The blow had caused me to catch the skin across my eyebrow. I still had the scar at the corner of my eyebrow. It had long faded, but if you looked closely, you’d see it. The slight imperfection. I had several marks from old punishments. All of which I had to take as my father wouldn’t dream of hurting his precious daughter. The beautiful one.

Some would say I had every right to hate and resent my sister. I didn’t. I loved Isabella. It wasn’t her fault, but our family’s. She’d been raised to believe she was a princess who deserved all the attention, while I’d been taught to expect what I got and to be grateful for it.

With Slavik’s hand on my back, the other holding my hand, we danced. The tune was soft, not too slow that it required us to stand close to one another, but not fast enough to create a good distance. Being this close to him terrified me.