Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Even if those things weren’t in place, there are other fail safes. Nonna is always watching me, aware of my movements. Her loyalty to Nikolai is unwavering, and I don’t doubt for one second that she’d throw me under the bus the moment she got a whiff of trouble. More dangerous than Nonna are the guards who work for him. Vory members who come and go, speaking to each other in their native language and dutifully ignoring me.
Life at Nikolai’s compound is familiar to the one I have always known, but I am still a prisoner. In that regard, nothing is new. The only variance is the scenery.
Nikolai’s stone fortress is tucked away in the wilderness known as the Berkshires, which is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Boston. It is secure. Decadent, but built for function. Though I am free to roam the house, I have not made it a point to venture far from my bedroom or the gym. Nikolai often utilizes an office on the second level, and so far, I have done my best to avoid it. Dotted along the same grand hall are several bedrooms, including my own, and two bathrooms. Oddly enough, these are the most extravagant areas of the home, with heated floors and open stone showers.
Overall, I find Nikolai’s tastes to be uncommonly old fashioned. In stark contrast to the modern technology that rules his security, the pieces in his home are highly individual and antique. Every chair, lamp, table, and rug are solidly built and well utilized with a long history behind them. While I hardly want to credit the man sporting the disorderly fauxhawk and motorcycle boots with choosing such fine, artistic furniture, somehow, I just know that he did.
Admittedly, certain qualities about him have blindsided me. He exudes an authoritative presence. The kind who could command an audience with one sweep of his glacial eyes. Rather than using this power for the greater good, it seems he chooses to deploy it on a large percentage of the female population as an expression of his virility. His omnipotent energy is a wasted gift on a soul devoid of even a speck of light within the shadows.
These are thoughts I will keep to myself. What he does or doesn’t do with his life is of no importance to me. I only wish that I was not forced to witness the conquests so casually broadcast throughout the house. During my time here, I have been privy to a multitude already. One thing I can say with certainty is that Nikolai is not singular in his tastes. Brunettes, blondes, redheads—he partakes in every flavor. Why he chooses to display these activities openly remains a mystery I have no ambition to solve.
I may be untainted by the sins of the flesh, but I am not ignorant to the ways of men. In my world, it is an expectation that men indulge themselves at the end of a long day. Dante was no different, and I was brought up with the understanding that it was my place to turn a blind eye when my eventual husband sated his desires elsewhere.
It was not a difficult task—perhaps because he had not yet taken me—and I felt no ill will toward the women I didn’t have to see. But Nikolai chooses to flaunt his escapades, and for reasons I can’t understand, it bothers me more than it should.
Today, however, I am lucky. When I stop at the threshold of his office, it isn’t a woman I find, but another man. A man with startling blue eyes and a striking resemblance to Nikolai’s build. He is also heavily tattooed and unmistakably Vory.
“Nakya.” Nikolai addresses me with stiff familiarity. Diminutive forms of names are common in his culture, and even Nonna addresses me with one, but this is the first occasion Nikolai has done so. In any case, he makes it clear that this new terminology does not make us friends. His eyes pass over me with little interest in the cause for my intrusion. He merely wants me gone.
“I would like to make a phone call,” I announce.
The blue-eyed stranger speaks to Nikolai in Russian, and in return, Nikolai murmurs a quick reply. From a young age, I was tutored in three separate languages, all of which would benefit my father in some way. Although Russian was one of them, my skills still leave much to be desired. Without speaking it often, I can only distinguish a few of the words between native speakers, who tend to converse much faster. From what I’m able to gather, the blue-eyed stranger is asking about me. He seems surprised by my existence, and in turn, Nikolai appears increasingly anxious to rid them of my presence.
“Nakya, this is Alexei,” Nikolai states perfunctorily.