Page 8 of Merciless Queen

Her brows drop in confusion at the same time her arms do, the outfit choices lowering to her side. “Not following.”

“You said I’d be the best Pakhan the Bratva’s ever seen. What if I won’t be? What if I fuck this entire thing up?”

Anastasia tosses the articles of clothing to the left, onto my bed. They land near the centre, folding on themselves. Anastasia heads in the same direction, leaning against the mattress, crossing her bare legs. Long, lanky but full of muscle. A ballerina’s body, to go along with one of Russia’s top performers.

“This isn’t the Vanessa Volkov I know. What’s got you thinking all this shit?”

There’s few people I’d trust with being so honest about my thoughts, and Anastasia’s one of them. Someone who won’t judge me, and would completely understand where I’ve comefrom, considering her own past of being used in ways worse than I ever have and ever will be.

“I want to close the trafficking rings. Children and women being kidnapped and forced to—” Bile rises in my throat, cutting my words off, but she gets where I’m going with it. “It’s sick. Sicker than sick, and I refuse to stand for any of it. But the moment I close them, the organization will see it as my first failure because they make such a huge profit.”

“Fuck what everyone thinks. You know where I stand on this.”

I do because Anastasia’s seen the inside of the warehouses when her father forced her to tour them. Visiting the women kept in captivity was supposed to be a warning to her, to keep her in line—his line anyway.

Papa’s cruelty was more subtle. To the outside, he seemed like a caring father, but in private conversation, I was a tool for his own gains. But even he was a saint compared to Anastasia and Lev’s father. Lev’s deadly nature was suitable in their father’s eyes, and coupled with his natural technological skills, he became a force for the Bratva, and one their father is proud of—and used frequently. Lev doesn’t like going into the details, but he’s been locked up in prison a few times, only to carry out his father’s bidding.

Anastasia, being a woman, immediately fell into a different role. Only, unlike Papa, their father saw the value in Anastasia’s gender. Albeit, not in the value she wished to have. Being interested in dancing from early childhood, she trained her entire life until becoming one of the best ballerinas in the country. Her shows make the Bratva thousands per performance. Tourists and locals alike travel in to watch her, and the number of marriage offers her father receives for her hand is insane, all because they see on stage what they’re meant to: a picture of perfection.

But beneath it all is the assassin her father trained her to be. Anastasia’s entire role is completely against what the Bratva stands for, which is why very few know the truth in who she is to us. Most of the jobs she completes are credited to her father, which means the dick claims all the fame.

She’s a trained killer. Like a black widow spider, she lures them in with her captivating performance and flawless beauty, and then strikes. Innocent in appearance. Blonde hair often done in curls, left loose down her back. Always dressed in light colours and lace to portray the ideal notion of femininity. But when the lights lower, a vicious killer emerges in the safety of the shadows, and she attacks. A slice to the neck, a shot in their dick, poison in their drink; no one considers that the sexy woman they take back to their hotel room would be their downfall.

The enemies the Bratva needs gone falls for her charms instantly. A job, while she’s proficient at, and even enjoys to a certain level, she also despises due to the force behind it from her father. It took many years before she opened up about the training she’d gone through, and when her father dragged her through the warehouses where the kidnapped women were being trapped, it was to show her what she “could be doing instead.”

“They’re disgusting,” Anastasia continues when I don’t reply. “It’s not even the sex work. It’s being forced into it. The treatment of the women and the blatant kidnapping. Russia used to be a lovely tourist location, but now other countries fear us because of the reports of how many innocents never make it back to their home countries. Women captured, men killed, families split apart. And thekids…” She trails off, leaving her repulsion transparent and without need for further explanation.

“I agree. I want to send all those tourists back home. Even the locals. End the skin trade altogether, and any soldier orBrigadier found participating in them again receives an instant death.”

Anastasia nods slowly, her smile spreading. “You’re worried about losing the income. Or, more how everyone will respond to you shutting it all down, so what if you just change the program? Send the kids and tourists home. Close the rings, but open brothels instead. Offer the locals jobs. If they choose to stay, great. If they want to leave, they go home, and we hire new women. Women who’ll be treated well and choose this lifestyle and job voluntarily.”

Of fucking course!This is why I need Anastasia. She’s too fucking smart for her own good.

Standing from the vanity, I slowly pace her way, mind whirling with new ideas. “It can make more money in the long run if we price right. A woman sells for a million apiece, but what about a few thousand a night, on an ongoing basis. One sex worker has long term use, so the income keeps rolling. We make the brothels an experience no person would turn their nose up to paying for.”

“Hire men too.” Anastasia winks. “Trust me, most of my near-failures are because it wasn’t my cunt they were interested in.”

I snap my fingers. “With the option of group activities. The workers themselves, of course, set the limits. Who’s interested in group activities will be included; those who aren’t won’t be forced. Everything is consensual or I shut them down myself. And medical attention. Ongoing medical needs will be met, and I’m hiring a psychologist as well. For those being returned to families, and for those staying in our employ.”

Anastasia nods and agrees in a lower, more serious tone. “Smart. The work can have long-term effects so giving the employees an outlet will make them healthier and more useful. I like that idea.”

We bounce a few more concepts back and forth, each of us growing more and more animated and our voices getting louder, to the point I’m sure anyone lingering outside could overhear. But I don’t care.

Icando this, and it’s not even my pride saying those words. There’s a balance between everything, and it starts with the disgusting sex rings.

By the end, Anastasia starts laughing again. “So now, do you agree you can be the best Pakhan for us?”

“I can be, so long as you’re in my Elite group.” I pause, studying her expression as she averts her gaze. She’s hesitating, either because she wants out of the work entirely, or she doesn’t want the responsibility. “I need you, Ana, in any form you’ll work with me. How you contribute to the Bratva is completely up to you. I’m not my father—nor yours—but I want you with me. Need a group of people I trust around me, and you, your brother, and Dimitri are my inside crew. You’ve always been that.”

After a full, heavy ten seconds, she murmurs, “I don’t hate the life. The killing. Being an assassin. The double persona. It’s fun to be poised as a dancer for the men who think so little of me—think I’m merely a body for them to enjoy—and then to turn around and prove them otherwise. But I want to do it my way, and without the threat of my father’s heavy hand.”

Anastasia speaks so infrequently about the physical abuse she’s undergone, but when it arises, it’s always with a shadow of doubt and hatred over her expression. Unfortunately, within the Bratva, up until now, no one would blink an eye to witness what would be deemed as her punishment. Even Lev has his hands tied because if he stands up for her, he’d face retribution for them both.

“Your father’s finished in the Bratva unless you and Lev say otherwise. Along with the trafficking, I’m also getting rid of all current heads. A new generation means new Brigadiers. I won’thave the men my father worked alongside being a presence over my shoulder, and judging me. Your father’s included in that lineup, unless you tell me otherwise.”

A week ago, I wanted their fealty. In the short time since, I realized what I truly want, and that doesn’t include their employment whatsoever. As I’ve just said to Anastasia, it’s time for new changes—people included.

Anastasia stares at me, her lips pressed together, debate swirling in her eyes. It’s brief, though, and with her next blink, it dissipates and hardens into something else. Acceptance. She nods, her lips curling in the corners with a subtle sign of gratitude.

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