Page 47 of Under Control

So I’m a prisoner.

Then there’s the basement. I was exploring just yesterday and I tried to head down to take a look, but one of the young guards freaked out and made me stop. I could tell he wanted to drag me away, but he wouldn’t put his hands on hisPakhan’swife, and so I slowly opened the door while he screeched for me to stop in Russian.

Eventually, Valentin heard the commotion and came to put a stop to it. “No basement,malishka,” he’d said with a dark smile. “Bad things down there.”

I’m pretty sure I’m living above a graveyard.

Or maybe a bunch of torture chambers.

Actually, it’s better that I don’t think of it.

Valentin has rules around when we eat, what we eat, what I watch, how much time I get to spend in the theater room, which is one of the few perks of being trapped in here, basically rules about everything.

And it’s driving me insane.

There’s a rattle and a knock at the door. Nikkita appears with a tray of tea. She sets it down on a table set up beside the windows and pours before stepping back. I sit and lean on my elbows as I take a sip.

“Oh, wow,” I say, extremely surprised. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you.” Her lips seem to soften from their customary scowl, at least for a moment. “I buy it from Russia special for Valentin.”

“This is his favorite?”

“He loves it.”

“I can see why. It’s very good.” Nikkita lingers for a moment, looking around the room. “I know you don’t approve.”

“No, it isn’t that.” She seems uncertain as she runs a hand down the comforter, smoothing it out. Fussing nervously, I realize. “Valentin will be unhappy, and it’s my job to make sure his home life is in order.”

“You think this is going to reflect on you?”

“Valentin isn’t petty.” She glares at me for a moment, jaw working. But her expression softens. “In here, you feel like you have something of your own. I understand that. But Valentin is a particular man.”

“I noticed,” I say quietly, but I swallow back further comments. This is the most Nikkita has spoken to me, and it’s the first time she’s not staring at me with pure loathing in her eyes. I don’t want to ruin it with sarcasm. “He means well, doesn’t he?”

She nods sharply. “Valentin’s father was a hard man. He demanded order. He demanded obedience.” She pounds a fistinto her hand, emphasizing her words. “Valentin learned to be hard too, but I don’t think that came naturally to him.”

“How long have you known each other?”

“Since he was a boy.” She tilts her chin up. “I was his nanny.”

“I hadn’t realized,” I say, but it makes a lot of sense. I’ve noticed there’s a comfort and a familiarity between them that doesn’t exist between Valentin and anyone else. She speaks to him as an equal and isn’t shy about voicing her displeasure, and though he will reprimand her, it’s never serious, and it never seems to hurt their relationship.

And now I understand why. She’s been in his life for years.

“Did you know his mother?” I ask.

“Good woman. Strong woman. Died too young. A travesty.”

“Did Valentin know her?”

“He was a baby when she passed. I’ve been here for that boy for a very long time.”

“You’re protective.” I sit up straighter and put down my teacup. “That’s why you don’t want me moving in here.”

“He has a lot of pressure on him. This will be a distraction.” She shakes her head as if she’s annoyed with herself for talking this much and walks to the door. “If there will be anything else?”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” I blurt out and feel silly as soon as the words leave my mouth. How could I hurt a man like Valentin? He’s enormous and impenetrable, the master of his Bratva, a king and a god among normal human beings. What could I do to a man like that?

---