Page 26 of Bred To Be Owned

The only way I could pretend to function was by burying myself in my work. I had done it before with no question, so this time didn’t seem any different. If I wasn’t at school, I was hiding in the club’s office, preferring to sleep on a couch. I only spent an hour at the compound every day to shower and change clothes. The memories were too much for me to handle in this fragile state. Irini’s sanctuary was on the same floor as my bedroom, and I had to run past the darkened door to make sure I didn’t break.

I wasn’t alright, and anyone who looked at me should have noticed. There were a few professors who had tried to ask, but I had told them I was fine and made a quick beeline out of the room. I was wallowing in my grief, but there was no one to commiserate with, even if I wanted to. The compound was worried about the Russian and his marriagecontract. It was a viper’s den, filled with half-truths whispered in the hallways, and most of them had my name attached.

Arranged marriages had five years to produce a male heir. However, if the first child was a girl, the wife could ask for another five years to try again. It was purely a game of chance. My mother had never produced an heir, but my father had overlooked it. She’d given him four opportunities to expand his power, and that was worth more.

If a wife was childless at the end of five years, her husband could divorce her and send her back to her family. It would then be her husband’s responsibility to compensate her father for the time spent. Depending on the head of the household, the payment could be very expensive.

My father was a dick on a good day. He might not have known what was going on, but Irini would never have had a child. My father had likely seen dollar signs even before the ink on the wedding contract was dry. With her passing, the tide had turned. The Russian could demand anything he wanted from my father as compensation, including me. It was barbaric.

My father had tried this morning to ambush me in the foyer as I was running out the door. He had said that my behavior had gone on for too long, and I needed to be home for a family dinner. I’d begged off, telling him I had paperwork to process and payroll to work on for the club. I had given him the answers I knew would make him instantly back down. He’d been the one to tell me he couldn’t have a failing business run by his daughter, and if my documents weren’t in order, it would be like inviting the authorities in through the front door and handing them the win. The house of cards could never tumble from within.

After my last class had finished for the day, I walked in front of Angelo to the car my father had provided. The driver was waiting forme, and as I approached, he opened the passenger door. As he offered me his hand, I ignored it as I shoved my backpack across the seat and sat. My driver already had his instructions. If I wasn’t at school, then he was supposed to drive me to the club.

I watched out the window as the car made its way through my father’s territory. A right here. A left at the gas station. The monotony was comforting. Turning towards the window, I caught sight of the gates of the cemetery where Irini rested. It normally wasn’t on the route to the club, and I didn’t know if the driver had planned this or if it was something that had just happened. The urge to visit her for a few minutes was strong, and I leaned forward in my seat. “Turn into the cemetery.” I didn’t need to say anything else.

“It’s not safe,” Angelo sneered.

“It’s perfectly fine, and if you have such a problem with it, stay in the car and call my father. I’m sure he’ll love to hear that you’re afraid of a cemetery.” I rolled my eyes. Ever since Sophia had let it slip that Angelo wasn’t really protecting me, my patience had waned with him. “Do we have a problem?” I asked, pulling my phone out of my pocket in case I needed to call my father myself.

“Take her,” he directed the driver, staring at the phone in my hand. “If she gets hurt, that’s on her,” he muttered.

The driver made the left-hand turn, and I sat back in my chair. I had felt Irini’s forgiveness at the funeral, and I wondered if talking to her would help me move on. I was stuck, not living in the past, but going through the motions of the future.

Angelo typed something out on his phone, probably telling my father. “Do you want to say anything to the Russian before I send this?” he asked me.

“What?” My forehead scrunched in confusion.

Angelo chuckled. “Volkov’s been keeping tabs on you since the Italian wedding. You don’t shit without him knowing. If I’d used you as a backup, I would have protected my investment, too.” He turned in the front seat to look directly at me. “You didn’t actually think he wanted you for you? You’re a means to an end, princess.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, turning my head to face the passenger window. I cleared my mind, sliding my perfect poker face into place. They didn’t need a front-row seat to my pain. If I let any sign slip that I wasn’t alright, one of them would instantly call my father, while the other would tell one of the house guards. There would be parties in the bunkhouse as word got around. They had officially broken Toula. Fuck that. I wouldn’t yield.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the Greek section of the cemetery.

“Stay here. I’ll make sure that I’m in your line of sight.” I didn’t give Angelo any room to dispute my instructions as I exited the vehicle and headed straight for Irini’s headstone.

“Hey, sister,” I said to her. It was early spring, and the grass was slightly wet, but I didn’t care as I sat down. “I wish I’d thought to visit you like I used to do on Tuesdays. This trip is purely selfish on my part, but you’re the only one who would understand.”

The wind blew the blades of grass that surrounded her headstone.

“I hope you don’t mind. You’ve never turned me down before, but I wish you were here to actually respond.” I paused, pulling a few pieces of grass from the ground and twirling them in my fingers. “I love him, sister.” Tears welled up at the corner of my eyes. “He used me, scorching whatever is left of my heart.”

I stared at her name carved into the granite headstone. Irini Petrakis Volkov. Beloved Wife, Daughter, and Sister. “Beloved,” I whispered to her. “Every word, every action has been a lie.” I dropped the grass nextto me, curling my knees into my chest. “He’s just like every other man. The Russian saw an opportunity, and I let him use our situation to line his own pockets.”

I wasn’t sure how late it was when I finally stood, dusting the grass off the seat of my jeans. As much as I wanted to curl up and stay forever, I couldn’t. My movements were being tracked, and it was only a matter of time before the Russian confronted me. He would have no issues doing it here, and I didn’t want him anywhere near Irini. I had believed him, and the betrayal had charred any remaining feelings I had for him. If we were going to fight, I wanted it to be in my territory. He wouldn’t have the upper hand standing in my club.

***

It was nearing midnight when there was a knock on my office door. It wasn’t uncommon for my employees to approach me, so I thought nothing of it when I called out.

The door opened, revealing the last person I wished to see. I immediately stood from my office chair behind my desk. “Ilya,” I addressed him, proud that I hadn’t thrown insults at his face. He wouldn’t be able to spin me into his fancy web. I knew the truth, and there was no explanation necessary. The Russian had told me what I had needed to hear so that I would comply.

“Seriously, Toula? That’s how you greet me?” He cocked an eyebrow at me as he closed the door, the slide of the deadbolt echoing a decisive finale. This was going to be a battle of wits. He sat in one of the chairs in front of my desk and crossed his leg over his knee. Leveling me with a smoldering gaze that should have made me crumble, he asked, “What’s my name?”

“Russian,” I whispered. I hadn’t known his name when we had first met, but even when he had made an appearance a year later, I’d still called him Russian. It was a nickname that had become a term of endearment. The first time I had used it in his presence, he’d stopped in the middle of the warehouse, flung his head back, and let his laughter echo through the rafters.

“Better,” he said. “We’ve done this dance before. There’s been change, and instead of facing it head-on, you’re hiding.”

I said nothing as I stood behind my desk, barely controlling my anger. I’d let him say whatever he wanted, and then I’d kick him out and go home. The compound was the last place I wanted to be, but the Russian wouldn’t be able to follow me without my father’s questioning.

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