Page 12 of Cruel Russian Pakhan
Lev hadn’t returned since that first day, and I wasn’t mad about it. The less I saw of him, the better.
Just then, a guard looked up at the window. I closed the curtain and stepped away.
I'd bide my time.
But Iwouldget out of here.
Chapter 5 - Lev
It had been seven long, aggravating days.
The week was a blur of reports, proposed deals, and back-to-back meetings with business partners. I reviewed the numbers from our casinos, gambling dens, and nightclubs. I tightened security along our smuggling routes and vetted our suppliers twice over. Every hour was accounted for. And yet…Vera kept slipping past my defenses.
Not in any soft, sentimental way, either. More like an infection that refused to die, even after the full course of antibiotics: irritating, persistent, and entirely unwanted.
I locked her in her room since I couldn’t trust she wouldn’t bolt the second I turned my back and vanish again.
She was under my roof now. Her movements were under my control.
And her body.
I crushed that thought like a cigarette under my shoe. I wasn’t some street-level scum who took what he wanted without consent. I’d never forced myself on a woman, and I wasn’t about to start with my wife.
I sighed.
But, my wife needed to understand that this was her new life now. This was our home. And wives didn’t get to do as they pleased. They obeyed, they adapted, they fell in line.
She wasn’t about to make me look weak in front of my family or faction just because she refused to adhere to the order of things.
But this was Vera, the blue-eyed Goddess of Ice. I didn't expect things to be easy.
After what she did in the van, I expected her to fight like a gladiator on his last breath, hard and messy. I expected my staff to report her screaming, throwing things, maybe a few threats she couldn’t back up. Hell, even tears. I would’ve preferred that, it would’ve meant she broke quickly.
But Vera? She chose silence.
And something about her choosing that route made me realize one thing: she’d take longer to spill her family secrets than I thought.
Yet still not impossible.
She didn’t apologize. Didn’t beg to be let out. Didn’t even ask for her family. Didn't try any more half-baked negotiations or desperate bargaining.
It was just an infuriating, quiet defiance.
At least if she spoke, I would’ve known what she was thinking. But silence? Silence was dangerous. Nothing good ever came with silence as a precursor. Silence meant she was biding her time. Waiting for an opportunity.
But an opportunity for what?
I had no idea.
My guards were always on patrol, and my gate system needed a thumbprint to exit and enter. That access privilege was only given to a few people I trusted with my life.
According to the cook, she barely touched her food. She had picked at it like a spoiled brat. Another form of protest. I’d held enough people in my time to know the pattern, but hunger always won since pride never filled your stomach.
I told myself I stayed away to give her time, to let her cool off and realize her place. But the truth was, every time I thought about going to her room, memories of holding her in my arms crept in. How soft she felt. How she shuddered under the sound of my voice.
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memory, and refocused on how her refusal to crack grated on my last nerve.
I didn't just see her silence as stubbornness. It was a middle finger. It was disrespectful. And I didn’t tolerate disrespect. Not from my family. Not from my men. Not from my enemies. And there was no way in hell I was about to tolerate it from my wife.
