Page 24 of Bratva Queen

“Don’t worry about him,” I said flippantly. “He never tries anything with the dancers. Business is business.” I tried to laugh it off, hoping it would calm him. But he didn’t calm down. If anything, his annoyance grew. I turned to him. “Look, Boris doesn’t care about hooking up with the dancers. Never use your own product, right?” I repeated the same line I’d heard Boris say once when one of the dancers tried topersuadehim for a night off and he’d declined. But something about the remark sent a dark flash through Stepan’s eyes, deepening his glare.

“Where the fuck did you hear that?” he asked, stepping forward. His body was tense, his muscles tightened. “Have you been talking to Aleksei about bratva business?”

My head cocked in confusion. “What? No. What are you talking about?”

He stared at me for a moment with a hardened expression. I had no idea what was going on in his mind. I only stared at him, waiting for him to make the next move, to direct which way the conversation would go from here.

“You need to quit,” he said with finality.

I chuckled, as though he was joking. “We’ve discussed this, Stepan. I’m not quitting. This job is my only source of independence—”

He quickly grabbed both of my arms tightly. “Independence? Why the fuck would you even want independence? It’s a cold and unforgiving world out there, Isabel!”

I frowned, tipping my head to the side. “I’m not quitting, Stepan. I don’t want to.”

He released me, stepping back slowly and gesturing to my outfit—the flashy bra with tassels, and high-waisted sequin shorts. “Oh, I get it now. You like the attention. You like when other men watch you throw your tits around and shake your damn ass—”

“Stepan!” I shouted. “What is wrong with you?”

He had this crazed look in his eye, a look I didn’t recognize. “What is wrong withme?” He shouted back. “You’re the one who gets off on being a slut!”

He pushed me. Hard.

I stumbled back, my heels wobbling and twisting my ankle. I fell to the side, and my ribs slammed against the makeup table. The pain seared through my side until I heaved with deep breaths.

“Ow… ow…” My eyes teared up.

“Jesus, Isabel!” Stepan’s own eyes were wide as he dropped to his knees beside me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I—I’m so sorry!”

After he helped me to my feet, I kept my calm—knowing from past experience with my drunken father that an angry reaction only escalated things—I looked up at him and asked quietly, “Will you please leave? I—”

“I said I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did that! You’ve never seen me act like that before, right? It’s just a bad night!” He pulled me hard against his chest, trying to hug me, but it only hurt me more, and I winced.

“Stepan, I don’t think we should continue this conversation right now…”

He looked between my eyes, his pupils moving in jerked motions, and sighed. “Yeah… you’re right. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

He left, looking completely sorry for himself. I dropped into my chair, holding my side and trying desperately to keep my tears at bay.

I chose a new top. One that reached down to my midriff and covered the red bruise sprouting across my ribcage. Boris came back in, anger on his face.

“Isabel! I told you ten minutes ago—” He stopped when he saw me frantically wiping my wet cheeks.

“Uh-huh, yeah, sorry, boss, I just had to—”

“I understand, honey,” he said, uncharacteristically. He was looking at me with knowing eyes. “Take your time.”

He left and I pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. I touched up my makeup, smiled at myself in the mirror, and stood up. When I flipped the curtain open and stepped onto the stage, Aleksei was standing right there. He never stood so close to the stage.

He was frowning, his arms were crossed, and his eyes searched mine. I didn’t know if it was because I was late to the stage, or because he’d seen Stepan leaving, looking upset. Maybe he’d even heard the commotion. I gave him a stiff smile—we weren’t friends, after all—and wrapped my fingers around the pole.

* * *

“Why didn’tyou leave him then already?” Maxim asked me. It looked like hearing my story was perhaps making him feel a little angry. My other sons didn’t grow up with me like he did, so they were less emotional about it. They also knew how their father was, so it was no surprise to them.

“I wish I had…” I shrugged. “But I knew the danger in that. Leaving him would mean leaving my job and packing up my family with absolutely nowhere to go. And, ‘breaking up,’” I said while hooking my fingers, “was not exactly something you could do with someone like Stepan. He made the decisions. I’m sure you boys understand that about him.”

Misha, Dmitry, and Ivan nodded their heads indignantly.

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