Page 51 of Bratva Queen

Stepan didn’t like that much. I could never figure out why. I knew his thoughts on the matter, that the more “outsiders” there were, the more danger everyone was in. But that couldn’t have been the whole truth. He didn’t talk much about his own parents, and eventually, I wondered if he just didn’t like the idea of a parent, or any kind of authoritative or elderly figure in the house at all. He had to have all the power.

Of course, I would sit on the phone with her and talk for hours. She was retired, growing old and lonely; she loved to chat and hear the babies carrying on around me. I tried again to have Stepan allow her to live by us, or just in Moscow, even if only to watch her condition as she aged, but he was dead set on saying no. All the time.No.

After I asked again, he had my phone calls with her monitored by his security team. And a few months after that, apparently, I’d revealed too much and was cut off from calling her altogether. It couldn’t have been a year later when she passed, and Stepan was forced—even if just to keep up his Koslov image—to take us as a family to Belarus for the funeral.

It was completely different from my brother’s funeral so long ago. Then, Stepan had been charming and actually trying to appease me; he even told me he loved me for the first time then. But I should have known, just from the fact that he’d missed the whole ceremony, that I would always come last. Not even second anymore, last.

Stepan held up his looks—his bright blue, charming eyes and wafts of blonde hair; he was still a renowned and respected king to all those in Moscow who knew of him and his power. Over those five years, he tried now and again to get into my good books, and I tried to be a good wife.

It was around the time he got clean of drugs and alcohol and started taking his business a little more seriously. His profits skyrocketed, and with this new health and power mindset he really tried to make our marriage something a little more romantic, a little more normal. That was when we went to Greece.

Finally, I not only got out of the house but the country. I felt the sun on my skin, experienced a really bad sunburn for the first time, and felt the strange feeling of having Stepan’s full attention, even if I knew deep down that it was all a show. We’d left Misha with the nanny for those two weeks and in our attempts at romance… Dmitry was conceived.

It didn’t last long. Stepan grew bored, especially once I was visibly pregnant and no longer attractive to him. Added to that, I was no longer a safe target to push around, once I had a baby inside of me. So things began to slip sideways again.

I became so tired of his drunken drama that I created a safe haven for myself—very much supported by the female staff of the house. We set up another main bedroom at the end of the hall so Stepan wouldn’t even need to pass my door. I decorated it with my own favorite colors and florals and set a plush armchair in front of the windows.

It was my space. And I didn’t plan on entering Stepan’s bedroom ever again. He was having enough sex with prostitutes and strippers, I was sure. He didn’t seem to care, or even notice at first, but one night he came home particularly angry and high. With crazed eyes, he kicked my door down and began yelling at me.

“You are mine, Isabel! Mine!” he shouted. “What makes you think you have the right to keep your body from me, huh?”

“Stepan, leave my room now!” I growled. “You lost all rights to my body the moment you started throwing it at the fucking wall!”

“You are my wife!” he raged. “Mine to do with as I please! Even more so because I am the goddamn Koslov king!” His eyes buzzed with sick pride. “And I will have anything I want.”

When his voice grew deep, I knew I was in trouble. I didn’t even want to yell out for help, because as Stepan began to undress, he placed his handgun right there, on the table. If my guardian angel Lev, sent by Aleksei, was to come running in here, he’d be shot dead.

So I took it. I left Stepan with scratches and bite marks, and bruises to his legs wherever I could kick them, but I took the rape. That night Stepan left me with not only a black eye and my ribs cracked at the back where he’d shoved me down, but also a sweet little present I later named Ivan.

So, no matter how much pain I was in, emotionally and physically, I didn’t regret that night. Out of my trauma grew a gorgeous little boy.

When Lev saw me after that night, he closed my door and spoke in harsh whispers.

“Isabel, why didn’t you call out? I thought Stepan had gone straight to his own room.”

I shrugged. “He had his gun on him, Lev. I couldn’t imagine calling you to your death. It was in his eyes. That bloodlust. You know the look… It was too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous? Look at you!” The sweet, young guard seemed to have tears in his eyes. He held a certain guilt and pain that I never knew of before then. It was clear that there was a reason that Alek sent him and not some other strong, emotionless guard.

“Lev,” I’d told him, taking his arm, “I am a strong woman. I’ve taken a lot of shit. None of that is worth you taking a bullet through the skull. And you know who taught me that…”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Aleksei.”

“Yes. He taught me to pick my battles, to bite through the pain when it’s necessary so that we can all stay alive.”

“I really don’t think this is what he meant by that—”

“Just don’t tell him, okay?” I stopped him. I couldn’t stand the thought of Aleksei coming here and starting a war in my name, over a few bruises. Most of all, I didn’t want to lose my children. “Tell him that I’m strong, and I’m keeping my head up high.”

That’s my girl… I heard Alek’s voice echo through my mind.

* * *

There wasa time when I’d actually tried to run away.

It was when he saw me at the kitchen table with little Ivan, a newborn in my arms, and I’d laughed at something one of the chefs had said. The guard eating his breakfast in the kitchen laughed too, and so did the house manager, a stern old lady with a crooked nose. I didn’t remember the joke, but I remembered that having a new baby in the house was somewhat uplifting, and the staff were in high spirits.

That night, before bedtime, he rounded up the oldest boys, Misha and Dmitry, four and two years old. He had a guard fetch me from my room, and he led us all down into the basement, where the guard from the kitchen was tied up with his hands behind his back.

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