Page 90 of Merciless Desires

"Your father. He was Bratva?"

She startles at my question. “No! I mean, I don't know. Mother never spoke of it.” She looks away. "We fled soon after he died, within days. She never said as much, but I think she needed to get far away from everything that triggered any memory of that horrible day."

"You said you were there. You witnessed his death?"

She nods.

After a pause, I ask carefully, "You saw what happened. The man, the one who shot your father...could identify him?"

She frowns, thrown by the question. "I was only eight, and I've tried to forget. But yes, his face has haunted me for fifteen years. I'd know him if I ever saw him again. Why? Why would you ask me that?"

"Don’t be troubled, golubushka.” I shrug. “Just making conversation.”

We finish the rest of our meal in silence. Natalia is clearly still affected by the memories I dredged up. She keeps her gaze down and moves the rest of her food around her plate listlessly.

Finally, she looks up at me again. "I’m very tired. May I be excused now?" she asks stiffly, almost sarcastically. “I don’t know the proper protocol for a prisoner when asking something of her jailer.”

There’s that inner strength and survivor spirit.

I should punish her for the insolent tone, but tonight was more challenging for her than I meant it to be, so I decide not to. After the conversation about witnessing her father’s murder, I can understand her brashness. I will let it go this time.

"You may be dismissed," I tell her evenly. "In the future, you need only ask, and I will decide if it is to be permitted or not."

Natalia nods, but then surprises me by asking, "What about going outside? Can I go out sometime? I hate being cooped up indoors."

I consider for a moment. Letting her outside does introduce a slightly elevated risk. But the estate grounds are heavily guarded and secured. I suspect confining her to the house is only making her more eager to escape. Perhaps some supervised time outdoors would alleviate that urge.

"Very well," I concede. "You may go outside in the gardens as long as you’re accompanied by a guard."

With that, Natalia nods and rises gracefully from her chair.

Just as she reaches the door, I say, “Natalia, what was your father’s name?”

She looks down at her feet. “Aleksandr,” she says, her voice just above a whisper. “His name was Aleksandr Federov.”

And it’s as if some of the missing pieces of a puzzle suddenly fall into place.

I sit in the leather armchair of my home office finishing off another glass of vodka as I contemplate the name Natalia gave me at dinner—Alexandr Fedorov. The name rings familiar in my mind, an echo from the past. Fedorov. He was a powerful pakhan of the Bratva, the one they called “The Bear” for his ferocity, his cunning. He was gunned down in cold blood fifteen years ago by Bratva enemies.

I was just a young vor at the time, still learning the ways of the brotherhood, when Fedorov was killed. It was shocking, even to me who had grown up immersed in violence and death. I also know Federov had no children. No heirs.

So what game is Natalia playing?

She must be lying. But how does she know that name? How does she know about Alexandr Fedorov being executed in a mob hit fifteen years ago? Maybe her mother knew and spoke about Federov. Perhaps Natalia thinks that claiming her father was a powerful pakhan will win her favor or sway me from my duty. My duty. Does she still think I’m going to kill her?

That thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as I glare into the empty vodka glass.

When I chose not to kill her that first night, when I chose instead to slake my lust, that was when it all went sideways. And here she remains, unraveling my world one thread at a time like an intruder sneaking through the barricades that fortify my heart.

I pound my fist on the arm of the chair in frustration and reach again for the vodka bottle, pouring myself another glass. The alcohol is not enough to dampen the conflict raging inside me.

She puts everything at risk—the organization, my position within it, my loyalty to my pakhan and the brothers. But there is a part of me, a part I tried to silence, that recoils at the thought of living the rest of my life knowing hers has been snuffed out.

This dark, dangerous, and cruel underworld of violence and sin has been my home since birth. I’ve never known the kind of light she brings to the world.

I slam back another vodka, the fiery liquid fueling the tumult of emotions swirling inside me, and I pour yet another. Natalia has been under my care for little more than a week, yet she has cracked apart my soul in ways no one else ever has. Everything I thought I knew, everything I thought I wanted, she has challenged. The money, the power, the brotherhood—it all seems empty now. Only with her here in my life do I feel the hollowness inside me start to fill. A dangerous, terrifying notion.

My empty glass slips from my hands. I lean forward to pick it up off the thick, plush carpet and roll it between my palms before pouring another.

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