GHOST (Boston Underworld Book 3) (10 page)

W
hen Alexei comes
to see me again, any reminder of what happened between us is gone. His face is calm, vacant of emotion as he studies me.

“Have you learned your lesson?” he asks.

“Have you learned yours?” I reply.

He moves to stand up and leave me again, and I stop him.

“I can’t make any promises,” I tell him. “But I won’t do that particular thing again.”

He returns to sit beside me. The soft gray of his sweater stretches across his muscular frame, and my fingers itch to touch it. To touch all of him. To have him make me forget.

His fingers find my face, hard and unyielding as his eyes bore into mine.

“You won’t try anything again,” he tells me.

It isn’t a question, or a threat. Simply a command. As though he believes I will obey. I have no question about his authority. His power over me is absolute. But it still feels like maybe I have some power too. Like I remind him of his darkest wound. As if I am the very salt that burns it and brings all of that concealed pain to the surface.

He takes my silence for approval, and undoes my binds, rubbing my wrists and ankles when he finishes. His eyes are on my body. Moving over the pale expanse of my legs and the skin hidden beneath the shorts and cami.

These pajama sets are the only thing I’ve worn since my arrival. He’s seen me in them every day. He’s seen everything beneath them too. But right now, he looks like he wants to see it again. I want him to. I want to forget. I want to be reckless and feel the small thrill and warring hatred for myself that I feel when he touches me. When anyone touches me.

But he does not allow himself to give in this time.

“We are having dinner guests this evening,” he tells me as he rises. “They will not like you, but they will respect you.”

No sugar coating. Maybe that’s what I like about Alexei.

“You will need to play the part,” he adds.

I splay my legs apart a little wider, drawing his attention there as I speak. “The doting wife? Or the reformed whore?”

His eyes flash to mine, his lust barely concealed by his equal annoyance.

“Clean yourself up,” he orders.

“Do you have a fire?” I reply. “Because I’ll need one for that.”

I don’t know why I’m baiting him. But his indifference towards me today is annoying me. And all of the emotions I don’t want to feel are bubbling to the surface.

“A shower will do,” is his terse reply before he leaves the room.

I don’t know where Magda is at. She must be busy preparing dinner. Because usually, she is always near when I have a shower.

Today, she is nowhere to be found. And since Alexei stomped back to his lair, I am left to my own devices.

My eyes move over the bathtub with a dark sense of longing and despair. My fingers trail over the white porcelain, and like clockwork, I hear my mother’s voice in my head.

I kneel and put the stopper in. The same way she must have done that day. I wouldn’t know. Because I was last. But I should have known. Because she was happy that morning. And she was never happy.

I hum the song to myself as the water fills the basin, ripples distorting my reflection on the surface. The water is lukewarm when my fingers weave through it, just like it was that day.

My clothes come off in a heap beside me, and I grip the edges of the tub as I lower myself inside. Flashes of my mother’s face emerge from the darkest places of my mind. She was smiling and singing. And I was still dressed.

There was nothing on her face when I saw them lying on the bathroom floor. The horror washed over me when I realized what she’d done, and I wanted to die too. I didn’t even put up a fight.

I was in a daze when she pushed me under the water. I grasped at the distorted sound of her voice beneath the water. But then it was in my nose. My lungs. Choking me. I thrashed, and she held me under.

Like I’m doing now. My eyes are closed, and I’m floating. Perfectly still.

Silence.

I can’t hear her voice anymore. I can’t see the angel’s faces. The memories have stolen them from me. Distorted them.

I only remember their innocence.

And that it was my job to protect them.

I failed.

And that’s why I’m still here. Being punished. My little brother and my sisters got to fly away, but I never will. Because I didn’t protect them.

In this moment of clarity that’s what it all comes back to. I always thought that it was punishment. That’s why I survived. Why I was left behind.

My hair is a halo around me, like silk beneath the water, tangling over my face and arms. Just like mom’s was that day. A bubble of air escapes my lips. A test.

An urge to be close to them.

But something keeps pulling me back. Into the light and away from the darkness. A nagging hope. That maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’ve always been wrong. And maybe it wasn’t my fault.

But hope isn’t what saves me today.

This time, it’s a strong pair of hands, heaving me out of the bathtub and shaking me from my stupor.

When I open my eyes, it isn’t Alexei I find. It’s someone else. A small boy. Horror and unforgiving pain etched onto his face.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he roars.

The force of his grip is painful. His muscles are shaking, and it isn’t me he sees when he grips my face and screams at me.

“Why?”

When I don’t answer, he discards me on the floor and bends over to drain the tub. And then he pauses, breath heaving, and punches his fist into the porcelain with a level of violence even my eyes have not seen before.

When he turns around again, I’m in the corner, watching him cautiously. His fist is bloodied and swollen. Fingers probably broken. Because of me.

But it’s the expression on his face.

Hurt and rage.

I did that.

It bothers me. And it is my fault.

As soon as I come to grips with that, he is gone.

M
agda’s radio
silence is bothering me.

She’s dressed me carefully. With a flashy black dress and tiny sheer strips of fabric that show my skin beneath. Black heels, and jewelry too. My hair is washed and curled and falling in a veil around my shoulders. Makeup carefully applied.

And yet I’m not looking at myself when she pulls me to the mirror. I’m looking at her, in the reflection.

“I told you,” I say to her reflection. “I told you I would disappoint you.”

She meets my eyes in the mirror, and her shoulders sag.

“You have not disappointed me,” she states. “You have reminded him.”

Of what, she doesn’t say. But I know now that it’s true. I’m the salt in his wound. And I should have seen it before. That Alexei is a masochist, like me. Trying to drown his sorrows in the cognac he drinks. Trying to lock himself away from the world and whatever it is he doesn’t want to face.

People cope in different ways.

And when those ways are not what society deems respectable, then you are pushed even further to the fringes. Like Alexei. And like me.

They all want me to be scared. To be timid and soft. To whimper and cry when men touch me.

Only, I want the men to touch me. I want them to fuel my self-hatred. And I use them to do it. I want to use Alexei too. I want him to fuck me and use and degrade me like the trash that I am. Like the trash society always said I was. It would make me feel better. I crave that validation from him.

But when I look at Magda right now that isn’t what I see in her eyes. It isn’t shame, or frustration, or the inability to understand. It’s the complete opposite of all of those things. It is love and acceptance.

My lip trembles, and I want to push her away. The way that I always do. Because hope is the most dangerous thing of all.

“Come here, child.”

She pulls me against her and hugs me. And I don’t know what to do. So I just let her. There is pressure behind my eyes, but I won’t allow it to seep out. My throat aches from the years of repressed words and emotions I have not given voice to. The deep insecurities embedded in my DNA.

“He chose me because he knew he could only ever hate me,” I tell her. “Because I remind him of what he doesn’t want to remember.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Magda tells me. “You are more alike than you know.”

She takes me by the hand and leads me from the room. Downstairs to the sitting room. Where Alexei is sitting on the sofa, his back towards us. Glass of cognac in hand.

Magda shifts uncomfortably as though she is second guessing herself. And then she turns to me, her face severe.

“I am going to tell you something about Alexei,” she says. “That you must never divulge to anyone outside of this house. Something that requires absolute trust and faith, Miss Talia. Because this information could hurt him if you ever expose it. Do you understand?”

“Then why tell me at all?” I ask.

“Because you need to know. And he is too ashamed to tell you himself. But perhaps it will make you see.”

I remain quiet and watch as she makes a gesture with her hand.

“Call out to him.”

“Why?”

I move my gaze over his figure on the sofa. Tall and strong, but desperately alone. His posture is defeated. Tired. He is not ten feet away from us, and still he has not turned.

“Alyoshka,” Magda calls out.

Nothing. There’s no response. No movement from him at all. It’s as if we are not even in the room.

“You try,” she tells me.

“Alexei,” I call out.

No response. So I try again, louder.

“Alexei!”

Nothing.

Magda reaches down and pats my hand. “He isn’t ignoring you, Miss Talia.”

Her words leave the necessary unsaid. And I stare at the back of his head in confusion. How could I have not seen it?

“He reads lips?”

“He reads everything on your face,” Magda answers. “But if you are very close to him, and you speak into his right ear, he can hear a little bit.”

It makes sense now. The truth is so incredibly simple. Right in front of me all along.

Alexei cannot hear. This is why he keeps himself locked away in his house. He doesn’t want anyone to know his secret. Because in the mafia, in his world, that secret would be a weakness.

And I suddenly find myself wondering if he sees himself as weak too. If this is why he chose me. Because we are both flawed and damaged.

“It will be a long evening for you,” Magda tells me. “You should go upstairs and relax until the party starts.”

I give Alexei one last glance before I nod and do as she says. “Okay.”

B
y five o clock
, all of the guests have arrived.

Viktor and his most trusted Vory have come to dine with us tonight. In celebration of my marriage. This party includes Katya and Anatoly as well. Even Nikolai and my own father who dutifully ignores me the way he has always done.

I don’t foresee a happy occasion, and the longer I wait for Talia to come down, the more my nerves agitate me. I don’t know what her mood will be like this evening. If she will prove them all right by ignoring me too. Wearing the same flat expression I am now accustomed to. The same desire to end her life rather than be married to the likes of me.

I should have gone to her. Spoken to her after the incident. But my anger is too much. I cannot look at her without betraying how I feel. Like she has betrayed me.

Viktor is speaking to me when his eyes move behind me. And before I even look, I know it is her. I wait, wondering what version I will get this evening.

She appears by my side, and when I turn towards her, she is reaching up to kiss my cheek. The action surprises me, and Viktor does not miss it. It’s only after a moment that I realize she is too short and I am too tall, so I bend to accommodate her.

Her lips are soft and warm against my skin, and absent of any anger or despondency that I’ve come to expect from her. When she pulls away, she threads her arm through mine and rests her pale fingers against the black of my sweater. She’s wearing her wedding ring. As am I.

My eyes are moving over her, dressed in all black. It’s the perfect accompaniment to her ghostly white skin and pale blonde hair. She looks like a haunted angel, eyes smoked in black and lips painted red. And right now, every pair of eyes in the room is on her.

“Good evening,” she speaks to Viktor.

In my mind, I know I need to turn my attention back to him. To avoid making a fool of myself. Missing any cues in conversation. But I’m having difficulty tearing my eyes away from my wife, who… I don’t seem to recognize at all.

There is a smile on her face as Viktor takes her free hand in his and greets her. She is tucked in close to my side as though she is my partner. As though it is both of us against all of them. When it has only ever been me.

There are so many questions in my mind, but I don’t have time to consider them. She taps my arm and smiles, and I realize she’s trying to get my attention.

I turn back to Viktor, whose eyes are moving between the two of us with a curious expression.

“You have done very well for yourself, Lyoshenka.”

I can’t tell if his words are genuine or not. When only last week he referred to her as a whore, now he can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. I pull her closer on a nod, wrapping my arm around her waist, and he smiles.

“Tell me,” Viktor speaks to Talia, “how married life is treating you.”

When she glances up at me, there is genuine warmth in her eyes. I don’t know where it came from, but I find myself wishing the room were empty now. Instead, I settle for placing my hand possessively on the back of her neck. Stroking the warm skin there and watching her as she answers.

“I would tell you that my husband is a perfect gentleman,” she says. “But we both know that’s a lie.”

Viktor laughs, and when his eyes land on me, there is approval behind them. I pull Talia even closer still, grazing her cheek with my lips. She does not protest. In fact, she leans into me and gives a soft sigh of approval.

“You are happy though,” Viktor remarks. “Yes?”

It’s not a question, even though it is phrased like one. It is an observation. And right now, she does seem happy.

Talia looks to me, her eyes moving over my face when she replies.

“I am.”

And then Viktor holds up his glass, reciting a classic Russian toast to our health and happiness.

Across the room, Katya’s gaze finds mine. Hurt and anger fill her eyes as she moves them from me to Talia. I ignore her and focus my attention on Magda when she enters the room.

“Dinner is served.”

We all move to the dining room, and Talia takes her place at my side.

Throughout dinner, I catch all of the men staring at her. Sergei and Nikolai included. When his gaze finds mine across the table, it is apologetic. And something else.

I don’t allow him to introduce himself to her.

Dinner is a long affair. With toasts and blessings from all the notable members at the table. When Sergei’s turn comes around, he mocks me by simply saying, to
my
good health.

Katya’s eyes are on Talia throughout the whole evening, and Talia has taken notice of her as well. Beneath the table, her hand finds mine, and I move my attention to her.

She smiles at me, and it still disarms me.

I have half a notion to remove the sharp cutlery from her reach. Convinced she is deceiving me somehow.

But she plays her part well, never missing a beat when someone asks her a question. Every word out of her mouth is a lie of course, regarding our marriage. But only she and I know it.

When the plates have been removed and the men begin to scatter back into the sitting room, Anatoly stops me. He glances at Talia and smiles and then asks me in Russian to retrieve the information he needed on a local politician.

“I will look after your wife,” he tells me. “While you retrieve it.”

Instead, I call for Magda and instruct her to remain at Talia’s side.

“I will be right back,” I tell her. And with all of the eyes in the room on us, I lean down and kiss her as a husband should. Softly, on the cheek.

She smiles up at me, and I retreat upstairs to my office.

As I suspected, I am not in there for more than two minutes before Katya makes an appearance.

“Lyoshka,” she greets me.

My eyes move over her tall figure, filling out the blue dress she has chosen to accentuate all of her best features in the way she always does. She has the body of a model, and the face of one too. The gem that many of the Vory covet, but do not have the position to attain.

At least not permanently. Though I’ll never know how many she has been with besides myself and Nikolai. I was one of the few who had the rank she lusted after in a partner. Only, I did not have whatever else she needed.

I fell for her. And she made a mockery of me. And still, here she is, begging me back.

“When are you going to give up this ruse?” she questions, leaning against my desk and entrapping me into the space.

“There is no ruse, Katya.” I pull the information I need from a file though it’s clear to me Anatoly had only one intention upon sending me up here.

“This girl is not good enough for you,” she tells me. “She is not family. Not bred for being a Vor’s wife.”

“She was not bred for that,” I answer her. “That is why I married her.”

The insult does not go unnoticed. Katya flinches, but quickly recovers.

“It is not too late,” she tells me. “You can send her away and choose me instead. Tell me what I have to do Alexei. To win your forgiveness. Anything, and I will do it.”

“I want nothing from you.”

Her eyes move over me as she inches closer. So close that her leg brushes up against mine as she leans into my space, her perfume soaking the air around us. All calculated moves to get my attention. Katya is an expert of manipulation.

I was manipulated by her beauty and her words. But now, I feel nothing when I look upon her.

“It is only the chase that thrills you,” I tell her. “You need to give up these fantasies of yours now and accept reality. Take up with Nikolai. You two should be very happy together.”

She scoffs in my face as though I have burned her. “You know I can do no such thing. He is only a soldier. I am bred to be the wife of a high ranking Vor.”

I meet her wrath with a shrug. “He was good enough for you to fuck. What is the difference?”

“It was a mistake,” she utters. “Please…”

The desperation in her voice grates on me. I just want her gone.

A shadow falls over the doorway, and when I glance up, I find Talia staring back at me. Her eyes flick between Katya and I, questioning the narrow distance between us.

I reach out my hand in a gesture for her to come to me, pleading with my eyes that she will not misunderstand the situation.

She does, without hesitation. And once she is close enough, I pull her directly onto my lap, kissing her fiercely and possessively in front of Katya.

When I come back up for air, Talia is studying me, and Katya is barely able to conceal her disdain.

“Have you met my wife?” I ask her.

“No.” Katya’s lips curl into a false smile conceived from years of training. “I don’t believe I have.”

My hands move over Talia’s body, pulling her closer to me. It isn’t a calculated move on my part, but an instinctive one. Right now, she is pliable. Doing as I ask and playing the role of my wife as though she were born for it.

I like her like this.

I want to soak up every second of this mood while it lasts. Before I inevitably ruin it.

Talia reaches up and touches my face, kissing me softly before pulling away.

“Sorry,” she murmurs to Katya. “We can’t keep our hands off each other. Honeymoon phase.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Katya replies.

“I intend to.” Talia smiles up at her. “And on that note, would you mind?”

Katya remains in place, her jaw tense and her gaze burning into mine. Willing me to say otherwise.

“Shut the door when you go,” I add.

She swears at me in Russian, and then she does as I ask.