Before I can comfort her, Mikhail shows up. I didn’t even realize he was in the audience. Hopefully to see me.
“Mikhail.” I reach my hand out to him. “Have you come to comfort me?” I may be in pain, but I am going to milk it for as long as I can. Maybe this will get Mikhail to want to be with me.
But then he asks. “Have you seen Sofiya?”
I slump back onto the ground, feeling my heart getting ripped out of my chest. How can he like my sister? Sofiya is nothing special.
“I haven’t. As you can see, I’m in pain.”
His eyes flick down to my ankle. “I am sorry about that, but I need to find Sofiya.” Then he walks away.
I want to cry out to him to stay, but he doesn’t want me.
He wants my sister.
SOFIYA
The taste of Boris’s hand on my lips is disgusting. It’s salty and briny, and I don’t want to know why that is.
He shoves me into his car and locks the door before I can try to leave. I watch him stumble around to the driver’s seat and get in.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“We’re getting married. Remember?” He nods toward the backseat. “Your dress is there. You can change when we get to the church.”
“Boris, this is crazy. You’re kidnapping me. My father wanted you to protect me. Not do this.”
“Your father wanted to see you married,” he says, driving away from the theater. “And so, you’re going to marry me. I could tell you wanted to run, so this is me making sure you can’t do that.”
I could still run even after we’re married, but there’s no use telling Boris that. I don’t want to make him more upset. The image of pointing his gun at Vik’s face is seared into my mind. Boris is a dangerous man if provoked.
“Don’t you want me to agree to marry you willingly?” I ask, trying a different tactic.
Boris scoffs. “I don’t care about that. A beautiful woman like you would never willingly marry a man like me. So, I’m taking what I want. I learned that from Mikhail.”
I whip my head around to stare at him. “Mikhail?”
“He’s a man who gets what he wants. I figured I could be the same. He wants you, and I won’t let him have you.”
His words make me blush. Mikhail wants me? Why? A powerful man like him could have his share of women, but he wants me. The thought is flattering but also intimidating. Mikhail intimidates me.
But right now, it’s not Mikhail I need to fear. It’s Boris.
“You can’t just take me,” I say. “I’m a woman. Not property.”
“To me, you are. You really think your mother wasn’t property to your father? She was his plaything. His trophy. And now, you’ll be the same to me.”
“But—”
“You’re not going to get a better offer than me, Sofiya.” He swerves around a car, making them honk at us. I grip the door to steady myself. “I have money. I can protect you. I can protect your whole family. If you’ll let me.”
You’re not offering me a choice, I think.
“What if I want to be with someone else?” I ask. Instantly, I regret it. Boris grabs his gun from his jacket pocket and aims it at me while steering with his other hand. I press back into my seat, trying to get as far from the gun as possible, though it’s futile. If he wants to kill me, he can.
“There’s no one else,” he growls. “You think a man like Mikhail will treat you with respect? He’ll want you to be his trophy, too. All his Bratva men are like that. Time to get used to it, Sofiya. I want you, so I’m taking you. I’ll protect you, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”
“But you’re pointing a gun at me.”
He briefly looks at me before slowly lowering his gun. “There? Better?”
“Yes.”
“See? I’m not a bad guy. You can trust me, Sofiya.” He plants his palm on my knee. All I want is to push it away, but I don’t dare. “Your father would approve of us getting married. This is for the best. For everyone.”
For you. No way is this the best for me.
The best thing for me is freedom. The chance to make my own choices in life. To choose what I want to do, ballet or not. I don’t even know what I like outside of ballet, and I want to find out.
But now, I never will. Because Boris will control me until I can’t breathe. The Bratva will never let me go.
Boris stops the car in front of a church. I notice his hand remains on my knee. He’s rubbing my skin, and it’s taking everything from me not to vomit all over again. I don’t think my throat could take it.
“We’re here,” Boris says, smiling at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. He licks his lips.
“Do you need lip balm?” I don’t even know why the question escapes me. It just does.
Boris frowns. “Why would I need lip balm?”
