Immaculate Deception: A Russian Mafia Romance by Nicole Fox

Author:Nicole Fox [Fox, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-19T23:00:00+00:00

27

Arya

Not even fifteen minutes after the doctor leaves, a maid slinks into our room with a red silk dress draped over her arm.

She hangs it on the wardrobe and leaves without a word or a shred of eye contact. As if what’s about to happen to me—what’s been happening to Rose night after night after night—is contagious.

Like if she gets too close, she’ll find herself in Taras’s room, too, screaming for help that will never come.

“We’re doing great. Thanks so much for asking,” Rose snarls with vicious sarcasm at the woman’s retreating back.

I know she wants to share some of her bravery with me. But I’m too busy trying not to pass out to care. Trying not to scream. Trying not to melt down into a quivering puddle of fear.

The silence in the room is all-consuming. We both know what happens next.

A knock on the door.

An invitation to “dinner.”

Rose leaves most nights to “have dinner” with Taras. I knew all along what it meant. I knew where she was going and what she was doing. I knew why she didn’t come back until late at night or, some nights, not at all.

But I allowed myself not to think about it. I allowed myself to be numb to it.

Now that it’s my turn, I’m a mess.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“For what, babe?” Rose croons.

“For…” I don’t know how to say it without it coming out wrong. “For not being more sympathetic the last six weeks. You just always left this room so confident, your head held high. I guess I didn’t let myself see how much he was hurting you.”

“Good.”

I look up at her in confusion. Her eyes blaze.

“I don’t want anyone to see how much I’m hurting,” she says fiercely. “Not you or Taras or anyone else. I hold my head high because if I don’t, then I’ll collapse into a puddle. I miss my daughter every day, I miss my mom, and I miss being free. But I’ll never let Taras fucking Kreshnik know that for a single goddamn second.”

I don’t feel any better, but Rose’s words give me the motivation I need to stand up. To lift my chin. To power through whatever is about to happen.

I stand and disrobe quickly, then slip on the dress.

It fits sickeningly well. Like a reminder that my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. Thin straps, a plunging neckline, and a far-too-short hem that skims the tops of my thighs.

Rose helps me brush and curl my hair and dabs matching red lipstick on my lips. “You’ve got great lips,” she says, standing back and admiring her work. “Beautiful.”

It’s a nice compliment. But we both know it doesn’t mean a whole lot right now.

“I know it’s hard to doll up for that slime ball, but if you don’t, it’s so much worse,” Rose advises. “Laugh at his shitty jokes, bat your eyes at him, and smile as much as you can. If he thinks you’re having a nice time, he’ll be gentler.

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