Anastasia Petrov flinched at the crash of the downstairs door and the subsequent creaks as it shuddered on its hinges, and she gave thanks again she’d insisted on the heavy oak with the metal. Her reasoning at the time had been protection from the outside, but she knew without looking the source of the banging was closer to home.
She rose from her chair and checked her reflection in the mirror. She’d dressed for an elegant dinner, taking special care with her hair, her makeup, and clothes to give the impression of success and fortune. To the casual observer, she’d pull off the charade, but she spotted the tiny wrinkles starting to form around her eyes and the tired stretch of skin along her neck. She’d shed the glow of youth without ever having had time to indulge in its glory. People referred to her as regal, grand—and she took great care to reinforce the image by dressing perfectly, painstakingly conscious of her appearance, but the days of allure were over and the best she could hope for now was grand dame, a role she’d embraced without affection.
She walked to the railing of the grand staircase, the centerpiece of this home, and called out to the man responsible for all the noise. “Mikhail, what did that poor door ever do to you for you to treat it so?”
His laugh was loud and raucous, signaling his mood. “Why are you still in your robe? Tonight is for celebration. Get dressed and meet me downstairs. Come quickly.”
She didn’t have to ask the source of his exuberance. Only one thing would put him in such a good mood—the fall of the house of Mancuso, and though she doubted it was as easy or foregone as he seemed to think, humoring him had become second nature. It was easier and, more importantly, it was safer.
She waited until he’d left the room before summoning Katia, her best friend and trusted assistant. Katia answered her text with a simple “be right there” and she showed up less than a minute later from her room in the other wing of the massive palace Mikhail had insisted on building when they’d moved to the States.
“What’s going on?” Katia asked. “I heard Mikhail come in and he sounded excited.”
Ana brushed her hair as she spoke. “I don’t know this for a fact, but I believe he’s finally conquered the Mancusos. I certainly don’t know of anything else that would get him so excited.”
“You underestimate yourself. As usual.”
Ana considered the familiar refrain. Katia had never been afraid to voice her opinion, and she’d always been quick to state she was too good for Mikhail. Her blistering honesty was one of the reasons she’d insisted Katia immigrate with them as a condition of her agreement to marry him. She needed at least one ally here in the states because the size of Mikhail’s ego crowded everything else out, and her own happiness was no exception.
“You know there’s no longer anything there. If there ever was.”
Katia sank into the chair next to her vanity and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”
She made it sound so easy. Like there were a host of options available to her, but the truth was much more complicated. She was a Russian woman, living in the US on a visa procured by her father, a powerful figure in her homeland, but unlikely to have much sway here anymore since public opinion toward anything and anyone Russian had taken a sharp downward turn following the invasion of Ukraine. Her visa was intricately linked to her husband’s legitimate shipping business which only served as a cover for their family’s extensive underground criminal enterprises. If she were to leave, she would call unnecessary attention to all of it and there would be a steep price to pay.
“My time will come, but it is not now. I have work to do here, but in the meantime, I’ve been informed that tonight we’re celebrating. Please come with us.” She reached for Katia’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I would like a friend with me tonight.”
“Of course.” Katia stood. “Whatever you need. You know I will always be here for you. I’ll get dressed and meet you downstairs.”
Ana watched the door close behind her as she left, wishing she had the freedom to come and go as she chose, but choice was not a concept she’d had the opportunity to embrace. Still, she was not without power. She finished dressing and walked down the hall to Mikhail’s suite, pausing only briefly to knock on the door before pushing her way in.
He was seated in front of a mirror, and she pictured him falling into the glass so closely was he examining his own face. He spotted her reflection, but didn’t turn around. “You couldn’t wait to see me, yes?”
“I came to tell you that I invited Katia to join us this evening.”
“That’s not what I had in mind.”
“What did you have in mind, Mikhail? I’m weary of trying to read your thoughts.”
He turned in his seat and shot her a piercing look. “You barely even try. You are my wife, and I do not wish for extra company tonight. Tell her she is not welcome.”
“But she is. And I may be your wife, but you would do well to remember that all of this,” she gestured at the opulent furnishings, “is possible because of my family’s money. You work hard, but you are only building on a foundation that was laid for you. Do not forget the debt you owe.” She delivered the words with bravado, but she knew she was stepping very close to the line they’d both respected as a means to keep up appearances. “Surely you would not deny me the company of a dear friend when we have such a big occasion to celebrate?” she asked to soften the blow of her declaration.
He calmed a bit at the last words—his shoulders relaxed and his scowl softened. He raised his hands in surrender. “Yes, of course. Bring her. Bring anyone. It is indeed a night to celebrate.”
As long as he could pretend an idea was his own, there was peace in the house. But was peace worth the sacrifice?
She shook away the thought because to pursue it meant following a path that would only lead to trouble, and she’d spent her entire life avoiding conflict. She had money and status, and nothing had ever seemed worth the strife of fighting what would likely be a losing battle and nothing probably ever would.
An hour later, the limo dropped them off at Mikhail’s favorite steakhouse. She and Katia followed Mikhail and his hulking flank of bodyguards inside where they were immediately led to a private lounge. Bottles of Cristal jostled in buckets of melting ice, and Mikhail wasted no time popping the cork and drinking straight from one of the bottles. He held it out to her, his glinting eyes challenging her to accept the dare. She offered him a smug smile while she cringed on the inside and took the bottle and tipped it toward her lips. The effervescent bubbles tickled her tongue, but she held the bottle in place several seconds longer than he had—a message to anyone watching that she was a power in her own right, worthy of running their business and deserving of respect. When she finally lowered the bottle and placed it back in the bucket of ice, Mikhail started a slow clap that grew in intensity.
“This is my wife,” he proclaimed in a loud voice, silly due to the fact everyone there knew exactly who she was. “She can do anything I can do. But faster and smarter.” The last words carried an edge that probably only she could hear, but there was no mistaking it was there. It accompanied the flash of temper in his eyes. Jealousy was a strong and dangerous emotion. She would do well to remember that.
“You flatter me, Mikhail.” She pointed to the table and took a seat. “Tell us how you defeated the Mancusos.” She asked the question to give him space to be the big man, but she genuinely wanted to know the answer. Less than two weeks ago, Don Mancuso’s consigliere, Siobhan Collins, had sat in their living room trying to broker a truce. How had overtures of peace turned into seeds of war so quickly, and why hadn’t she known what was happening?
He took another drink and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Brute force. That little bitch attorney fled the country after her boss died, and they left no one of substance behind.”
“What about the daughter. Dominique? Isn’t she still around?”
“She is. But she’s been cast aside by her family.” He raised his glass again in a lonely toast. “Thankfully, I was waiting in the wings to welcome her into our fold.”
He leered then, and she tamped down the urge to back away, knowing he was performing for everyone else at the table. Neither of them were foolish enough to believe there would ever be any intimacy between them, but that didn’t mean he could handle the reminder in public. Let him leer—it was the only satisfaction he would ever have.
An hour later, she watched while Mikhail flirted one last time with the waitress while he settled the check. The server tossed her hair and giggled a fake laugh, and Ana wondered if anything pierced the bubble of self-indulgence he’d enveloped himself in. Doubtful.
After he paid, Mikhail rose from the table and signaled to one of his guards before turning to her and Katia. “I have a meeting, but Sergei will see you both home,” he said, referring to the head of his security.
Knowing that “meeting” likely meant a trip to one of the many brothels he liked to frequent, Ana saw a window of opportunity, and waved off his hulking escort. “It’s still early, and I would like to do some shopping. Katia and I will be fine.” She reached for her phone. “I’ll call a car to take us.”
He leaned in close and pecked her on the cheek. “You’re so independent. What a charming trait,” he said, the growl in his tone belying the words. He reached into his pocket and drew out a wad of cash. “Have a nice time, ladies.” He tossed a stack of hundred-dollar bills on the table. “On me.”
He turned to Sergei and snapped his fingers. So many ostentatious displays of faux power. It really was too much. When he finally disappeared, Ana pointed at Katia’s drink. “You need to empty that right now. I’m ready to have some fun of my own.”