The house was wrong in the morning — too still, the air thick, as if the silence before a gunshot. Lila awoke alone, Viktor's side of the bed empty, his smell erased. The sky outside the window was bruised, filled with impending rain.
She yawned, wincing in response to the tenderness in her legs — a tenderness that made her grin. Last night was war masquerading, disguised as sex, violence disguised as adoration. Every bruise on her body felt like a crown, a badge signaling that she passed through Viktor's flames unscathed.
Survival was never quite so easy.
She caught up with Viktor in the kitchen, bare-chested, gulping black coffee as if it were whiskey. His knuckles were red, his jaw clenched. He didn't turn his gaze in her direction when she came in, but his tension rippled through the air, a menacing warning.
"Did you sleep?" she inquired gently.
He said nothing. Didn't answer.
She took a step forward, her fingers running across the edge of the table.
Viktor's laugh was cutting, humorless. "Angry?" He finally looked at her, and something was terrifying in his eyes — not rage, but something colder. Fear. "You think this is about anger?"
She tilted her head, her hair spilling across one shoulder.
He jumped up and stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Tatiana's missing."
Her stomach fell. "Gone where?"
"To kill you."
The tone was so relaxed, so matter-of-course, it took Lila a second to register. And then she laughed — a gentle, soft, disbelieving murmur. "She wouldn't—
"She would," Viktor interrupted, cut in. "And so would Sofia."
Lila's smile faltered. "But you said—"
"I told my men they would lose their hands if they touched you," he said, taking a step towards Lila "But I can't watch your back every minute. And they don't have any more to lose."
The weight of it hung and settled around her, like icy water. This was not a game. This was no game of wounded egos and love affairs. This was war, and the wives had learned for years how to win.
She gulped, swallowed hard. "What do we do?"
"We?" Viktor's grin was sinister, his smile was dark. "You assume we're in this together, kiddo?"
Her pulse quickened. "Aren't we
He took her wrist in his hand, pulling her in, so her body was against his. "I told you in the first place," he told her. "Nothing in my world is free. You wanted to be queen? Then bleed for the crown."
He kissed her — biting, punitive — teeth digging, sinking into her lower lip so she whimpered. Her mouth was red, her heart racing, when he released her. She was wet from the inside again!
"Dress up," he instructed. "The wives demand blood? Let us give them a cause."
The gathering took place in the Red Room, a portion of the mansion set aside for Viktor's business alone — the room in which agreements were negotiated, friendships were dissolved, people were disposed of. The walls were upholstered in velvet, a dark, rich red, and the chandelier hung overhead, dripping crystal tears.
Tatiana was already there, wearing white, her beauty more razor-sharp than ever. By her side, Sofia leaned against a wall, puffing, her eyes black with rage.
She came in with Viktor's arm around her, in a black silk dress he'd picked for her — the fabric hugging her bruises in a second skin. She sensed their gazes boring into her, their eyes burning hot with hate. She smiled, slowly, sweetly, letting them glimpse the bruises Viktor marked across her skin: the curve of her throat, her collar, her thighs under the V at the top of her dress.
She threw her cigarette on the ground, stomping on it with her foot. "She's just a cheap prostitute."
"And yet," Viktor declared smoothly, "she has my name between her thighs." She has made her legs open and take it so deep that both of you can't do in this time with me.
She noticed the way Sofia's fists were clenched, the way Tatiana's mask faltered — ever so briefly. Victory was bitter, but also sweet, in her mouth.
Tatiana took a step forward. "We've given you all, Viktor. Obedience. Loyalty. The best years of our lives." Her tone was measured, but her hands were shaking. "And this is how you discard us?"
Viktor leaned in his chair. "You provided me with what I paid for. And your time is up."
The smile did not meet her eyes, though. "Then bury us deep. Because if not, we'll return with knives."
She could feel Viktor's hold around her tighten, the beat of his pulse racing against his skin, a live wire. "Do it," Viktor said softly. "I would like to see you bleed."
That evening, Lila couldn't sleep. The house was too silent. Viktor had departed after the meeting, a Moscow phone call drawing him toward more sinister business. She was by herself, and she could sense the wives lurking in the background, teeth bared.
The initial sound was at 3 a.m. — the gentle creak of a door.
She sat up, her heart racing. She groped for the knife Viktor kept hidden under the pillow, her hand closing around the handle as if it were her lifeline.
The door to the bedroom swung open, and Tatiana was there, gun in hand, her white gown stained with dark liquid. Blood? Wine? It was immaterial.
"Wake up, little prostitute," Tatiana whispered. "It's time we talked."
Before Lila could shout, Sofia was at her back, a hand across her mouth, pulling her up from the bed. They were not careful — her head bounced against the floor, her ribs slammed into the bedframe.
But no longer was Lila a victim.
She jammed her elbow into Sofia's stomach once more, just as before, then spun around, the blade glinting in her hand. She struck wildly, scoring a line of blood across Tatiana's arm.
"Bitch," Tatiana shout, backhanding her with enough force to split her lip.
She tasted blood, her own this time, and laughed.
"You think you're able to intimidate me?" she breathed. "You think you're the first female who has attempted to break me?"
She raised the gun, squeezing her finger around the trigger.
Then, of course, was Viktor.
He slid as a shadow, silent, lethal. His arm closed around Tatiana's wrist, wrenching the gun from her hand so it fell to the ground. His other hand gripped Sofia's hair, pulling her backward so forcefully she shrieked.
"You thought," Viktor's tone was tender, "you could reach for what's mine?"
Her eyes blazed. "She'll destroy you."
Viktor smiled, darkly and coldly. "Perhaps. But it's my decision."
He pushed Tatiana to the ground, standing over her as if she were garbage. He knelt beside Lila, running his fingers across her lips, removing the blood.
"Did they hurt you?" he inquired gently.
She shook her head, a quivering smile curving her lips. "I hurt them more,"
He laughed, low and dark, before kissing her fiercely, tasting her blood as a promise.
"I told you," he breathed against her lips. "Queens must endure the crown." "I'm not merely surviving," Lila complimented back in return.