Like father, like son.

For years, Alik wanted me. From childhood, he always wanted me close. He was always angry, starting fights and getting into trouble. He would tell me he heard voices in his head, voices that would tell him to hurt people, but when he was around me, he was calm, the voices went away.

I felt sorry for Alik. I always had. Having Abram as a papa would be like living with the devil himself. But I had had someone else, a boy I completely loved, adored… was born for the sole purpose of loving. Then a tragedy ripped us apart when I was a teen. Within days, Alik made his move and, in turn, made me his.

We’d been together ever since.

As a mafiya prince and princess, all of New York’s Russian society looked upon us as the “perfect” couple. Alik would have it no other way. He was obsessed with me. He monitored my every move. I was his Myshka—his little mouse.

And I dared not look elsewhere. Alik would kill anyone who came between us. And this was no threat; it was what Alik did.

He killed.

His place in this life was to kill.

He was a fighter—a death match fighter—but I knew he killed for the Bratva outside of the cage too, killed those the Red Kings really wanted to make suffer.

Alik “The Butcher” Durov was the undisputed five-time champion of The Dungeon. At twenty-five, nearly twenty-six, years of age, he was the most feared man in New York.

I could never, ever leave him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. In the Bratva life, men led and their women followed, dutifully, in their path. It was the essence of Bratva life, one that served you very well if you played it safe.

Sentimental feelings and notions of ‘true love’ didn’t matter in this life. It was an underground society based on respect and your ultimate support of the ‘family’.

Alik looked me over and his light eyes flared again in need. He stroked his hard dick under the red Versace towel wrapped round his waist. Slowly, he shook his head, his thoughts clearly at war with his needs.

“I gotta shower, Myshka. I have to be out in ten. Serge is coming to take you home. Can’t be deep in your sweet pussy again even if I wanted to.” His eyes then softened. “And you know I want you, don’t you? Can’t ever have enough of you, baby.”

Frowning, I gently asked, “So we’re not going to dinner? We do have a date, remember?” I tried to act disappointed. But all I felt was relief. Relief that I wouldn’t somehow piss him off in public by some arbitrary thing he viewed as wrong, which would warrant being fucked too hard as punishment.

Alik strutted toward me, his packed, scarred abs clenching with the movement, and grabbed my chin, dragging my head level with his, making damn sure our eyes met.

“Got business, Myshka.”

“Where? And for how long?” I asked, immediately wishing I hadn’t, as Alik’s face turned to stone.

His grip on my chin strengthened to ensure I understood I’d overstepped my boundaries. My jaw ached and I winced at the dull pressure and pain.

Alik tutted, shook his head slowly, then said, “Business is business. It takes as long as it takes. It happens where it happens.”

I lowered my eyes in submission and tried to nod in understanding, but my intended movement was inhibited by his unyielding hand. Alik sighed long. Next thing I knew, my mouth was latched to his, his teeth biting at my lip, causing me to whimper. He ripped his lips away a second later.

“Fuck! I can’t stay mad at you, Myshka. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

I cautiously lifted my trembling hand to stroke Alik’s stubbled cheek. “I love you, Alik,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes. He was all I had. He was my only future. And I did love him in a fashion… he needed me. And I wanted to belong to someone. I wanted to be loved.

Alik’s eyes softened, but only a fraction. He couldn’t show any weakness. But I knew he loved hearing those three words from my lips. They calmed the monster inside.

Pressing another hard, bruising kiss to my lips, he stood and made his way to the bathroom.

Heart beating and fighting back nerves, I asked, “Can I give charity with Father Kruschev tonight? He’s distributing care packages to the homeless.”

Alik halted. He turned to look at me, a patronizing smirk on his face, and joked, “Have at it, my good little Myshka. Go serve God! Go rescue the scum on the streets.” His condescending laughter followed him into the bathroom, but I ignored the humiliation and the curt dismissal. I simply felt myself breathe… normally.

At church, my father and fiancé didn’t send their men to spy on me. No one would dare fuck with the Bratva at their sacred church. It was the one place I felt truly free. The one place I could live in my head with my past, with the memories I held so dear.

Rising from the huge bed, I stared at my reflection in the gold-plated ornate mirror. I hardly recognized the girl before me anymore. She got lost somewhere over the years, hiding away, running for her life. Her blue eyes were dead, her usually tanned skin, pale, and her long light brown hair, limp.

I was a shell of the girl I’d once been.

Small bruises were already forming on my neck. This meant I would be wearing turtlenecks for the next few days, in summer. Since my teen years, turtlenecks had been a staple of my wardrobe—a necessity after being ‘owned’ by Alik and all-too-quickly learning of his brutal sexual practices and high expectations of me as his girlfriend.

Dressing quickly, I ran my fingers through my hair, making sure I looked presentable. Alik wouldn’t like it if I didn’t look perfect.