I’m more of a mess than usual today. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I feel like I’m going to pass out and throw up, each urge fighting with the other, but my body refuses to pick one, so I just sit here shaking while a war wages inside me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and throw up before passing out on the witness stand. That would be the cherry on top of this fucking nightmare.
“We’re ready for you now, Miss Moore.”
I look over at the woman who’s been assisting my lawyer. Stephanie’s in her late twenties, and today her honey-blonde hair is pulled back into a stylish bun. Her blue eyes are the perfect mix of professionalism and sympathy, but underneath that is a hunger that will serve her well in the profession she’s chosen. She’s just as cutthroat as the others. It’s just hidden behind a deceivingly sweet female face. I’m so glad she’s on my side and that I won’t have to face her on the stand.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admit, hating how shaky my voice sounds.
She squats down, managing to make the move look smooth and practiced, until she’s eye level with me. Her black skirt is tucked demurely under her, so if anyone’s looking, all they’ll see is a few inches of toned thigh and calf.
Squeezing my hand, she says, “Lydia, you can do this. You’re stronger than you think, and we’re going to go in there together, and we’re going to get that bastard. We’re going to get justice for your father, and once all this is over, you’re going to feel so much better. Seeing him behind bars will give you peace. It’ll help you move on.”
I nod my head and take a deep breath. I know she’s right, and I also know I have no choice. I have to do this. Everything hinges on me going in there and identifying the man who shot my dad. A soft but insistent voice in my head reminds me that I didn’t actually see who shot my dad, but I shush it, because it has to be Kirill. It fucking has to be. There’s no other explanation.
Stephanie gives my hand another squeeze before standing and waiting for me to do the same. She gives me one last encouraging smile and then leads the way into the packed courtroom. I keep my head down, avoiding everyone and wishing like hell I could’ve brought Peanut with me. When I’m called up, I go on shaky legs and then swear that I’ll tell the truth. It is the truth, I tell myself. Kirill Chernikov killed my dad, and he’s going to pay for it. He’s a known killer, and he was fucking there, one goddamn street over from our house. With my resolve firmly in place, I finally raise my eyes to face the monster who ruined my life.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but his smug face isn’t it. He’s staring right at me, those cold, grey eyes piercing right through me while a smirk tugs at his full lips. The man is huge. His body seeming way too big for the chair he’s in. I found out from the police that he’s six-five, and he looks every inch of it today. His suit has to be bespoke. There’s no way in fuck that came off a rack. It’s molded to him perfectly and obviously made to his exact measurements.
The more I look, the more he confuses me. If someone pointed him out to me and told me he was a successful owner of some company, I wouldn’t bat an eye. He exudes power and authority, like he’s a man who’s just used to being obeyed and getting what he wants. But he’s not some arrogant CEO, he’s a fucking hitman for a powerful, dangerous Bratva. The cruelty that lives within him feels like it’s right below the surface, making me wonder if I ran over to him and raked my nails across his chiseled jaw, would I let it out? Would that tear in the skin expose him for the monster he is?
I break eye contact first, and I don’t have to see him to know that his smirk has grown. I can feel it from where I’m sitting. After answering a million questions about the night my dad was shot, I’m finally asked the one that I’ve been dreading.
“Can you identify the man who shot your father?” my lawyer asks.
Using every ounce of courage I possess, I meet Kirill’s eyes yet again and point my finger at him. “It was him,” I say, my voice no longer shaky. It’s strong as it echoes through the courtroom. “He shot my dad.” Before I look away, Kirill winks at me.
Turns out Stephanie was wrong. After Kirill was sentenced to life in prison, I didn’t feel better. I still have nightmares. I still wake up screaming, and my life is still a stressful mess of working at a job I never wanted and worrying about bills that I never should’ve had to pay. I went from being an excited, somewhat carefree eighteen-year-old to being an adult who’s stuck in a life I never wanted. I didn’t think it could get any worse, but then the first letter arrived six months later. I found it tucked under a rock right outside my front door.
My dear, sweet Lydia,
Prison isn’t all that bad. It’s given me a lot of time to think, and you’re what occupies my thoughts. I’m not going to lie. I was very angry at you for a long time. My first six months here were spent thinking about how badly I wanted to make you pay for what you’ve done, but the more I tried to hate you, the less I did.
I’m not sure what you’ve done to me, zaika. I confess that I’ve become a bit obsessed. I keep seeing your beautiful face, exactly how you looked when you pointed me out to the courtroom. So scared, yet so strong and determined to do what you thought was right. God, I’m hard just thinking about it. I wish I could’ve crossed the distance between us and traced a line along your neck with my lips, breathing in the scent of you before running my tongue along your skin. I’d give anything to feel the rapid beat of your pulse against my lips. One day, zaika.
First, I need to explain to you what’s going to happen. I’m stuck in prison for now, but I won’t be staying here forever. I’ll get out, and when I do, I’m coming for you, sweetheart. You put the wrong man in prison, and I want to know why. I have someone watching you, so don’t go getting any ideas about alerting the police to my letters. I will continue to write them, and you will write me back. Put the letters under the rock, just like how you found this one, and one of my men will make sure I get it. If you tell the police, it won’t change anything. It will just really piss me the fuck off, and trust me when I say you don’t want to do that.
One more thing before I stop. You are not allowed to date anyone. You are not allowed to fuck anyone. You are not allowed to touch anyone. You are mine, Lydia, and I don’t fucking share. Break my rules, and it will end in blood. That is the only warning you will get about this. I expect complete obedience in this and in all things. No one touches you but me.
Write me back, zaika. I want to know everything about you, so I better not just get two sentences from you. I’m bored, and all my time is spent thinking about you. I need something more substantial than the little information I have. I want to know you, the real you.
Talk to you soon, sweetheart.
Kirill
P.S. Pet Peanut for me.
Chapter 3
Kirill
The first letter I receive from Lydia leaves a lot to be desired. My little bunny, my zaika, has already decided to disobey me. My hand aches with the need to spank her perky ass, but her punishment will have to wait. A lot of things will have to wait. I pace the small, solitary cell they have me in and read her letter yet again.