Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Changing quickly, she slipped on a pair of pumps, then made her way toward the kitchen. There was no sign of him inside the apartment. No notes. She must have irritated him last night. The coffeepot was still hot, and she poured herself a mug, then grabbed a bowl of cereal and walked toward the sofa.
She liked cartoons, but she found herself flicking through the channels. After going up and down, finding nothing on, she settled on the cartoons. Her mother used to love watching them.
Once again, she was flooded by overwhelming sadness. She missed her mother every day, but of course she was never allowed to talk about it. Her father would always tell her to keep quiet, and she hated it. Her stepmother didn’t like the constant reminder of the fact she was once the mistress.
She finished eating her cereal and was drinking the last of her coffee when the door opened and closed.
Getting to her feet, she held onto her empty cup and bowl and watched as her husband entered his apartment. He looked sexy. He wasn’t wearing his jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up, showing off his heavily inked arms.
“You’re awake.”
“I didn’t mean to stay asleep that long.”
“You clearly needed it.”
She followed him into the kitchen and cleaned up her dishes as he poured himself a mug of coffee.
He held a letter in his hand, and she pressed her lips together. One side of her brain was telling her to keep quiet and not say a word. That would be easier. The other side of her brain was telling her to ask him. To talk to him.
She finished cleaning her dish, mug, and spoon. She felt the battle raging inside her.
Just ask him.
Are you nuts, he will kill you.
So, you’re going to sit around wondering all the time when he is going to kill you.
It was a back and forth.
She went to leave the kitchen, stepped right back inside, and then went to leave again.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.
The urge to slap her hand across her mouth was so strong, but she held herself back and just looked at him. She forced herself to stay still, to square her shoulders and accept whatever annoyance she had caused.
“Do you want me to kill you?” Bogdan asked.
Not the question she was expecting.
“No,” she said, frowning.
“Then I won’t kill you.”
“But…”
“What do you want, Anastasia?” he asked.
She clenched both of her hands into fists and stared at him. What would her mother do in this situation? Would she back down? Stand and fight? She never heard her parents fighting. Whenever her father came to visit, it always seemed civilized.
“I know my dad doesn’t like me,” Anastasia said. Maybe she was revealing too much, but at that moment, she didn’t care. She had to speak up to tell him how she felt. Anastasia didn’t want to keep wondering if her husband was going to kill her, maim her, or what. She was tired of living in fear.
“I’m … I can’t imagine I’m what you would want in a wife. I don’t know what I’m doing. I should be quiet. I know that, but that is not what my mother taught me to do, and who to be. I can stand around, be quiet, and ignored—that’s fine—but I also know you’re one of the scariest men in the Galkin Bratva, and I think he wants you to kill me.” She had no idea what she was doing or saying. Everything was just spilling out, and none of this was going according to plan. She felt so embarrassed.
Bogdan took a sip of his coffee. “Your father wants me to kill you.”
Anastasia took a deep breath and then smiled. “I must be crazy, because you have no idea how relieved I am.”
“You’re relieved that I told you your father wants me to kill you?”
“I know, it’s crazy, huh, but at least now I know what I know, and that makes me not insane, but I’m kind of a good judge of character, right? I mean, I know my dad wants me dead.” She smiled at him.
Bogdan frowned.
“Why haven’t you killed me?” Anastasia asked.
“You’re a strange woman, you know that?”
She shrugged. “I guess you could call me worse.” She was currently still feeling relief that she was right about her father wanting her dead.
She hated the man, and had for a long time. Knowing her mother loved him and he treated her the way he did, well, she hated him because of that. Each time he left, and Evelyn knew he was going to another woman, she would cry. In time, she would stop crying, and the visits would get less and less, but she knew the heartache her mother felt and tried to deny.
“Why haven’t you killed me?” she asked again.