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“I don’t mind what we watch,” she says simply.
Vik sculks into the room and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. It’s clear he’s pissed, and he’s not known for handling his emotions well, so it’s only a matter of time before he loses his shit and explodes, metaphorically or literally.
I don’t know what happened between them earlier. I could watch the security footage if I wanted to, but I’m content to let them figure this out between them. I have no issue with him marking her up a little, but the fingerprints on her neck bother me more than I expected. My mind knows that she’s not just mine, and that sharing her is part of the agreement Vik, Lev, and I made before we brought her here. But knowing that he hurt her enough to leave a mark is an issue the three of us will need to talk about.
Even after watching her every move for a year, I’m still surprised she hasn’t cried more, or begged for freedom. Her fortitude is impressive. So is how calm and controlled she’s been. We were born into a world controlled by men, where women are considered the weak links. Our time in America showed us that the lives our fathers and grandfathers lived were narrow and skewed with chauvinistic ideology, but still, it’s refreshing for my wife to be strong enough to not have become completely irrational, even after everything we’ve put her through.
Lev picks a channel and a basketball game appears on the screen. I’m not a huge fan of the sport, but it’s easy watching, especially, when I’m paying more attention to her than the screen.
Picking the recliner on the other side of the couch, I sit back, my eyes trained on her. I’m not the only one watching, Vik is glaring at her, his nail toying with his lip as he stares intently at her. Lev is the only one even continuing with the pretense of watching the game, although his eyes keep darting to her when he thinks she’s not looking.
While we all watch her, she’s looking straight ahead, her gaze pointedly fixed on the TV. The sound of the commentator fills the room, and I consider how ridiculous it is that three grown men are all acting like such teenagers, trying to catch a glance of their high school crush.
“We need to talk about how this is going to work,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Alena doesn’t sit up or even lift her head, but her eyes slowly turn from the screen to me.
Content that I have her attention, I glance to the others before looking back at her. “You can go wherever you want in the house, except for our office, which is locked. The island is inescapable, only accessible from the air because the coast is mostly too rocky for boats to approach. Apart from the house and grounds, the rest of the island is uninhabited, and the terrain is rough and in places perilous, so do not leave the grounds unless you are accompanied by one of us. Beyond the pool is access onto the beach. At this time of the year the sea is warm, but there are dangerous rip tides not far off shore, so unless you want to drown, don’t get into the water without one of us watching out for you.”
“I can’t swim,” she says sadly.
“At all?” Lev asks.
“Nope. Not a lot of pools where I grew up. The richest person in my hometown was the guy who owned the bar,” she says sarcastically.
“I can teach you,” Lev suggests, his face lighting up like an overeager puppy.
“No thanks,” she sighs.
“You need to learn to swim if you want to go in the ocean.” His smile is wide and coaxing.
“If the only way off this island is on a plane, then why would I want to go in the ocean?” she asks deadpan.
“Because you live in a tropical paradise with a pool and the ocean on your doorstep. Tomorrow, we’ll go in the pool and I’ll teach you, we can swim every day, until you’re confident and swimming like a fish,” Lev enthuses.
“Why are you trying to be nice to me?” she asks, finally sitting up and looking at Lev.
“What do you mean?” he asks, his brow furrowed with confusion.
“I mean, why bother? I’m here, you’ve told me there’s no way I can escape and if I did, I’d end up as some psycho mafioso’s broodmare whore. I get it, this is my life now. Y’all brought me here, and now I’m doomed to help you take down the Russian Bratva and more than likely die trying. So why bother being nice? Why don’t you just do what you need to do to get revenge, or even the score or whatever you want to call it? Stop pretending we’re this happy fucking poly family. I’m your prisoner. You can say I’m Dimitri’s wife, or pretty it up any other way, but the truth is, that I’m a prisoner. I’d rather we all just say it how it is than deal with this fake ass brady bunch bullshit.”
Each word lands like a punch and Lev’s smile fades from his face. “I guess we just want you to be happy here,” he says.
Her laugh is low and derisive. “You don’t care if I’m happy or not. You don’t care about me at all. I’m a means to an end. It’s okay, I get it, maybe if I was you, I’d do the same thing. One person’s life to avenge three generations worth of anger. The numbers make sense. I’m mad, but I get it. I just don’t get all of this.” She waves her hand around in front of her, gesturing to all of us and the TV. “Why are we in here, watching basketball, like we’re having a pleasant time hanging out? Why are the staff all calling me Mrs. Belova, like it’s real and not just a con? Why are we bothering with all the subterfuge?”
“You are my wife,” I say.
“Sure, on paper. You explained why and I get it. Like I said, if I was in your position, maybe I’d do the exact same thing. But why are you all acting like this marriage is real, or like I’m in a relationship with all three of you?”
“Because it doesn’t have to be fake,” Lev says softly.
“I got a taste of what it’d be like if this was real when grabby hands over there shoved his tongue into my mouth and I got to feel what it’s like when you almost pass out from lack of oxygen and a necklace of bruises as a reward. I think I’ll stick with my fake wife and prisoner role,” she answers tartly.
“He won’t hurt you again,” Lev protests, leaning toward her.
“Of course he will. You all will. I’ve seen the women who let the men in their lives hurt them. The lie they always swallow is that it won’t happen again. Next, it’ll be my fault that I’m bruised and broken. I’ll have provoked one of you, spoken out of turn, or tiptoed into something I’m not supposed to. You warned me that Orlov would break me, but you three are already trying. What makes you any different than him?”
Lev’s mouth snaps shut and he sits back in his seat, looking at me as if I have all the answers. “The truth is, we’re not that different than Orlov,” I start. “We’re all ruthless businessmen who use women…” I trail off, because I’m not sure what to say.
