Kirill,
Stop writing me. You’re a fucking psycho, and you killed my dad. I have nothing to say to you.
Lydia
P.S. Fuck off.
I’m pissed, but it doesn’t stop me from bringing the letter to my face and trying like hell to breathe in some hint of her scent. I swear I catch a soft whiff of jasmine, but that might just be my imagination. I like her spunk, not that I’ll ever admit that to her, but she needs to learn that I’m not a man to disobey. She sent me to prison. She should be damn grateful I haven’t put a hit out on her ass. The first six months of being here were a blur of nothing but pure rage. I’d tried so hard to hate Lydia and spent most of my time devising just how I was going to make her pay for putting me in here, but all the scenarios ended with me tying her to the bed while I spanked her bare ass and she begged me to fuck her. It was infuriating to say the least. The more I learned about her, the more intrigued I became. It’s safe to say I’m a bit obsessed.
Sitting down, I grab a pen and some paper and remind myself that this isn’t going to happen overnight. I’m a patient man, and I have nothing but time. My zaika will learn to love me. She doesn’t have a choice. First I write a brief note to Vadim, the man now in charge of keeping a close eye on Lydia, instructing him to gently convince her that writing me is the wise choice. I also ask him how my dogs are doing. As a man who prides himself on having zero attachments, I have to admit that I miss them like crazy. The next letter is all for my girl.
Zaika,
I forgive your angry, insulting letter, sweetheart, because I know you’re grieving. I’m sorry I can’t be there to help you feel better. It must be terrible to go through this all on your own. My dad died when I was around your age. I’m not going to lie to you. I will never lie to you, Lydia. You’ll carry around his death for the rest of your life, but it will get easier.
I stop and smile at the thought of my father. He’d been a mean son of a bitch who liked to beat my mom. Killing him had felt damn good, and the memory always makes me grin. I don’t bother mentioning those details to Lydia. Every relationship needs a bit of mystery.
I expect a letter from you very soon. I will not fuck off, as you so rudely suggested. I’m here to stay, zaika. There is no getting rid of me.
Write me a letter and tell me about yourself.
Kirill
Satisfied, I fold the two pieces of paper and put them in an envelope. When Tony walks past my door, I hand him the letters. He takes them with a grunt, barely even bothering to glance through the small window. I catch sight of his ruddy, chubby cheeks, and then he’s gone. I won’t see him again until tomorrow. I don’t know what he’s so pissy about. I’m spending a goddamn fortune to keep him on my payroll. His kids will go to college because of me. All he has to do is keep me in my nice solitary cell and be my little messenger boy, delivering things between me and Vadim. Easy way to make a million.
Ensuring I would get a solitary cell wasn’t hard to do. Even after paying off Tony, I had to make it seem a necessity, so the first day I was here, I killed someone, crushed his goddamn throat when the stupid fucker tried to pick a fight with me. Tony had stepped in and taken control while also earning him a little bit of respect from his fellow correctional officers. I tower over most men, and I’ve always worked hard to keep myself in top physical condition. Most people give me a very wide berth. I’d let the little guy have his fun, though, and humbly followed him to my new cell. I’m not worried about my safety in the general population. I can take care of myself, but I don’t like company, and a roommate would no doubt annoy the hell out of me. I’d rather not deal with it. Plus, no one gets to see what belongs to me.
Sitting on my cot, I rest my forearms on my legs and stare at the wall in front of me. I’ve taped up several photos of Lydia that Vadim has sent me. I’ve already memorized every detail of her face—the big, blue eyes, the long, dark hair that shows hints of red when she’s in the sun, and the slight build. She’s perfect, and she’s going to be what gets me through this hell. She will be my salvation, the reason I wake up in the morning, and she will be what helps me keep my sanity in this cell that feels like it’s constantly growing smaller.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been locked up, but it’s damn well going to be the last. I spent a few months in a real shithole in Russia when I was eighteen, and that place makes this place look like the fucking Hilton. I can survive this. I can fucking survive anything.
Keeping my eyes locked on the photo of Lydia in a white sundress with little pink flowers on it, my mind oscillates between wanting to fuck her so hard she’ll barely be able to walk when I’m done, each hard thrust a reminder of why she shouldn’t have pointed me out in that courtroom, and wanting to fuck her slowly and treating her like the delicate little thing she is. I don’t want to break her, at least I don’t think I do, not fully anyway. Maybe just a little bit. Maybe just enough to show her who’s really in control, and it sure as hell isn’t her.
I stare at the wall until my supper tray arrives. It’s as unappetizing as every meal that’s come before, but I eat it all anyway, barely tasting the watery mashed potatoes and hunk of meatloaf. Spearing a green bean on my plastic spork, I keep my eyes on Lydia and finish the rest of my food.
It takes two weeks for me to get a return letter. My little bunny held out longer than I thought she would. Her strength both amazes and infuriates me. Tony’s leading me back to my cell after my two-hour daily break. I spend most of it lifting weights, only taking a quick shower right before it’s time for me to go back to my small dungeon. When he locks me in, he hands me a small package.
“You’re a good man, Tony,” I tell him, but he just scowls harder than usual.
“Yeah, they’ll probably give me a medal for this.”
“It’s hard to make a living nowadays. You’re ensuring your family will be taken care of. Can’t fault a man for that.”
He ignores my little pep talk, and I try not to laugh. He’s a greedy dick, who’s willingly put himself on my payroll, a hitman for a notorious Bratva. Not Tony’s finest hour. Of course, if he hadn’t taken the money, my man would’ve had to kill him, and then someone else would be standing here delivering my messages. It makes no difference to me who it is, just as long as the job gets done.
Opening the package, I groan when I see a sealed baggie with pink, lacy panties in it. Resisting the urge to tear into it right away, I set it aside and grab the letter that’s written in Russian.
Boss,
It took a little convincing, but after breaking in and rearranging her living room furniture, she finally decided it was in her best interest to write. She’s following her usual routine, going to work and walking her dog, but she’s constantly looking over her shoulder and looks like she’s lost a bit of weight. She also spends a lot of time in her flower garden. Everything seems normal, but she still wakes up screaming every night.
I found this pair of underwear in a pile of dirty clothes. Thought you might want them. Don’t worry, I didn’t touch them with my bare hands or sniff them. I don’t have a death wish.
Your dogs are doing good. They haven’t eaten me yet, so I’m taking that as a good sign. The Teterevs and Farettis are still slowly killing one another. Rumor has it Ivan is very, very pissed. Without you, he’s not nearly as strong as he was.