Босиком по пеплу 3

Alisa

Today began like any other day.

I left my father's home to promptly come in to manage the front desk of the S.T.L. Shipping headquarters. Dealing with paperwork for one of the family's cover businesses was how I survived the daunting hours as they passed.

I wasn't ever idle, and that helped to keep my mind on my tasks. Business was good—both the legitimate shipping transactions and the undercover and more profitable transportation services that happened at the Colver dock. I didn't have much to do with those dealings. My father would never trust me with everything, certainly not those high-risk arrangements. All I was good for was keeping the front running. I did. My days were full of paperwork, emails, and taking calls.

This Wednesday seemed ordinary, but it would end on a sour note.

As soon as Lev, one of my father's top soldiers, entered the office and headed to the private rooms upstairs, I knew I had to be on my best behavior. I always was, anyway. I had been trained to be submissive and obedient. Acting out or being sloppy wasn't allowed. Lev was sort of like my supervisor, but he wasn't here to watch over me. He only showed up when he'd have a meeting with my father, and those came with stipulations.

Lev had escorted his wife, Irina. Next came Damien, another of my father's top men. Then my father showed. Another brigadier, laughing and talking as they entered the private floor of the shipping offices.

As each of them came in and headed to the private rooms in the back up there, I kept my head down and acted oblivious. Every month, they arrived as a group. For the sake of appearances, it looked like a top-secret meeting would occur.

I knew better. Irina had confided in me once, explaining that the sounds they made frightened the other ladies who hung around. Mistresses would get concerned. Too many men would want to be invited.

Here, with no one but me in the offices, they could have their fun as loud as they wanted. I'd once tried to use ear plugs to tune out the screams, shouts, and wails, but Damien had noticed them when he'd left.

"Don't hide," he'd teased as he removed the ear protection on his way out after they were done with her. "I know it turns you on to hear her screaming."

It didn't. That was my father in there, participating. Irina was one year younger than me, only twenty-one, and newly married to Lev.

As the first scream cut through the air, bile rose up my throat. I rubbed my stomach, grimacing as it churned with unease. If I knew when they would decide to share Irina, I would simply close down the computer and head home, but they never gave any notice. They never announced when they'd show up, and tonight, I had too many emails to forward to the specific customers.

This was our life. To be a woman under the protection and possession of the Aslanov Family, this was expected. Demanded. I'd grown up knowing the sanctity of marriage, and I was aware that above all else, I would be expected to obey my husband.

But this?

No. Please, no.

Hours later, just before evening fell, they exited the building. First, the brigadier and Damien, who stormed off, cursing up a storm. Then my father exited, laughing with Lev as they came through the doors connecting to my office up front on the first floor.

"Alisa."

I sat up straighter as my father addressed me. "Yes?" I sucked in my stomach and pulled in my cheeks. Anything to thwart him from commenting on my weight again. If he cut any more calories from my diet, I would faint from malnourishment.

He nodded his head to the side, indicating the door he'd just walked through. "Irina needs some... help cleaning up." He spoke it like it was a waste of time. Like that slender blonde should be able to handle their sick, twisted ways. Like that young girl, barely an adult, should be stronger to withstand such extreme abuse and torture because she'd been arranged to marry an asshole.

"Yes, sir," I replied as I stood.

He lifted his hand, though, narrowing his eyes at me as he stopped me. "You keeping up with the correspondence?"

I nodded, curious about why he'd question me. I always kept up with his demands, even something as inane as forwarding emails to separate addresses with the slightest updates. Hadn't he ever heard of carbon-copying messages? Multiple emails sent at once?

A gruff grunt was all he gave me in reply, but before he left, he eyed me with a slow once-over. His lips curled in slight disgust, but he didn't comment further, leaving with Lev.

As soon as the door closed, I heaved out a deep sigh and relaxed from sucking in my stomach. I approached the front door, locking it up for the evening. In the reflection of the glass, I saw what he had seen.

Short, curvy, and scowling. I'd never been a petite girl or woman, much to his frustration, but I didn't look bad. I knew I didn't. Smoothing my hands over my dress, I took pride in my attire, how flattering my clothes were for my size.

Fuck him.

I'd lived twenty-two years with his constant belittling and judgment, but I knew he was wrong. I took care of myself. I stayed fashionable. I made sure to emphasize my tits that all the whores envied. My long locks of deep brown were sleek and glossy. My eyes were sharp, my skin smooth and hydrated.

My father was an asshole to ever try to make me feel like crap about myself, but I could take his criticism. I had to.