Page 35 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

I watch her, my jaw clenching. She’s trying so hard to be the tough, unyielding Bratva princess, but I can see the exhaustion in the dark circles under her eyes, the way her small hands are clutching the book like a shield.

"Your suggestion was correct. Grigori gave up the safe combination. We have the ledger."

She stands up, setting the book on the table, her shoulder tensing as I step into her personal space. "Then you got what you wanted. You don't need to thank me."

"I don't thank people, Via." I reach out, my fingers wrapping around her chin, forcing her face up. This time, my hand is clean, my touch surprisingly gentle. I trace the soft curve of her jaw, my thumb rubbing against her bottom lip. "I protect my assets. And tonight, you showed me that you’re much more valuable than I thought."

She tries to turn her head away, but my grip is steady. "I’m not your asset, Ilya. I’m your hostage."

"You're my wife. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this is going to be."

I release her chin, turning on my heel and walking toward the door. I don't look back, but as the door clicks shut behind me, I can feel her eyes on my back, hot and defiant.

She’s going to be the death of me, but I don’t care.

13

VIA

"If I have to wear one more corset that requires a structural engineer to fasten, I am officially retiring from public life to live in a cave," I say, spinning around in front of the mirror as Ekaterina fumbles with the silk ties of the emerald gown.

Ekaterina giggles, her small fingers deft as she pulls the fabric taut. "Oh, hush. You look like a movie star. If I were you, I’d be showing off this dress at every single event in the city. I’d be at the opera, the galas, the theater, I’d make sure everyone knew who I was."

I catch her eye in the mirror, watching the way her expression drops, just a little bit of longing. She’s staring at the diamond studs on the vanity, her own reflection looking a little wistful.

"And why don't you?" I ask, turning slightly. "You have the wardrobe. You have the class. Why are you stuck in the house?"

She sighs, letting her hands drop. "Ilya. He thinks the city is a snake pit. He barely lets me go to the market with a security detail. He’s... overprotective. He sees a threat in every shadow, especially when it comes to us. He thinks if he keeps me in here, I’m safe. But sometimes, I think he just likes having a bird in a gilded cage."

I reach out, resting a hand on her shoulder. He’s a control freak, that’s what he is. But I can’t tell her that. "Maybe he’s just worried. This life, it’s not exactly designed for safety."

"I know," she says, forcing a bright, brittle smile back onto her face. "But look at you. You’re going to be the belle of the ball. Just be careful, okay? The Mafia wives are meaner than they look, and they’ve been trying to get into Ilya’s good graces for years."

I stand up, smoothing the skirts of the emerald silk. "Let them try. I’ve dealt with worse than a few bored socialites."

The ride to the gala is quiet, or as quiet as it gets when you’re sitting next to a man who radiates silent, lethal energy. Ilya is driving himself tonight, his hands tight on the leather of the steering wheel. He’d spent the last hour meticulously inspecting the seams of my dress, checking for bugs, trackers, hidden needles, until I wanted to scream.

"You’re going to be bored," he says without looking over at me. "The Russo family will be there. Stay near me when we’re with them."

"I’m never bored at these things, Ilya," I say, checking my reflection in the mirror of the visor. "I actually enjoy watching people lie to each other. It’s like a sport."

He finally glances at me, his eyes dark. "Just remember that you’re representing my name tonight. Don't play any games that might get you hurt."

"I’m not a child," I snap, feeling irritated. "I know how to be the perfect bride."

When we step out into the lights of the museum entrance, I put on the mask. It’s second nature now. I keep my head high, my posture relaxed, and my smile wide enough to reach my ears. Inside, the ballroom is exactly what I expected, marble, champagne, and the suffocating scent of too much expensive perfume. Ilya leaves me at the edge of the floor, his eyes instantly tracking the room, and I head straight for the women, one I know all too well, standing near the buffet.

"Via, darling, you look simply divine," Svetlana says, her voice as smooth as velvet over broken glass. She’s surrounded by the wives of the northern coalition, all of them looking at me with that specific brand of predatory curiosity.

"Svetlana, you look wonderful as well," I say, leaning in to air-kiss her cheek. "I heard your husband was looking into the shipping routes near the coast. Are you going to be joining him on the next trip? It must be lonely waiting for those cargo reports."

I know Svetlana. The few encounters I’ve had with her, I’ve never walked out unscathed. She has the foulest mouth I know, but one thing I’ve learned is you`1 have to beat her at her game before she even starts.

Svetlana’s face twitches. "Oh, he prefers to keep business separate from his personal life."

"How traditional," I say, keeping my smile firmly in place. "I think Ilya’s approach is so much more efficient. He tells me everything. I actually helped him look over the logistics for the western docks this morning."

I watch the way they exchange glances. Hook, line, and sinker. If they think I’m an insider, they’ll start whispering.