Page 1 of Savage Reign

PROLOGUE

Five Years Earlier

SOFIYA

Your wedding dayis supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

But not mine. Today feels more like a living nightmare than a dream.

A strangled sob rips from my throat as a guard shoves me into the backseat of the Jeep.

“Shut up, will you? It’s a wedding, not a funeral.”

I almost laugh at the bitter irony. I wish it were a funeral—my own. I’m being forced to marry a monster, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

The vehicle lurches forward, and I press my hand against the window, my gaze locked on the farmhouse that’s been our prison since yesterday. My older sister, Liza, just as helpless as I am, is still somewhere inside.

A day ago, everything was different. I was a typical seventeen-year-old in Moscow, attending boarding school, hanging out with friends, and acting in the school play. My world was predictable—boring, even.

I was living in a bubble, naively believing that nothing could touch me or the people I loved. Yesterday, that illusion shattered when my sister’s fiancé, Anatoly Petrovich—the man I had believed to be her Prince Charming—abducted Liza and me and flew us here, to some foreign country.

While we were locked together in the farmhouse, Liza finally revealed the secret she’d been hiding. Anatoly isn’t a prince; he’s an abusive predator. The only reason she stayed with him was that our selfish parents forced her to. My father had gambled away our family fortune, and without Anatoly—heir to a shipping empire—covering our expenses, we would have been out on the streets.

But Anatoly isn’t the clean-cut businessman he pretends to be. My sister said he secretly formed a partnership with the Zhukov Bratva, a small but brutal organized crime outfit from St. Petersburg. Along with its leader, Sergey Zhukov, they plan on uniting their business interests.

That’s why we’re here. I’m being forced to wed Sergey, a virtual stranger, while Liza is expected to marry Anatoly. They want to bind their empires together through our bloodlines. In this world, family connections mean everything.

My hands tremble as I grasp the white lace of the wedding dress, the fabric sticking to my back, damp with sweat. I choke back useless tears as we race along sun-soaked mountain roads. The Jeep jerks to a halt in front of a small, whitewashed chapel, its entrance patrolled by half a dozen armed guards.

One of them yanks my door open, and clamps his hand around my upper arm, wrenching me from the vehicle. For one desperate moment, I consider running. But where? I wouldn’t get far surrounded by all these men.

Another man steps up, giving me a once-over like I’m an object on display. “Cuff her. Then send her in.” He smirks. “Her groom wants a taste before the ceremony.”

Panic seizes my lungs as my hands are secured by zip ties in front of my body, and I’m pulled inside the chapel. For one merciful second, I think it’s empty, but then I see him—a lone figure, seated in the front pew.

I stand stock-still. Small windows allow in little light, leaving only the soft glow of candles at the front to illuminate the space. The air is thick with incense, and it’s not doing my already anxious gut any favors.

This place has probably hosted many happy celebrations, but this won’t be one of them. It’ll be the exact opposite.

When he stands and turns, the breath is stolen from my lungs. Because the man walking toward me is not Sergey Zhukov.

I know because I met him a few weeks ago when Anatoly took me out for dinner with some of his business associates. At the time, I had no idea who Sergey really was. He looked like a respectable businessman with pressed designer suits and neatly trimmed dark hair.

This man doesn't bother hiding his savagery: a shaved head, an eyebrow ring, and dark tattoos coiling out from under the crisp collar of his tux. One tattoo, a star encircled by thorny vines, catches my eye. His features are beautiful yet unforgiving, with a rugged jaw, sharp cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes.

With his every step toward me, I take an automatic step in the other direction.

“Stop,” he commands, but I can’t. It’s only when my back hits the wall and there’s nowhere else for me to go that I still.

“I see you don’t follow orders very well,” he purrs. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. Guess you’ve figured out I’m not Sergey?”

I nod, slowly. About all I can do.

“I’m Nikolai Zhukov. Sergey’s older brother. I’m working with Roman and other members of the Belov Syndicate to free you and your sister.”

I stare at him blankly, trying to process this information. The Belov Syndicate is the country’s most powerful Bratva, and Roman Vasiliev is one of its leaders. He’s also the man Liza’s in love with. When we were taken, she was about to leave Anatoly for Roman. But he’s dead—murdered by Anatoly’s goons earlier today.

“Y-you think I’ll believe that?” I stammer. “I know Roman is dead.”

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