Page 24 of Savage Reign

I knew what it would cost me to fuck her, but it was well worth it.

Her eyes flutter open, confusion clouding her expression. “Wh—what’s going on?”

“We’ve landed,” I inform her.

“Put me down.” She struggles, but it’s no use. I hold her tighter, refusing to let her go as I carry her down the steps to the car waiting on the tarmac.

“It’s either in my arms or in cuffs. Which do you prefer?”

The cuffs are an empty threat. She wouldn’t run with armed guards around and her friends’ lives at risk. Vadim’s idea to use them as leverage was genius. He’s still in Moscow setting up surveillance on her friends.

Her cheeks flush, and she turns her head away, refusing to meet my eyes. But she stops resisting.

My driver, Matvey, jolts in surprise when he sees us, hurrying to open the car door. I place her gently inside the back seat, her gaze flitting around the interior, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

“Emil and Matvey will take you back to my estate. I have other matters to deal with.”

Her expression fills with panic. “Y-you can’t leave me. Where are you going?”

My jaw tightens. I don’t like seeing her scared, and I have a strange impulse to get in the car and soothe her anxiety, but I stop myself. I can’t show her softness. It’s not who I am, and it’s not why she’s here. The sooner she understands that, the better.

Irritation spikes when I catch Matvey and Emil eyeing her in the rearview mirror. Without the blanket, her club dress leaves too much exposed—her toned legs, her mussed hair, the smudged makeup around her eyes. The thought of any other man looking at her sends a murderous heat through me.

I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Her eyes snap to mine. “Keep that on,” I say flatly, my tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll be fine.”

I slap my hand against the roof of the car, and Matvey and Emil turn their attention toward me, their bodies straightening.

“This is Sofiya Ivanova, Roman Vasiliev’s sister-in-law, and my new wife.” I let that sink in for a second. Their surprise is clear, but neither dares to speak. I look straight at Emil. “Let Yelena know she needs a room, and for fuck’s sake, have Eva find her something decent to wear. I’ll need you to keep an eye on her. The marriage wasn’t what you’d call a mutual decision.”

“You got it,” Emil says, while Matvey, a man of few words, nods. The look they give her this time around holds more respect. Good.

I’ve never brought a woman to my home, let alone mentioned marriage. The women I fuck know the deal—no strings, no questions. My life doesn’t leave room for anything more. It never has. My entire existence has been about clawing out of the gutter I was born into.

I started small, stealing cars for chop shops, learning how to strip them for parts or resell them clean. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept Sergey and me off the streets. From there, I moved to robberies—small stores, cash-heavy businesses, anything that wasn’t too risky but paid well enough to survive. By my early twenties, I was hitting armored trucks. The adrenaline rush was addictive, and the payouts were life-changing.

The next step was controlling territory—smuggling high-value goods like stolen jewelry, rare artifacts, or anything that moved through the underground. It made me both rich and respected. By twenty-five, I had built the Zhukov Bratva into a force to be reckoned with.

After a childhood spent feeling powerless, I finally understood the value of power and money. They were a shield and a sword, ensuring no one could ever hurt me again.

A wife is a distraction I’ve never had any interest in. Whatever protective instinct I feel toward Sofiya is only that—an instinct. It doesn’t mean anything.

I leave her with a final warning. “Your friends are being tailed from now on. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

Her shoulders tense, her gaze flicking away as if she can’t bear to look at me. I slam the door shut and step back, giving Matvey the signal to drive off.

Despite the exhaustion tugging at my body, energy courses through me. The kind that comes with knowing you’ve won. Sofiya is more than leverage—she’s the turning point I’ve been waiting for.

My Bugatti Chiron waits at the edge of the airstrip, where Emil left it. Triumph courses through my veins as I stride toward the sleek machine, the symbol of everything I’ve worked for. With a press of my thumb on the keypad, the car unlocks, and I sink into the driver’s seat, the engine humming beneath me.

Taking Sofiya was a gamble, but it went off without a hitch. Now, the real game begins. And I can’t fucking wait to throw this victory in the Syndicate’s face.

The heavy iron gate swings open, and I nod to the guard at the entrance before following the winding lane that leads to the opulent French colonial-style mansion ahead.

As I pull into the driveway, two guards instinctively rest their hands on their holstered weapons. But the tension melts away as I step out of the car, and recognition flashes across their faces. They lift their hands in greeting. I’m a regular at Igor Bocharov’s estate.

Igor is a high-ranking politician, serving as the senior advisor to the minister of finance. But the real reason he can afford such a beautiful home and lavish estate is his criminal ties to me.

He approached me not long after I put a bullet in Sergey’s head. Back then, he wasn’t the big-time player he is now—just another mid-level politician Sergey kept close for leverage. But when I took out my brother and the power shifted back to me, Igor proposed an alliance: he’d use his political connections to help me rebuild and grow the Zhukov Bratva in exchange for a cut of our deals.

---