Page 25 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

Vladimir sets his cup down with a soft clink, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "I'll let you carry on with your mission and won’t tell anyone about it," he says, and for a moment, I allow myself to feel a flicker of hope. But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch with him.

"On one condition," he continues, his tone brooking no argument. "You come to me at the first sign of trouble. No exceptions. And you keep me informed of every move you make."

I can't help the scoff that escapes my lips. "You expect me to report to you like some kind of subordinate?"

"I expect you to prioritize your safety," Vladimir counters, his voice growing harder. "This isn't a game, Sofia. The people you're dealing with are dangerous. If you’re doing this, then we’re in it together. You have to promise me that."

I bite back a retort, knowing deep down that he's right. But admitting that would mean showing weakness, and that's something I can't afford. Not with him.

"And how do I know I can trust you?" I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest.

Vladimir's expression softens almost imperceptibly. "You don't. But right now, I'm your best option."

My mind races, weighing Vladimir's offer against the very real risk of my brothers discovering my plans. The thought of their reaction sends a chill down my spine. I can already see Nikolai's thunderous expression, hear Dima's disappointed sigh.They’d threaten to bar me in a room or something. But the alternative…

I meet Vladimir's steady gaze, my chin tilting up defiantly. "Fine," I say, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Your terms are… acceptable. Together," I force the words out, hating how they make me feel beholden to him. "It's preferable to being locked away like some fragile doll, I suppose."

Vladimir's lips quirk into what might almost be a smile. "Glad we could come to an agreement, Sofia."

I roll my eyes but find myself nodding. "Thank you," I manage, my voice a mix of reluctant gratitude and lingering wariness. "I… appreciate your help."

***

The next morning, I ask the housekeeper where Vlad might be.

“He’s in the living room, Mrs. Zolotov,” she tells me.

I pause, taking in the moment. No matter how many times I’ve heard it, being called Mrs. Zolotov shocks me to my core. Once again, I remember I am married to Vladimir Zolotov.

I enter the living room, and it’s a pretty sight: a beautiful arched roof, sunlight slanting through the windows that hits the furniture at different angles.

Vladimir looks up from his laptop, eyebrow raised.

Here goes nothing. He wants updates? Fine. I’ll give them to him—anything to keep our little secret.

"I'm thinking of meeting that guy again. The one from the club," I announce, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Tonight."

Vladimir's expression darkens. "Sofia—"

I cut him off, already anticipating a protest. "You said you'd help, not dictate my every move. I need to do this."

Vladimir rises abruptly, his imposing figure blocking my path. "You're not ready," he states, his voice a low rumble of disapproval. "Going in unprepared is a death wish. He could get violent. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds out who you are. You’re married to me, and there are photos of us out there from the wedding."

I bristle, my hands clenching at my sides. "I guess that’s just a risk I’m willing to take."

His dark eyes bore into mine, unrelenting. "This isn't about calculated risk; it's about the strategy to make sure you don’t fail. You need training."

"Training?" I scoff, crossing my arms. "And I suppose you're offering to be my personal instructor?"

Vladimir nods, his expression serious. "Exactly. Fighting techniques, disguise skills, understanding power dynamics, and subtle changes in behavior. These are crucial."

My pride stings at the implication that I need his help. I'm tempted to refuse outright, to prove I can do this on my own. But a small voice of reason whispers in the back of my mind, reminding me of the stakes.

I chew my lower lip, considering. "And how long would this… training take?"

"As long as necessary," Vladimir replies, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. The logical part of me knows he's right, but admitting it feels like swallowing glass.

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