Page 13 of His Grip

Viktor stepped forward, gently taking her hand in his. Her skin was warm, her touch softer than he expected, and she smelled so intoxicatingly good that his resolve wavered for a moment. He wanted—no, needed—to kiss her, to mark her as his.

“You look beautiful, Sofia,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “I’m glad you showed up.”

Her lips twisted, more defiance than gratitude. “Not like I had a choice, Viktor.”

He nodded, releasing her hand. “No, you didn’t.”

The ceremony unfolded exactly as Viktor had planned—an elaborate display of power, a spectacle of dominance, and the perfect display of order. Every mafia figure worth their salt had shown up, cloaked in their tailored suits and deadly smiles, all of them keenly aware of the weight of the moment. This wasn’t just a wedding; it was a statement. A reminder that Viktor Ivanov was not merely a player in this game—he was the one calling the shots.

But Sofia’s expression cut through the charade. Her glare was sharp enough to draw blood, and Viktor couldn’t help but smirk. She was furious. He could feel it in the way her jaw clenched, in the fire blazing in her iridescent eyes.

Oh, how she hated him.

The thought thrilled him.

The more she resisted, the more Viktor wanted to break her walls, brick by stubborn brick. Her defiance wasn’t a deterrent; it was an invitation.

After the vows, as they transitioned to the reception, Viktor’s gaze never wavered from Sofia. She moved through the crowd with practiced grace, yet it was clear she felt like an outsider. Her posture was stiff, her every move tense.

“She doesn’t exactly look happy, does she?” a familiar voice drawled beside him.

Viktor turned to Konstantin, who held a glass of champagne, his smirk as smug as ever.

“She’ll adjust,” Viktor replied coolly.

“And if she doesn’t?”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “She will.”

The reception was a blur of greetings and meaningless conversations, none of which held Viktor’s attention for long. His mind was on Sofia—her every move, every glance, every unspoken word. He noticed the way her stylist, Nina, hovered nearby, fussing over her dress and offering quiet reassurances.

Nina was sharp and outspoken, traits Viktor begrudgingly respected. But her protective stance toward Sofia amused him. Did she really think she could shield Sofia from him? From this life?

Sofia wasn’t just a prize to be claimed. She was a challenge. And Viktor had never met a challenge he couldn’t conquer.

As the evening wound down, Viktor escorted Sofia to the suite he’d prepared. She was silent during the short walk, her expression unreadable. But the moment they entered the room, she spun away from him, collapsing onto the couch like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, removing his suit jacket with deliberate ease. What’s the matter, darling?”

Her head snapped up, her glare sharp enough to pierce steel. “I can’t go through with this, Viktor. I can’t stand you.”

He chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt. “We don’t have to like each other, Sofia. We’ll consummate the marriage tonight, andyou can go on hating me for as long as you like. Does that sound fair?”

Her eyes blazed as she stood, shoving the coffee table aside in her anger. “You think this is a business deal, don’t you? That I’m just another acquisition to add to your empire?”

“Aren’t you?” Viktor countered, his voice cold but laced with amusement.

Viktor moved closer, his gaze dropping to her lips. The memory of their last kiss burned in his mind. He hadn’t forgotten the fire between them, and he knew she hadn’t either.

“You’ll fight,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in, “but it won’t matter. I always win, Sofia. Just like you didn’t in your father’s office.”

The suite was grand and luxurious, a reflection of Viktor’s power. The bed was large, dark, and inviting, draped in satin sheets that gleamed under the soft light of the chandelier. Everything in the room exuded authority, from the polished wood furniture to the sheer elegance of the space.

Sofia’s eyes darted nervously around the room, but Viktor noticed how her chest heaved. She was already reacting to him, caught in the throes of the desire he had ignited.

He stepped toward her, invading her space and pinning her against the cold, hard wall. His lips grazed her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, “Don’t make me force you, Sofia. I want you to beg for it.”

But Sofia’s resolve didn’t waver. She wasn’t ready to surrender. Not yet.

---