Page 3 of The Russian's Forced Bride
I had always wondered—then and even now—why a successful businessman like Jaxon Whitmore would entangle himself with the Bratva. But I figured that even someone as wealthy as him could never be satisfied.
In my eyes, Jaxon Whitmore was like a tree whose vines and roots only wanted to grow deeper, even into the darkest places.
And though I respected the stupidity of that fact, I could see that his lust for success would only lead him to an early grave.
Pushing aside thoughts of Jaxon Whitmore, I opened the double doors of Matvey’s office, revealing its classic, old-money interior. Sitting in a high-back, tufted black leather armchair behind a mahogany desk cluttered with papers and books was Matvey, dressed in a costly Armani suit, his dark brown hair neatly brushed back.
Uncle Oskar, our ex-Pakhan, sat across from him in a similar black leather armchair, donning a fur coat that swept elegantly against the wooden floorboard as he tapped his signature cane rhythmically against the ground.
They didn’t notice me right away as I headed to the armchair next to Uncle Oskar, since they seemed absorbedin their conversation, their Russian slipping through their sentences.
I settled into the chair that dipped under my weight and leaned against it as I took in the familiar features of Matvey’s office, which had once belonged to Uncle Oskar.
A built-in bookshelf adorned with intricate markings stood tall behind Matvey, shielding the hidden passage to Matvey’s armory and other hidden passages between the walls of the mansion. This office, like the mansion, held the legacies, information, and secrets of all the Pakhans before Matvey.
I wondered, as my eyes now fell on his, if Matvey saw all of this as a burden.
Just then, a sentence Uncle Oskar had just spoken to Matvey caught my attention, pulling me back to the reality that I had been summoned for a reason.
He had said something along the lines of, “We have the right man for this, right here.”
I raised a brow, now fully tuning in to their conversation.
“Are you really sure he’s ready for this, Oskar?” Matvey asked, not bothering to spare me a glance. I knew better than to interrupt their little chit-chat, as I figured sooner or later they would acknowledge my presence.
They needed me anyway. Their conversation proved it.
Part of me still regretted not bringing a pack of cigarettes, as my irritation was growing. Watching them talk about me like I wasn’t there was unsettling. But I had learned to be patient—to watch and to do my job as their puppet.
The buzzing of my phone from the pockets of my coat briefly caught their attention as they craned their heads toward me. I pulled out the phone, a sense of satisfaction washing over me as I read an email from Maxim, my right-hand man, about an Australian nightclub deal currently in progress.
I had intended to acquire full rights and ownership of the nightclub, and apparently, the deal went through. If I weren’t so busy sitting here idly, I would’ve celebrated the win with some wine back at my penthouse.
I tucked my phone back into my pocket to find Matvey and Oskar now watching me. It seemed they were finally ready to talk, and I couldn’t have been more relieved.
Pulling a pocket watch from my coat’s breast pocket, I held their attention.
“Time’s running,” I stated, tapping at my pocket watch. “Why did you both call me in?” My eyes darted between them.
Matvey leaned forward, and right as his mouth opened to speak—
BOOM!
An explosion thundered just outside the building, shaking the mansion to its core. The sound was erratic, its sheer force and pressure hitting me right in the stomach and nearly knocking me out of the armchair. The chandelier above the room swung violently, threatening to tear its hinges and crush us all.
Sounds of men below, cussing and yelling in Russian, filled the room as Matvey, Oskar, and I all exchanged glances, a silent message being passed through our eyes.
An outsider had planted a bomb by the mansion.
But there wasn’t any time to think about who or why. We all got up, the aftershock of the blast still clawing at us.
Oskar flicked open the eagle-headed handle of his cane, revealing a sharp blade, while Matvey quickly grabbed his Glock from the drawer. Meanwhile, I pulled a gun from the pockets of my coat as we headed for the door, moving stealthily amid the chaos outside.
From outside Matvey’s office, the stench of smoke and ash lingered in the air, strong and dense, causing me to hold mybreath as we stepped into the hallway, Matvey signaling with his hands that the coast was clear.
An inferno raged beyond the arched windows, aggressively consuming everything in its path and licking the stone walls of the building. After checking each part of the building for any intruders, we headed out, only for my eyes to widen.
Right in front of the mansion, by the terraced stairway, was my Maybach—or so I thought, until I realized I had it parked right outside the estate’s iron-bar gates.
