Page 15 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
It isn’t safe for her now…not outside of my grasp.
If I let her go and she managed to speak to the right people, be it the Feds or anyone associated with my enemies, that could be the end of everything I’ve worked hard to build. It would be the end of everything my family has known.
I don’t know what it is, but something about her feels personal. Like there’s something there despite myself.
She looked almost betrayed when I told her she had to stay…as if I was singlehandedly ruining her life.
I don’t doubt she’d feel that way…but something about that thought stings.
Part of me doesn’t want her to hate me, but that sounds far too sentimental, especially given how we only just met tonight.
Still, some piece of me wants her to look at me differently. To look at me as the leader I am. Like someone she can trust to figure it all out.
It doesn’t make any sense to me. None of it.
Retreating to the door, I glance at her one last time. Victoria shifts slightly in bed, and despite myself, I can only stand there and watch.
Her presence is a problem, and I already know it. A distraction.
Overall, she’s a liability. And yet, there’s something more. Something about her is calling to me.
That undercurrent of possession lingering beneath the surface of my skin isn’t something I was prepared to deal with. But there’s a dangerous aspect to it I can’t ignore.
And that is the part that worries me the most.
Chapter 6 - Victoria
The smell of coffee drifts through the house, pulling me out of my sleep and reminding me that I’m nowhere near home.
Vegas is my turf…
Right…definitely not home.
That anxious fluttering returns to my chest when I eventually get out of bed and pad across the floor to try the door.
To my surprise, the doorknob gives way as I turn it despite how Roman had locked me in last night. With a small push, I’m suddenly not confined to the bedroom anymore.
With some hesitation, I wander down the hall and take everything in. The floor is cold beneath my feet and sends a chill up my spine that seems to linger the farther I go.
The house is quiet in an almost deceptive way. It’s peaceful, yet something seems to linger in the background like a calculated plot. Or maybe I’m just paranoid and more informed about Roman than I ever should’ve been.
I don’t know him or what he’s truly capable of, but given the house and everything he has done to me so far, I can just imagine the lengths he’ll go to.
Taking the stairs slowly, my hand trails down the polished banister, and when I reach the main floor, I realize I’m not alone.
There’s a commotion but the front foyer, and before I know it, several men are walking towards me.
My eyes widen slightly, and I find myself stepping out of the way while they come in, wearing neat suits and neutral expressions.
I half expect them to shout at me or put me in my place, but instead, some nod in my direction while they wordlessly move up the stairs. Almost like they know me, or, at the very least, are showing me respect.
And, of course, they’re carrying things. Dozens and dozens of bags and boxes—all with designer names written in modern text across the bags with their associated logos, with tissue paper sticking out of some, and others looking far too big for any casual shopping trip.
Some have hangers draped over their arms and shoulders, others have towers of shoeboxes in their arms. It’s quite the sight as they move onward like a small army, hauling these various things inside.
Standing there, I can only watch as they head up, wondering what’s going on.
One of them calls back, “Where do you want the rest?”
