Page 15 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“Irina,” he said softly, his grip on her wrist shifting to something that looked more like a caress than a restraint. “I need you to listen to me very carefully and not react to what I’m about to tell you.”
The change in his tone must have gotten through to her because her posture shifted subtly, her training as a Bratva daughter kicking in even if she’d never been allowed to use it before.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice steady despite the sudden tension he could feel radiating from her body.
“We’re being watched. Two men at the bar, both in gray suits. Don’t look,” he added quickly as her head started to turn. “Just keep looking at me.”
To her credit, she didn’t panic. Instead, she stepped closer to him, close enough that anyone observing would assume they were having an intimate moment rather than a tactical discussion.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.” He released her wrist, his hands settling on her waist instead, pulling her fully against him. “Right now, though, we need to look like a couple having a normal evening out. Can you dance with me without trying to knee me in the groin?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, her lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. “I make no promises about the groin thing.”
“Fair enough.” He began to move with the music, guiding her into the kind of slow, intimate dance that would give him the excuse to keep her close while he assessed the threat. “Just follow my lead and try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“This is me enjoying myself,” she said dryly, but she followed his movements with a grace that spoke of years of formal dance training. “Though I have to say, your method of asking a woman to dance needs work.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” His hands tightened on her waist as he guided her through a turn that let him get another look at their watchers. They were still there, still observing, but they hadn’t made any move to approach. “Right now, I’m more concerned with keeping us both alive long enough for there to be a next time.”
The music swelled around them, a slow, sensual number that seemed designed for exactly the kind of intimate dancing they were doing. Irina moved against him with unconscious sensuality, her body fitting against his like they’d been made to dance together. The soft press of her curves, the way her breath ghosted across his neck when she leaned closer, the subtle scent of her perfume mixing with her natural warmth.
It was intoxicating and completely inappropriate given their circumstances.
“Matvei,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the music. “Are we in real danger?”
The question, asked without hysteria or dramatics, reminded him forcibly that beneath her rebellious exterior, Irina was still a Nikolai, still the daughter of a family that had survived decades in one of the most dangerous businesses in the world. She might be sheltered, but she wasn’t stupid.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I didn’t build my reputation by ignoring my instincts, and my instincts are telling me those men aren’t here for the nightlife.”
She was quiet for a moment, processing the information with the kind of calm focus he was beginning to realize was characteristic of her under pressure. When she spoke again, her voice was steady and determined.
“What do you need me to do?”
The simple question, asked without argument or theatrics, hit him like a physical blow. This was trust, he realized. Raw, unvarnished trust from a woman who had every reason to hate him, offered in a moment when her life might depend on his decisions.
“Just stay close,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “And if I tell you to run, you run. No questions, no arguments, no stopping to look back. Understood?”
“Understood.” She looked up at him then, her ice-blue eyes serious and clear. “But Matvei? If we get out of this, we’re going to have a very long conversation about boundaries and respect and what it actually means to be married to someone.”
Despite everything, despite the danger and the uncertainty and the very real possibility that they might not survive the next hour, Matvei found himself smiling. A real smile, not the predatory baring of teeth he usually employed as a weapon.
“I’m looking forward to it, wife,” he said, and was surprised to realize he meant it.
The song was winding down, and he knew they’d have to make a decision soon. Stay and confront whatever threat was watching them, or find a way to extract themselves from the situation without escalating it into something that could get them both killed.
As the final notes faded and the club’s lighting shifted to accommodate the next track, Matvei made his choice.
“We’re leaving,” he said into Irina’s ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin below her earlobe. “Slowly, casually, like we’re just a couple heading home after a night out. Can you do that?”
“I can do that,” she confirmed, but he could hear the tension underlying her calm tone.
He kept one arm around her waist as they moved toward the exit, maintaining the facade of casual intimacy while his other hand remained free and ready. The men at the bar watched them go but made no move to follow, which somehow made Matvei more nervous rather than less.
Professionals, then. The kind who were patient enough to let their targets think they’d gotten away safely before making their move.
They were almost to the door when Irina stumbled slightly, her heel catching on something on the floor. Matvei’s arm tightened around her automatically, pulling her closer to steady her, and she looked up at him with an expression that was equal parts gratitude and something that looked dangerously like desire.
