Page 17 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“Yes,” she agreed, though whether she was agreeing to leave or to something else entirely, she wasn’t sure.
Somehow, he managed to navigate them through the crowd without breaking the intimate contact between their bodies. His hands never left her, his touch burning through the thin fabric of her dress as he guided her toward the exit. She was dimly aware of passing the bar where their watchers had been stationed, but her entire focus was consumed by the man behind her, by the way his presence seemed to overwhelm every other sensation.
The cool night air hit her like a slap when they finally emerged from the club, shocking her back to some semblance ofawareness. Matvei’s hands were still on her waist, still holding her against him, but the spell that had held them both captive on the dance floor was beginning to fracture.
“The watchers?” she asked, proud of how steady her voice sounded despite the chaos raging inside her.
“Still inside,” he said, finally releasing her so she could turn to face him. “We managed to slip away without them noticing.”
In the harsh light of the street lamps, she could see the evidence of their encounter written across his features. His hair was mussed from her fingers, his eyes dark with unsatisfied desire, his mouth set in a hard line that spoke of barely leashed control.
“Who do you think they were?” she asked, grateful for the distraction of business talk.
“Could be anyone.” He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying more agitation than his calm voice suggested. “My family has a lot of enemies, Irina. More than your brothers realize. Sometimes it’s best to slip away from suspicious situations rather than wait to find out if they’re actually threats.”
The admission was surprisingly honest, a glimpse into the reality of his world that he’d never shared before. It also reminded her forcibly of why she was here, what her ultimate goal was supposed to be.
The drive home was tense with unspoken desire and the weight of everything that had almost happened between them. Matvei kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched with visible effort, while Irina stared out the window and tried to make sense of her own tangled emotions.
She was supposed to hate him. He’d bought her, forced her into marriage, disrupted her entire life for his own selfish purposes. The fact that her body responded to his touch didn’t change any of that. If anything, it made the situation more dangerous, more complicated than she’d ever imagined it could be.
By the time they reached the mansion, the silence between them had stretched to the breaking point. Matvei walked her to the front door with the kind of formal politeness that felt like a slap after the intimacy they’d shared on the dance floor.
“Goodnight, Irina,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
“Goodnight,” she replied, then watched him disappear into his study without a backward glance.
Alone in her room, Irina found herself pacing like a caged animal. Her skin still tingled where he’d touched her, her body still thrummed with unsatisfied arousal, and her mind raced with questions she couldn’t answer. What had happened in that club? What did it mean? And why did she feel like she was losing herself in a game she’d thought she understood?
She needed a distraction. Something to remind her of who she was and why she was here.
The mansion was quiet as she slipped out of her room, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. Matvei’s study was dark, no light visible under the door, which meant he’d probably retreated to his room for the night. Perfect.
His computer was password-protected, but Irina had been watching him type for weeks now, noting the pattern of his fingers across the keyboard. It took her three tries to get it right, but eventually the screen came to life, revealing a desktop that was surprisingly organized for a man who ran a criminal empire.
She started with the obvious folders, looking for anything that might contain useful intelligence about his operations, his allies, his weaknesses. Instead, she found herself staring at a folder labeled simply “Family,” her cursor hovering over it with unexpected curiosity.
This wasn’t what she was looking for. Personal information about his relatives wouldn’t help her brothers plan their strategy against the Volkov organization. But something about the simple label called to her, perhaps because she’d had so little insight into Matvei as a person rather than an adversary.
Before she could second-guess herself, she clicked on the folder.
The screen filled with video files, dozens of them, organized by date and event. Birthday parties, holiday celebrations, family dinners. A lifetime of memories preserved in digital format. Almost without thinking, she clicked on one labeled “Christmas 2023.”
The video opened to a massive living room bursting with holiday chaos, string lights tangled around banisters, a twelve-foot tree weighed down with ornaments, and children darting between legs like caffeinated squirrels. Matvei stood in the center, wearing a red sweater that readResting Grinch Face, holding a toddler upside down while she shrieked with laughter.
“Okay, Sofie, you’re a bat now!” he announced.
Off-camera, someone groaned. “Matvei, she just ate! That’s how we get vomit on the curtains again.”
“Relax, Adrian,” Matvei shot back, grinning.
Irina paused the video.Adrian... Sofie... got it.
She clicked the next clip. A girl shouted, “Anka, hit record!” followed by, “Raya, stay in frame!”
In the kitchen, two girls danced while Kirill popped up from the counter, cheeks full of gingerbread. “I’m just here for snacks,” he mumbled.
The next video showed Simon trying to make a toast. “On behalf of the older, wiser siblings, myself, Egor, and I, we wish you a calm and peaceful—”
