Page 9 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“She’s saying you look half-dead,” he translated. “She wants to know if you need a doctor.”
“I understand Russian,” she said curtly.
Matvei stilled. His expression didn’t change much; he was too disciplined for that, but there was a brief flicker, a tightening around the eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or surprise.
He hadn’t expected her to catch that.
Yes, she was Russian-American. His file on her said as much. But in his mind, she’d been filed under spoiled, soft, uninformed. The kind of girl who wore designer clothes and couldn’t pronounce the name of her grandmother’s village.
She didn’t miss the shift in his posture.
And from the way one brow lifted ever so slightly, she made it clear:I know what you assumed. And you’re wrong.
“And I’m just fine,” Irina said, but her voice lacked conviction. She was swaying slightly on her feet, and Matvei found himself reaching out to steady her before he could stop himself.
The contact sent an unexpected jolt through him. Her skin was soft and warm, and for just a moment, she leaned into his touch before catching herself and pulling away.
“Katya will show you to your room,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He expected more questions, more defiance. Instead, Irina simply nodded and followed the housekeeper up the grand staircase, her posture regal despite her obvious exhaustion. Shedidn’t look back, didn’t acknowledge him at all, and something about that dismissal grated against his nerves.
Matvei retreated to his study, pouring himself three fingers of vodka and settling behind his massive mahogany desk. The familiar ritual should have helped him focus, should have cleared his head so he could plan his next move. Instead, he found himself replaying every moment of their interaction, trying to decode the puzzle that was his new wife.
The marriage had been meant as a power play, nothing more. Marrying the youngest Nikolai would give him leverage over the entire family, a bargaining chip he could use to force their surrender or cooperation. It was supposed to be simple, straightforward, brutal in its efficiency.
So why did he feel like he’d just stepped into quicksand?
His phone buzzed with a text from his partner in this particular venture.Package delivered?
Delivered and signed for,Matvei replied.Moving to phase two.
But even as he sent the message, doubt gnawed at him. Phase two involved using Irina to lure her brothers into increasingly desperate positions, making them take risks that would ultimately destroy them. It was a solid plan, one that should have felt like victory.
Instead, it felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that one wrong step would send him tumbling into the abyss.
The vodka burned his throat as he drained the glass, but it did nothing to quiet the unease building in his chest. He needed to focus. Needed to remember why he was doing this. The Nikolais had been a thorn in his side for too long, theirpower and influence blocking his expansion at every turn. This was business, nothing more. The girl was just a means to an end.
But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way Irina had looked at him in that courthouse, defiant and terrified and somehow magnificent all at once.
Cursing under his breath, Matvei pushed back from his desk and headed upstairs. He needed to check on his house-guest, make sure she wasn’t plotting some kind of escape. It had nothing to do with the nagging concern that she might collapse from exhaustion, and everything to do with protecting his investment.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
The guest wing was quiet, lamplight spilling from under the door of the room where he’d had Katya install Irina. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. What exactly was he planning to say?Hello, wife, just wanted to make sure you’re not dead?
Instead, he pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sound of movement. Nothing. She was probably asleep, finally succumbing to the crash that had been building since the courthouse. Good. Sleep would make her easier to handle in the morning.
He was turning to leave when a soft sound made him freeze. Not quite a sob, but close. The kind of sound someone made when they thought they were alone and could finally let their guard down.
Matvei’s hand was on the doorknob before he could stop himself, some instinct overriding his better judgment. The door swung open silently, revealing a room bathed in moonlight from the tall windows.
The bed was empty. Sheets turned down but undisturbed.
His blood went cold as he took in the open window, the curtains fluttering in the night breeze. The room was on the second floor, but there was a sturdy trellis just outside, overgrown with ivy that would provide easy handholds for someone desperate enough to try.
“Fuck.” The word exploded from him as he strode to the window, looking down at the manicured gardens below. No sign of her, but then again, she’d had at least an hour’s head start. More than enough time to disappear into the Boston night.
Matvei’s phone was in his hand before he’d fully processed the situation, fingers flying over the screen as he activated the estate’s security protocols—motion sensors, cameras, perimeter alarms, everything he had at his disposal. If she were still on the grounds, he’d find her. If she’d somehow made it past his security...
