Page 11 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“I haven’t lost anything,” she said, her voice going dangerously quiet. “I’m handling this.”
“Handling what? Irina, you’re not trained for this kind of situation. You need to come home right now so we can figure out what happened and who’s responsible.”
“I know exactly who’s responsible.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended. “And I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“No, you don’t.” Kostya’s voice carried that particular mix of affection and exasperation that she’d been hearing her entire life. “Look, sweetheart, I know you want to help, but this isn’t something you can charm your way out of. This is real danger, and you’re in over your head.”
Over her head. Like she was a child who’d wandered into the deep end of the pool.
For twenty-four years, she’d listened to variations of this speech. She was too delicate, too precious, too inexperienced to handle the family business. She needed protection, needed guidance, needed her big, strong brothers to keep her safe from the big, bad world.
Well, fuck that.
“You know what, Kostya?” she said, her voice deadly calm. “I think I’m exactly where I need to be.”
She hung up before he could respond, then powered down the phone and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Let them worry. Let them scramble. Maybe it was time they learned that their baby sister was capable of more than they’d ever given her credit for.
The morning air was crisp against her skin as she stepped out of the diner, and for the first time in hours, Irina allowed herself to smile. She was free. Truly free, perhaps for the first time in her adult life. No bodyguards shadowing her every move, no brothers dictating where she could go and what she could do, and no one treating her like a piece of fragile china that might shatter at the first sign of trouble.
It was intoxicating.
Newbury Street was already bustling with early morning shoppers when she arrived, the familiar rhythm of Boston commerce providing a comforting backdrop to her thoughts. She had credit cards, cash, and, most importantly, a plan. Not the plan she’d outlined to herself the night before about becoming a spy in Matvei’s organization, but something better. Something that would prove once and for all that she wasn’t the helpless princess everyone believed her to be.
She was going to send a message. To her brothers, to Matvei, to anyone who thought they could control her. The message was simple: Irina Nikolai belonged to no one but herself.
The first boutique she entered was exactly the kind of place her brothers would have steered her away from. Too public, too exposed, too many potential witnesses or threats. But that was precisely the point. She wanted to be seen, wanted word to get back to both camps that she was out here, unguarded and unafraid.
“Can I help you find anything?” the sales associate asked, eyeing Irina’s rumpled dress with barely concealed judgment.
“Everything,” Irina said with a smile that could have powered half the city. “I need everything.”
Two hours later, she was draped in soft cashmere and silk, her hair freshly styled at the salon next door, looking every inch the Bratva princess she’d been raised to be. But there was something different in her posture now, a confidence that hadn’t been there before. She’d paid for everything with cash, made small talk with strangers, walked down public streets without a single bodyguard in sight.
And she’d loved every second of it.
The lingerie boutique was her final stop, and honestly, it was more about the message than any practical need. She selected pieces that were beautiful and expensive and completely impractical, the kind of delicate lace and silk confections that spoke of seduction and power in equal measure.
She was examining a particularly stunning black corset when she felt him before she saw him.
The air in the boutique seemed to thicken, charged with a familiar tension that made her pulse quicken despite herself. She didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge his presence, just continued running her fingers over the delicate lace as if she had all the time in the world.
“Impressive,” Matvei’s voice was low and dangerous, pitched for her ears alone. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“What, shopping?” She finally turned to face him, noting the way his golden eyes seemed to burn with barely contained fury. “It’s not exactly rocket science, Matvei.”
The use of his real name made his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. Good. She wanted him off balance, wanted him to know that she held cards he didn’t know she had.
“You know who I am.”
“I’ve known who you are since the moment you bought me.” She selected another piece of lingerie, holding it up to the light as if his presence was merely a minor inconvenience. “Did you really think your little alias would fool someone who’s been researching your family for months?”
His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Research for what purpose?”
“The same purpose you married me for, I’d imagine.” She met his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. “Family business.”
For a moment, they stood frozen in tableau, predator and prey circling each other in a boutique full of silk and lace. Then Matvei released her wrist, stepping back with visible effort.
“You can’t just wander around the city like this,” he said, his voice tight with control. “It’s not safe.”
