Page 18 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“BOOOO,” Matvei shouted, pelting him with wrapping paper.
Irina couldn’t stop smiling. She clicked through clip after clip, whispering the names under her breath, mapping the madness.
So this is the Volkov family,she thought.God help me.
But this wasn’t the cold, calculating businessman she’d come to know. This Matvei was laughing as a toddler climbed onto his lap, his face soft with affection as he helped the child reach for ornaments on the Christmas tree. He looked younger, lighter, unburdened by the weight of leadership and violence that seemed to follow him everywhere.
“She’s my youngest sister,” a voice said behind her, and Irina spun around so fast she nearly fell off the chair.
Matvei stood in the doorway, still fully dressed despite the late hour, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene. She’d been caught red-handed snooping through his personal files, and there was no way to explain it away.
“I was just...” she began, then trailed off when she realized she had no idea how to finish that sentence.
“Curious,” he said, and there was no anger in his voice, just a kind of weary understanding. “I get it. You want to know who you’re dealing with.”
He crossed the room to stand behind her chair, his presence warm and solid at her back. On the screen, video-Matvei was now being mobbed by what looked like at least six children, all of them competing for his attention.
“That’s Raya’s daughter, Erina,” he said, pointing to the toddler on his lap. “She’s three now, obsessed with unicorns and convinced that I can make them real if I just try hard enough.”
Despite everything, Irina found herself smiling at the image. “She’s beautiful.”
“She is.” His voice was soft with affection. “They all are. My family... they’re the reason I do what I do. Everything else is just business.”
The simple statement hit her like a physical blow. Here was the truth she’d been searching for, the motivation behind all his actions. Not greed or power or the simple desire to destroy her family, but love. The same driving force that motivated her brothers, the same fierce protectiveness that had shaped her entire life.
“How many of them are there?” she asked, genuinely curious now.
“Siblings? Nine of us total. I’m the oldest, so...” He shrugged, the gesture conveying years of responsibility and sacrifice. “Someone has to make the hard choices.”
Nine siblings. Irina tried to imagine growing up in a family that large, tried to picture the chaos and love and complexity that must have defined his childhood. Her own family was a bit smaller by comparison, just her and her brothers and cousins, but she knew the fierce loyalty that kind of bond created.
“Your turn,” he said, settling into the chair beside her. “Tell me about yours.”
“My brothers?” She considered the question, wondering how much truth she was willing to share. “They drive me insane most of the time. Overprotective doesn’t begin to cover it. But...”
“But you’d die for them,” he finished when she trailed off.
“Without hesitation.” The admission came easier than she’d expected. “They’re everything to me, even when I want to strangle them.”
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, watching his family celebrate on the screen. It was such a normal scene, so far removed from the world of violence and danger they both inhabited, that it was almost surreal.
“Why did you really marry me, Matvei?” she asked quietly. “And don’t give me some line about business strategy. I want the truth.”
He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Because I thought it would be easy,” he said. “I thought you’d be easy. A pampered princess who would break at the first sign of real pressure.” He looked at her then, his golden eyes intense in the glow of the computer screen. “I was wrong about you, Irina. About a lot of things.”
The admission hung between them, heavy with implications neither of them was ready to explore. On the screen, the video continued to play, showing a world where they might have been different people, where they might have met under different circumstances.
“We should probably get some sleep,” she said finally, though she made no move to leave.
“Probably,” he agreed, but he didn’t move either.
They sat there in the darkness, watching his family laugh and love and live, and Irina found herself wondering if this was what falling for your enemy felt like. The slow erosion of certainty, the gradual blurring of lines that had once seemed absolute.
It was terrifying.
It was also the most alive she’d felt since the night he’d bought her at that auction.
