Page 22 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
Matvei, on the other hand, was a study in contradictions. One moment, he was looking at her like she was the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever encountered; the next, he wasissuing orders about her safety with the kind of authoritative tone that made her want to do something spectacularly reckless just to prove a point.
The memory of last night’s family dinner lingered in her chest like warmth from a fireplace. For a few precious hours, she’d felt genuinely welcomed, genuinely seen as more than just a pawn in whatever game was being played between their families. Anka’s fierce protection, Raya’s infectious enthusiasm, even Simon’s grudging acceptance by the end of the evening—it had all felt startlingly real.
But now, in the cold light of day, reality had reasserted itself with brutal clarity. She was still a prisoner, albeit one with access to designer clothing and gourmet meals. She was still a means to an end in whatever scheme Matvei was orchestrating. And she was still desperately, pathetically bored.
The sound of her phone buzzing against the marble side table made her jump. Kostya’s name flashed across the screen, and she grabbed it like a lifeline.
“Thank God,” she breathed, swiping to answer. “I was starting to think you’d all forgotten I existed.”
“Irina.” Her brother’s voice was tight with barely controlled worry, the way it always got when he was trying not to lecture her. “Are you safe? Are you hurt? Do you need us to come get you? Valentina won’t stop crying.”
The rapid-fire questions hit her like physical blows, each one a reminder of how completely she’d upended her family’s world with her impulsive decision to stay with Matvei. She could picture Kostya now, probably pacing his own office with that particular combination of fury and fear that had defined his relationship with her safety since childhood.
“I’m fine,” she said, settling onto the leather sofa with a sigh. “More than fine, actually. I’m married to the head of the Volkov family and living in a mansion that makes our house look like a cottage.”
The silence that followed was so complete she wondered if the call had dropped. Then Kostya’s voice came back, low and dangerous in a way that made her stomach clench.
“Married.”
“Yes, married. To Matvei Volkov. Who, by the way, is nothing like the stories make him sound.”
“Jesus Christ, Irina.” Kostya’s voice cracked slightly on her name. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What kind of position you’ve put us all in?”
The accusation in his tone made her spine straighten with familiar defiance. “What position? The position where your baby sister finally proves she can handle herself in a dangerous situation? The position where she gets inside information on our biggest rivals? Or maybe the position where she makes a strategic alliance that could benefit everyone?”
“Strategic alliance?” Kostya’s laugh was bitter and sharp. “You were kidnapped, Irina. Sold at an auction like a piece of property. And now you’re telling me you married the man who bought you?”
The ugly truth of it hit her like a slap, all the romantic rationalization she’d been building around her situation crumbling in an instant. Because that’s exactly what had happened, wasn’t it? She’d been purchased, claimed, and married off to serve someone else’s agenda.
“It’s not like that,” she said, but the words sounded weak even to her own ears.
“Isn’t it?” Kostya’s voice was gentler now, the kind of careful tone her brothers used when they were afraid she might break. “Irina, sweetheart, whatever you think is happening there, whatever you think you’re accomplishing, it’s not real. You’re not safe. You’re not in control. You’re a weapon being pointed at our family.”
The phone slipped in her suddenly sweaty palm, and she had to grip it tighter to keep from dropping it. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand that you’re scared and trying to make the best of an impossible situation,” Kostya interrupted. “I understand that you’re probably telling yourself this is some grand adventure, some way to finally prove yourself. But Irina, listen to me, you need to come home. Now. Before this gets any worse.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than she’d intended, carrying years of pent-up frustration and determination. “I’m not running home with my tail between my legs just because things got complicated. I’m not going to prove everyone right about me being too weak, too naive, too goddamn incompetent to handle myself.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Isn’t it?” She was on her feet again, pacing once more as adrenaline flooded her system. “All my life, you and Ilya and Viktor and Fedya have treated me like I’m made of glass. Like I can’t be trusted to cross the street without supervision, let alone contribute something meaningful to this family. Well, guess what? I’m sitting in the heart of enemy territory right now, and I’m not just surviving, I’m thriving.”
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she pressed on anyway, driven by a stubbornness that had been bothher greatest strength and most dangerous weakness since childhood.
“I have access to information that could change everything for us,” she continued. “I could find out their weaknesses, their plans, their vulnerabilities. I could be the key to finally gaining the upper hand.”
“At what cost?” Kostya’s voice was raw now, stripped of its usual easy confidence. “Your safety? Your happiness? Your life?”
“My life was already forfeit the moment I was taken,” she snapped. “At least this way, it might mean something.”
The silence that followed stretched between them like a chasm, filled with everything they weren’t saying. She could hear Kostya breathing on the other end, could picture him running his hands through his hair the way he always did when she’d pushed him to his limit.
“Irina,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Just tell me where you are. Let us help you.”
The plea in his voice almost broke her resolve. This was Kostya, the brother who’d taught her to pick locks when she was twelve, who’d covered for her when she’d snuck out to parties in high school, who’d always been her partner in crime against their older brothers’ more serious natures.
But it was also Kostya who’d stood by silently when Ilya had forbidden her from attending business meetings. Kostya, who’d agreed when Viktor had insisted she needed bodyguards for grocery shopping. Kostya, who’d never once argued that she deserved a real voice in family decisions.
