Page 21 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
The laughter that followed was genuine and infectious, and Matvei found himself transfixed by the transformation in his wife. Gone was the polished, impersonal mask she’d worn earlier. In its place was something radiant and alive, a woman who was clearly enjoying herself for the first time since he’d known her.
This was the real Irina, he realized. Not the defiant captive or the calculating socialite, but a young woman who loved her family and had a wicked sense of humor and could light up a room with her laughter.
The realization hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath and making his chest tight with something that felt uncomfortably like longing. This was what he was planning todestroy. This bright, vital woman, who was charming his family with the same effortless grace she’d probably used to charm everyone she’d ever met.
“Matvei?” Irina’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he realized she was looking at him with concern. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he managed, though his voice sounded rough even to his own ears. “Just thinking.”
She studied his face for a moment, her ice-blue eyes too perceptive for his comfort. Then she smiled, and it was like watching the sun come out from behind clouds.
“Dangerous habit,” she said lightly, and the table erupted in laughter again.
As the evening continued, Matvei found himself watching Irina with growing fascination. She moved through his family’s dynamics with intuitive understanding, knowing exactly when to speak and when to listen, when to share and when to deflect. She told stories about her own family that painted them as people rather than adversaries, shared childhood memories that made even his most suspicious brothers crack smiles.
By the time dessert was served, she had them completely charmed. Even Simon, who’d been the most resistant to her presence, was laughing at her impression of one of her brothers attempting to cook breakfast.
“…and there was egg literally everywhere,” she was saying, gesturing wildly with her spoon. “On the ceiling, on the walls, and somehow in the refrigerator, even though it was closed. To this day, we have no idea how Fedya managed to create that level of destruction with two eggs and a pan.”
“Sounds like when Kirill tried to make pancakes,” Sofie said, shooting their youngest brother a mischievous look.“Remember? He set the smoke alarm off three times and somehow managed to burn water.”
“You can’t burn water,” Kirill protested, his cheeks reddening.
“Tell that to our kitchen,” Adrian said dryly. “We had to replace half the countertop.”
The good-natured ribbing continued, and Matvei found himself drawn deeper into the warm circle of family affection. This was what he’d been fighting to protect, what every hard choice and moral compromise had been in service of. His family’s happiness, their safety, and their ability to gather around a table and laugh together without fear.
And now, sitting here watching Irina fit seamlessly into that dynamic, he was beginning to question whether the cost of that protection was too high.
“She’s good for you,” Anka said quietly, appearing at his elbow with Sofia balanced on her hip.
“What?”
“Irina. She’s good for you.” His sister’s voice was thoughtful, lacking the earlier anger. “I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”
Matvei glanced around the table, taking in the scene with fresh eyes. Irina was helping Raya serve coffee, her movements graceful and unconsciously domestic. She looked like she belonged here, like she’d always been part of their family dynamic.
The thought should have been alarming. Instead, it filled him with a warmth he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.
“Don’t get too attached,” he said, more to himself than to Anka.
His sister gave him a look that was equal parts pitying and exasperated. “I think it’s too late for that advice, Brother. For all of us.”
As if to prove her point, Irina chose that moment to look up from the coffee service, her eyes finding his across the room. Her smile was radiant, unguarded, and completely genuine. And when she mouthed “thank you” at him, her gratitude for including her in this family moment clear in every line of her face, Matvei felt something fundamental shift in his chest.
Anka was right. It was too late.
He was in trouble, and he had no idea what he was going to do about it.
Chapter 9 - Irina
The marble floors of the Volkov mansion had become Irina’s personal runway of frustration. Back and forth she paced, her bare feet making soft slapping sounds that echoed through the cavernous foyer like a countdown to her sanity’s complete breakdown. Three weeks of this life, three weeks of luxury that felt more like a gilded cage, and she was losing her goddamn mind.
She paused mid-stride, pressing her palms against her temples where a headache had been building since dawn. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven, its deep notes reverberating through the silence that had become her constant companion. Matvei had left for some business meeting before she’d even woken up, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his cologne and a note that read “Back by dinner” in his sharp, angular handwriting.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to the empty air, her voice bouncing off the walls like an accusation. “I’m twenty-four years old, not some delicate flower that needs to be kept in a greenhouse.”
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d spent years raging against her brothers’ overprotective tendencies, fighting tooth and nail for scraps of independence, only to find herself in an even more restrictive situation. At least with Ilya, Kostya, Viktor, and Fedya, she’d known exactly where she stood. They might have treated her like spun glass, but they’d never pretended otherwise.
