Page 35 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
Maybe some things were worth more than power. Maybe some people were worth risking everything for.
The phone buzzed again, another threatening message, another reminder of the dangerous game he was playing. But for now, in the quiet darkness of their bedroom, he allowed himself to ignore it. For now, there was only this, the weight of her in his arms, the soft sound of her breathing, the impossible gift of her trust.
Tomorrow, he would have to make some very difficult decisions. Tomorrow, he would have to choose between the revenge he’d been planning for years and the woman who had somehow managed to slip past every defense he’d ever built.
But tonight, she was his, and he was hers, and that was enough.
Even if it couldn’t last forever.
Chapter 13 - Irina
Anka had been coming by the mansion regularly since the family dinner, sometimes with Raya or Sofie in tow, but more often alone. What had started as cautious politeness between them had gradually warmed into something Irina hadn’t expected: genuine friendship. Not the careful political alliances she’d grown up navigating or the protective hovering of her sisters-in-law, but a real, messy, honest friendship with someone who understood what it was like to be the sister in a family of dangerous men.
Today, Anka was sprawled across the couch in the sitting room, painting her nails a shade of red that probably cost more than most people’s rent, while Irina tried to focus on the book in her lap. It was impossible, really, when every few minutes her mind would drift back to the night before, to Matvei’s hands on her skin, his mouth against hers, the way he’d made her feel things she’d never imagined possible.
“You’re glowing,” Anka said without looking up from her nails. “It’s disgusting.”
“I’m not glowing,” Irina protested, but she could feel heat creeping up her neck. “I’m just... content.”
“Content.” Anka snorted. “Right. That’s what we’re calling it now.” She finally looked up, her golden-brown eyes, so like her brother’s, dancing with mischief. “You know, I’ve never seen Matvei smile this much. It’s unnerving. Yesterday, he actually hummed while he was reading reports.”
The knowledge that she affected him as much as he affected her sent a warm thrill through her chest. After their confrontation in the restaurant, after everything that had happened between them, she’d been afraid that maybehe regretted it, that maybe the careful distance he sometimes maintained meant he was pulling away.
“He’s been different,” she admitted, closing her book and giving up any pretense of reading. “More... present, I guess.”
“That’s one word for it.” Anka capped her nail polish and settled back against the cushions. “My brothers have been calling him whipped behind his back. Simon started a betting pool on how long it’ll take him to completely lose his mind.”
“That’s terrible,” Irina said, but she was fighting a smile.
“That’s family,” Anka corrected. “Speaking of which, when’s the last time you got out of this house? And I don’t mean supervised trips to the distillery or carefully choreographed dinners with your brothers.”
Irina considered the question. The truth was, she’d been so caught up in her new reality, in Matvei, in the strange domesticity they’d fallen into, in the way he looked at her like she was something precious, that she hadn’t really thought about it.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “A while.”
“That’s what I thought.” Anka stood up, moving with the kind of predatory grace that ran in the Volkov family. “We’re going out. Tonight. Drinks, dancing, the full experience.”
“I don’t think Matvei would—”
“Matvei doesn’t get a vote,” Anka interrupted, her voice taking on that steely quality that reminded Irina she wasn’t just Matvei’s sister, she was a Volkov in her own right. “You’re not a prisoner, Irina. You’re his wife, and wives get to have girls’ nights.”
The word “wife” still sent a small thrill through her, even though she knew their marriage had started as something elseentirely. But lately, especially after last night, it had begun to feel real in ways that both excited and terrified her.
“Where would we go?” she asked, and Anka’s grin was pure triumph.
“I know just the place.”
The club Anka chose was nothing like the sterile, sanitized venues Irina’s brothers had occasionally allowed her to visit with a full security detail. This place thrummed with actual life, real people, real energy, real danger lurking just beneath the surface of pounding music and flashing lights. It was exactly the kind of place her brothers would have a collective heart attack over, which made it absolutely perfect.
“This is incredible,” Irina breathed, taking in the crowd of bodies moving on the dance floor, the way the lighting painted everything in jewel tones that shifted and changed with the beat.
Anka grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bar, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. “Wait until you see what they can do with vodka here. It’s almost criminal.”
They found seats at the far end of the bar, a spot that gave them a perfect view of the dance floor while keeping them partially hidden in the shadows. Irina had dressed carefully for the evening, choosing a black dress that hugged her curves without being too obvious about it, paired with heels that made her legs look endless. She’d caught Matvei staring when she’d passed his office on the way out, had seen the way his eyes had darkened with want and possessiveness. The look had sent heat spiraling through her belly, but she’d forced herself to keep walking.
“Two of your best,” Anka told the bartender, leaning against the bar with the kind of confidence that came from neverhaving to worry about paying for anything. “And don’t water them down. We’re celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?” Irina asked, accepting the drink that appeared in front of her moments later. It was clear and potent-smelling, with just a hint of something floral.
