Page 42 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
The words hit him harder than they should have, settling somewhere deep in his chest where he’d carry them long after this night was over. He’d been with other women, had thought he understood desire and satisfaction and even affection. But this, this feeling of completeness, of rightness, was entirely new.
“Come on,” he said, standing and pulling her with him. “You’re exhausted.”
He led her back to his bedroom, a space she’d only entered a few times since their marriage. It was masculine andunderstated, all dark wood and rich fabrics, but tonight it felt different with her in it. More like home, somehow.
“I should go to my room,” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.
“No,” he said, turning back the covers on his bed. “You should stay here. With me.”
She hesitated, and he could see the war playing out on her face, the part of her that wanted to maintain some independence, some distance, battling with the part that had just trusted him with something precious and wasn’t ready to walk away from the intimacy they’d created.
“Matvei,” she said softly.
“Stay,” he said again, and this time it wasn’t a command or a demand. It was a request, vulnerable and honest. “Please.”
She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
He helped her into the bed, then slid in beside her, pulling her against his chest. She fit perfectly in his arms, her head tucked under his chin, her breath warm against his throat. Outside, the city continued its restless movement, but here in this room, in this moment, everything felt still and right.
“This changes things,” she said quietly, echoing his earlier words.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It does.”
“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “So am I.”
And it was true. The woman in his arms had just handed him her trust, her innocence, her vulnerability, and the weight of that responsibility was staggering. But more than that, she’d made him want things he’d never allowed himself to want, a real marriage, a real partnership, a future that was about more than power and revenge and the endless cycle of violence that had defined his life.
“Sleep,” he murmured against her hair. “We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”
But as he felt her relax against him, as her breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep, Matvei knew that tomorrow would bring its own complications. Because tonight had changed everything, and there would be no going back to the careful distance they’d maintained before.
For the first time in his life, he’d found something worth more than power.
Chapter 15 - Irina
The warehouse hummed with controlled activity, and Irina found herself standing at the observation window overlooking the main floor, clipboard in hand, feeling something she hadn’t experienced in years: genuine pride in her work. Below, Matvei’s men moved through their tasks with military precision, processing shipments and managing inventory with an efficiency that impressed even her, someone who had grown up watching her brothers run similar operations.
But this was different. This time, she wasn’t sneaking around or eavesdropping from behind closed doors. This time, she was here because Matvei trusted her to be here, had given her actual responsibilities instead of just tolerating her presence.
“The numbers from sector three don’t match the manifest,” she called down to Pavel, one of Matvei’s lieutenants, holding up the discrepancy she’d caught. “We’re short two crates of the Moscow shipment.”
Pavel looked up at her with something that might have been respect. Three weeks ago, he’d barely acknowledged her existence. Now he nodded and immediately dispatched two men to investigate. It was a small thing, maybe, but it made something warm unfurl in her chest.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Matvei:How are things going?
Smooth operation. Caught a discrepancy in sector three, she typed back, unable to keep the satisfaction from her mental voice.
Good eye. I’ll be there in an hour.
She pocketed her phone and returned her attention to the floor below, but her mind wandered to the morning’s training session. Matvei had started teaching her self-defense three weeks ago, claiming it was a necessary skill for any Volkov, even one who’d married into the family. The lessons took place in the mansion’s private gym, usually before dawn when the rest of the house was still asleep.
At first, she’d been hopeless. Years of being sheltered had left her with no instincts for violence, no understanding of how to use her body as a weapon. But Matvei was patient in a way that surprised her, breaking down each movement until it became second nature, adjusting her stance with gentle hands, praising her progress in that low voice that never failed to make her pulse quicken.
This morning, she’d finally managed to break his hold during a grappling exercise, using the hip throw he’d been teaching her to send him tumbling to the mat. The look of genuine surprise and pride on his face had been worth all the bruises and sore muscles.
“You’re getting dangerous,” he’d said, pulling her down on top of him, his hands settling on her waist in a way that had nothing to do with self-defense.
