Page 8 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“Hello, wife,” he said softly, and the word sent a dangerous thrill through her veins.
“Hello, husband,” she replied, putting every ounce of defiance she could muster into the word. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
His smile was sharp and predatory and absolutely devastating. “Trust me, sweetheart. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
As he guided her back toward the SUV, his hand possessive on her lower back, Irina couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just signed her name to something far more dangerous than a marriage license.
She’d signed up for a war.
Chapter 4 - Matvei
Matvei had been prepared for screaming. He’d been prepared for tears, for desperate pleas, for her to throw herself on the floor and refuse to move until he dragged her bodily to the altar. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the way Irina Nikolai picked up that pen and signed her name like she was endorsing a fucking check.
The casual precision of her signature threw him completely off balance. This wasn’t how kidnapped heiresses were supposed to behave. They were supposed to be broken, terrified, compliant through fear rather than choice. They weren’t supposed to look him dead in the eye and call him husband as if it were a challenge.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
As they walked back to the SUV, Matvei’s mind raced through possibilities. Maybe she was in shock, operating on autopilot while her brain tried to process the trauma. Maybe she was playing some kind of long game, biding her time until she could escape or turn the tables. Or maybe she was exactly what she appeared to be: a spoiled Bratva princess who thought she could charm her way out of anything.
None of those options sat well with him. Matvei Volkov hadn’t built his empire by underestimating his enemies, and right now, his new wife felt very much like an enemy.
“Get in,” he said, holding the SUV door open for her.
She complied without argument, settling into the leather seat with the kind of practiced grace that spoke of years of formal training. Finishing school, probably. Or maybe just growing up in a world where every movement was scrutinized and judged.
Matvei slid in beside her, immediately aware of how small the space felt with both of them in it. She smelled like expensive perfume underneath the lingering scent of fear and adrenaline, a contradiction that somehow perfectly encapsulated everything confusing about this woman.
“So,” he said as the driver pulled away from the courthouse, “are you going to tell me why you signed that license, or do I have to guess?”
Irina turned to look at him, those ice-blue eyes unreadable in the dim light. “Does it matter? It’s done now.”
“It matters to me.” He shifted to face her fully, using his size to crowd her against the window. “See, I was expecting you to fight me every step of the way. I had a whole speech prepared about what would happen to your precious brothers if you didn’t cooperate. But you didn’t give me the chance to use it.”
She was quiet for a long moment, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. When she finally spoke, her voice was tired in a way that seemed bone-deep.
“You want to know why I signed?” She leaned forward suddenly, getting right in his face with a boldness that caught him off guard.
“Because I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, thrown around like a piece of meat, and sold to the highest bidder. I’m exhausted, I’m sore, I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I would really like to sit down somewhere that isn’t moving.”
The raw honesty in her voice made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. Up close, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly despite her defiant posture. She was running on pure adrenaline, and it was starting to crash.
“Besides,” she continued, settling back against the seat, “if you meant to hurt me, you wouldn’t have married me first, would you? Marriage implies some kind of value, some reason to keep me alive and relatively intact. So forgive me if I chose the path that seemed most likely to end with me breathing.”
Then, her eyes narrowed just slightly, sharpened like glass.
“And as for my brothers... You think threatening them will scare me? The men you’re thinking of would tear you apart without blinking. I say this with absolute conviction and not an ounce of respect.”
Matvei stared at her, caught between annoyance, admiration, and suspicion. The logic was sound, even if it was built on incomplete information. She had no way of knowing that this marriage was nothing more than a legal formality, a way to ensure she couldn’t simply disappear if his original plan went sideways.
“Smart,” he said finally. “But not smart enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Instead of answering, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. Within minutes, they were pulling through the gates of his Beacon Hill estate, the Georgian mansion rising before them like something out of a gothic novel. Appropriate, considering the circumstances.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Volkov,” he said, noting the way she flinched at the name. “I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”
The front door was answered by his housekeeper, a stern-faced Russian woman named Katya who’d worked for his family since before he was born. She took one look atIrina and immediately began fussing in rapid Russian, shooting disapproving looks at Matvei that he chose to ignore.
