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The fucking dickwad! I wish I could aim a swift kick right at his shin with these pointy satin witch shoes that are painfully squeezing my toes together. But that would show him my anger, and right now, I need Andrey to think I’ve given up—that he, my father, and his father have won—and that I’ve surrendered to my fate.
I’ll kick him later. Maybe by accident when we have to have the first dance. Ooh, then I can also stomp these ridiculously spiky heels into his foot, too. Oh! That’s better. My sexual heat gauge is starting to go back to normal as I think up the many ways to mush his shins and feet at the party. I glance back at him to see his still wearing his sexy I know you’re fantasizing about fucking me, smile.
I need to think about something else. What was it Stacy used to say to help me get over my stage fright for public speaking? Picture the audience naked. Well, that’s not going to work here and will only make matters worse, but…
Smiling, I draw on an old childhood memory, and in my mind I picture Andrey as the big purple cat from Alice in Wonderland—always grinning and always playing tricks. I remind myself that his charm is a facade, a dangerous allure meant to lead me astray. Down into a rabbit hole of a world that works differently from the one above, and there is a reason it’s called the underbelly of society.
Chapter 2
ANDREY
The hallways of the Belov mansion echo with whispers and the click of heels on marble floors as I stand at the makeshift altar. Dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, I wait with stoic composure, my eyes scanning the ground with a mix of anticipation and restraint.
It has already been one hell of a morning. At three o’clock, I was awakened to the news that another container of what the crime families have come to call “painted ladies” had landed on Belov Docks.
This shipment, destined for another Irish Mob family, was intercepted before it could be shipped on one of our vessels. Since the first container was found on our docks two days ago, every shipment is now scrutinized, regardless of the customer’s privacy concerns.
These containers are loaded with drugged women painted to resemble various works of art, statues, and expensive jewels. Each container’s cargo was made to mimic items previously stolen, taken by, or in possession of the crime families the containers were destined for. My family may deal in weapons, drugs, and money laundering, but we don’t deal in human trafficking!
Three crime families have already gone underground, and the heads of two prominent crime families in California and Texas have been arrested, leaving their organizations scrambling to maintain control amidst the chaos.
I fight to keep the gnawing worry at bay so as not to cloud the day. But with my father’s process of stepping down as Pakhan already underway, I fear someone is plotting to undermine my ascension before it even begins.
The situation echoes a dark chapter from my grandfather’s time as Pakhan, as Sergei Fyodorov, my father’s second-in-command, grimly pointed out. We’re also fortunate to have struck a deal with an FBI contact who has intercepted the shipments twice now, sparing us from serious repercussions.
Although, as Agent Grant Penworth said, he hasn’t known of a second shipment to have arrived at any of the other crime families—his not-so-subtle way of pointing out someone was gunning for my family.
A lot has gone on in the past three days. Just two days ago, I was fucking pissed off when my parents told me that I’d be announcing my engagement to Isabella Moretti, a woman I’d met when she was five and I was ten and hadn’t seen since. I was even more fucked off when I learned three days ago we’d been engaged since I was eight.
I knew my father had a marriage arranged for him, as did his late brother, but they hadn’t been betrothed since they were fucking toddlers. What fucked up archaic shit is that? Luckily, the little tomboy, with her hair riddled with foliage from having been climbing trees and commanding hellhounds, turned into the vision of now twenty-one-year-old Isabella.
Over the past two days that I’ve had her living in my apartment, I’ve spent a lot of time in cold showers and was thinking of investing in one of those giant hotel ice machines. She has my blood stirring just by the whiff of her perfume, and all my cock wants is to be buried inside her tight wet warmth once again.
I want to feel every pulse of her innocently wanton desire that I intend to cultivate as I teach her all the delicious ways of taking and giving pleasure—all the different flavors of it, too. I must admit to being pleasantly surprised at her response to the punishment I doled out for her maddening and dangerous escape attempt the first night we met.
I breathe in as my cock starts to twitch against my underwear in response to my dark thoughts and try to clear my mind. My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the music begin to play, and I turn.
My breath catches in my throat, my heart lurches, and my dick twitches once again as Isabella, a vision in her wedding dress, approaches. Her hazel eyes meet mine briefly before her cold gaze flickers away.
Her hair is swept up in a neat chignon, and her dress flows elegantly as she walks beside her father, Marco. I sense her guarded demeanor. I know it’s her silent rebellion against the circumstances that brought us here.
I have to hide a smile remembering the little minx’s daring escape. She’d almost given me a heart attack when I saw her scaling the balcony of my apartment like a lithe cat on my surveillance camera. Isabella had shown not one ounce of fear as she’d nimbly swung over the side of the railing twenty-six stories up to land on the balcony below.
Thank fuck I caught her when she got down to the twenty-first floor. The woman was utterly reckless and had a blatant disregard for her own and anyone else’s safety in her desperation to escape. That scares the crap out of me! That kind of reckless abandon is what gets her and everyone around her killed.
Now that I know the lengths Isabella will go to for her freedom, I’ve made sure she’s watched at all times. Even if it means I have to bolt every fucking window and door in my apartment—Isabella is not going anywhere. She’s mine now. And it’s not like I didn’t warn her before I took her virginity that if we had sex, that meant Isabella belonged to me! It was just a surprising twist of fate that it turned out that Isabella had actually been destined to be mine since she was three.
I’m drawn from my thoughts as Marco places Isabella’s soft, small hand in mine. A surge of possessiveness and protectiveness washes over me, emotions I swiftly suppress.
Turning towards her, I grasp her other hand, feeling the heat sizzle between us despite her blank eyes that look like they’ve had shutters drawn over her thoughts to keep the world out. Only I know, no matter how well Isabella can school her features to hide it, that she’s nervous as the pulse at the side of her neck betrays her emotions.
“Andrey,” Marco nods.
I see him turn to Isabella, and he’s about to kiss her, but she flinches, recoiling from him. I see something akin to pain flash in the man’s eyes, but he respects her wishes not to be touched and steps away. Even for me, that was cold!
“Oh drat, I have the wrong glasses,” Judge Thompson says. “Excuse me a minute.” He rushes off to his wife.
“You look breathtaking,” I say softly to Isabella while we wait for the judge to get the correct eyewear.
