Chapter NineIrina

Chapter Nine

Irina

Alexei is a pig, and I'm throbbing all over like a sex-starved idiot. I fucking hate myself right now for agreeing and submitting to him. I despise how weak and stupid I looked coming on his hand and moaning his name.

That man is my enemy.

I need to remind myself of that every minute. I shouldn't forget it. But I keep losing my self-control around him. He has me in the palm of his hand and plays me however he wishes.

Even though I just had a spectacular orgasm, there's a deep ache in my core. My entire body is ablaze, begging, yearning, and crying for him. Still, I can't let myself fall any more than I already have.

It takes a lot of effort not to kick the dining table as I pull out a chair for myself and sit.

Two maids enter the dining room with dishes of food they set on the table. The aroma of grilled chicken wings fills the room, and my stomach grumbles. I take an empty plate and start filling it with everything they've brought.

The hairs at the back of my neck rise when Mikhail joins me. He takes the chair at the head of the table, placing in a healthy mixture of carbs, vegetables and protein on his plate.

I grimace. No wonder he has all of those muscles.

I chew my food glaring at him. I'm angry, and he should know I am. "Asshole," I mutter.

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing. "What?"

"For someone in his thirties, you look at least fifty." I'm such a liar. Alexei looks good for a man in his early thirties. I didn't even know I had a thing for older men until I met him.

He laughs sardonically, his deep voice resounding in the room. "So, you have a thing for older men?"

"By older men, do you mean you?" I snort and roll my eyes. "You think too highly of yourself."

"Considering you came on my fingers minutes ago, I have the right to think highly of myself."

My stomach flips. A wave of electricity zaps through my veins and simmers in my stomach. Alexei Vadim will be the death of me. How is it possible to hate someone yet be so attracted to them?

I'd shoot him if I had a gun, but I would definitely let him eat me out first. I'm crazy, I swear.

Since I can't bring him to his knees and make him beg for me, I need to think of other ways to do that. "I need to go shopping," I say. "I didn't bring any clothes with me, and I can't keep wearing yours."

His gaze skims me slowly, his pupils dilating with desire. "I don't mind."

"Well, I do mind." I lift the glass of water sitting next to my plate. "I'm going shopping. You don't have to worry, I have my own card."

"You're mine now, and I have enough money to spend on you." He props an elbow on the table. "One of my brothers, Mikhail, will go with you."

I purse my lips. "I don't need your brother to babysit me."

"He'll protect you, not babysit you, Irina." His tone is a little more serious now. "You're my wife now, which means my enemies will stop at nothing to try and get to you. You must be protected at all times, and you're not to go anywhere without bodyguards, do you understand?"

A retort bubbles on the tip of my tongue, but the emotion in his eyes doesn't let me voice it. I can feel his fear, his desperation to keep me safe for whatever reason. Instead of arguing, I say, "Fine."

He lifts a carrot in his mouth. "I heard you met my stepmother today."

My body goes rigid, anger flaring in my veins as I remember the arrogant woman from earlier today. I'd spent the two hours after she left wondering if that is the way women are in the mafia. The men are killers, so it's not unreasonable to expect the women to be something similar.

"I did," is all I manage to say. I don't launch into an hour-long rant on how pissed I was, neither do I want to ask him anything. He'll tell me if he wants me to know. If he doesn't, then fine.

"What did she say to you?" His face is a blank mask, but I detect something in his voice. He's afraid Sasha told me something she shouldn't.

It's laughable she thought a few random words would scare me. As someone who became entangled in a mafia marriage herself, I'd think she would know better. Telling me rubbish about Alexei won't hurt me, because there isn't much more than good sex and lust between us.

I take a sip of the champagne I know I shouldn't drink at this time of day and wipe my mouth with a napkin. "Nothing I consider important."

"I'm sorry if she said something horrible to you."

My fork falls from my hand to the ceramic plate with a clang . Did he just apologize to me for something he didn't even do? "What?"

"She'll never come here again. I'll make sure of it," he assures me, holding my stare. "This is your home now and I don't want anyone to make you feel uncomfortable."

You're the one making me feel uncomfortable, I want to say. The way his dark-brown eyes bore into mine, the memories of his kiss, and the remnants of his touch. Everything about him makes me question if I haven't already gone insane.

"This is not my home." I pause and inhale. "And don't worry about me, no one can bully or intimidate me. I'm too strong for that."

Butterflies tickle my stomach when he smiles. He looks better smiling than he does scowling, but the smiles quickly fades away. "That's good to hear."

We go back to eating in silence. The clinking of cutlery on porcelain fills the room.

Our marriage is nothing more than a business transaction between him and my father, but if I'm to stay, I need to at least know what to expect for however long it lasts.

I swallow my pride, and then I lift my chin. "About our marriage…"

He looks up from his plate. "What about it?"

"We need to have rules on our expectations." I don't think I'm using the right choice of words, but my brain is too much of a mush for me to worry about that right now. "We've had sex, and we're using the same room, is that all there will ever be between us?"

He lowers his fork to his plate. His gaze does not leave mine for a second as he sighs.

My heart throbs against my ribcage as I wait for his answer. I already know what it'll be. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.

"I'll say this once, Irina," he says, his voice dangerously low and calm. "I'll offer you good sex. I'll take care of you, and I'll protect you. But do not expect anything more from me. I will never love you, because falling in love is not in my nature."

"Bullshit, everyone who has a heart can fall in love," I retort before I can stop myself. "And don't even give me crap about not having a heart."

"Trust me, I do have a heart." He runs his fingers through his hair. He looks so fucking good doing that. "My heart only beats for the Bratva, Irina. It beats to shed the blood of my enemies, not to fall in love."

My chest squeezes with a pang of bitter emotion. I can't pinpoint why, but his answer makes my eyes water.

I don't love him. I didn't expect him to ever love me, still it hurts like crazy hearing him say it.

My brain misfires, rage rippling through me in full force. If I were stronger than I am, my fork would bend from how tight I am holding it. "I didn't ask you to love me, I was just curious."

"Curious about what?" He rubs his jaw, his brow arching. "Is there something you want to know? A secret perhaps?"

There's a lot I want to know, like his childhood and how he managed to become the head of the Bratva after his father exiled him from New York. I don't ask though, it feels too intimate and I am too upset. "Will you tell me if I ask?"

He tilts his head. "It depends."

"Then…" I straighten my spine, "Why are you such an asshole?"

He chuckles lightly. "It's in my genes."

"Is being a coldblooded killer in your genes, too?" I love the way his smile vanishes at my question.

"Do not ask questions you don't want the answer to, malyshka ."

"Or what?"

He takes me in carefully, then his eyes crinkle mischievously. "Or I'll pin you to this table and spank you."

I open my mouth but close it back up. He knows how to shut me up, I have to give him that. I don't say another word the rest of the meal, I'm too busy thinking of how to take him and his family of criminals down.

When I'm done eating, I stand and angle over the table, resting my hands next to my plate. "Just a heads up, I spend quite a lot of money on shopping."

"Money is not a problem, malyshka . I have a lot of it to spend," he says with indifference, as if he doesn't mind what I buy or how much I spend.

I smile. I'll see if he has the same opinion after I splurge on the latest designer items.

***

The Vadim brothers look so much alike. Honestly, it's hard to believe they only share one parent.

Mikhail opens the back door for me. He holds it open until I climb in, then closes it and slides into the driver's seat. He's such a gentleman. Pity I can't say the same for his dickhead older brother.

"Your brother didn't tell me you also take on chauffeur duties," I say when he begins to strap his seatbelt. I glance at the fleet of luxurious cars behind us through the rearview mirror. Alexei could easily have asked one of his soldiers to drive me. I wonder why he didn't consider that.

Mikhail's blue eyes meet mine as he also stares into the rearview mirror. "You should know I don't do this for anyone." His voice is deep and bone chilling.

"What's the exception?" I ask, leaning forward. Despite his grumpy expression, talking to him doesn't make my stomach flutter or make my chest palpitate like it does with Alexei.

He twists his head to look at me. "You."

I point at myself. "Me?"

"You're Alexei's wife, which makes you family." He lifts one eyebrow as if he expects me to catch on, but I just blink at him because I don't understand what he's trying to say. "We Russians, we make sacrifices for family."

I almost roll my eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm Russian too. Contrary to what you believe, my father sacrificed me for the family."

The engine roars to life beneath me. Mikhail starts the car forward and I sit back. I find myself thinking of Alexei, and our conversation at lunch yesterday. I hate that my thoughts keep drifting back to that.

Alexei had already left before I woke up this morning, and the only thing I got was an Amex card on the nightstand and a note from him telling me to use it however I liked. I wonder if that's what our marriage will be; him leaving the house before I wake up, us arguing over lunch on some days and having sex some nights.

A pang of emotion washes through me. I want more than that, even if this only lasts for a short while.

Speaking of Alexei…I force a smile at Mikhail through the rearview mirror. The grump doesn't smile back, he regards me blankly. He's probably exhausted by me being so chatty, I don't care.

"So, how close are you to your brother?" Awkward question, but anything to keep the conversation alive. There's a lot I want him to share with me, but I'll need to gain his trust first.

"I'd die for him."

I choke at that answer. Kill. Die. Bloodshed. Do those words not mean anything to these people? They're always ready to kill or die for something.

I don't allow his answer bother me too much. "Tell me about your childhood."

His face remains blank, but his eyes turn red, filled with rage and sadness. "What do you want to know?"

I shrug. It's not like I have a choice. "Whatever you can share."

"Think of a childhood with abusive parents and an older brother who got beaten up for trying to protect his little brothers."

Ice slithers in my veins. I don't imagine it. No, I can't. The mere mention of abuse is way too gruesome in a way I cannot dare to think of. "I'm sorry you went through that."

He huffs out a mirthless laugh. "Alexei had it worse. He gave up everything and did everything he could for us to survive. We owe him a lot, me and Nikolai."

"Do you mind if I ask about the things he's been through?" I ask quietly.

"He always covered us with his own body, and because of that he has a lot of scars on his back," Mikhail says. His voice is almost a whisper.

That explains the weeping angel tattoo on his back.

"When he finally grew old enough to protect us and himself, our father became afraid of him." He turns the car down a road to the left. "He exiled Alexei and ordered his men to kill him."

"What?" Surely I heard him wrong. What kind of father would exile and try to kill his own child?

"Alexei survived." He pulls the car into a parking at the mall. Turning off the engine, he cranes his head around to look at me. "I don't care if you're here on a mission or whatever, but I'll kill you if you ever betray my brother."

As Mikhail's words sink in, a heavy weight settles in my chest. I hadn't fully comprehended the depth of the Vadim brothers' bond until now. The loyalty, the sacrifices, the unspoken code of protection—it all speaks volumes about the lives they've led, the horrors they've endured. Horrors I don't know much of yet.

Looking into Mikhail's eyes, I see not just a hardened man, but a man desperate to protect the brother who did all he could for him. Mikhail claims he cannot love anyone, but I wonder if he knows what he feels for his brothers is love.

The image of Alexei's weeping angel tattoo flashes in my mind. That is what it meant, it was a symbol of all the pain he endured in the hands of his own father. I hate to admit this, but I feel sorry for him.

I feel sorry for all three of them.

"I won't betray him," I finally whisper, my voice barely audible in the quiet of the car. "No matter what, I'll never betray him."

And I mean it with everything in me.