Chapter 7

Victor

THERE’S SOMETHINGoff about him.

“George Thompson, Laura’s father,” the man says, extending his hand with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I ignore his outstretched hand, my gaze hard and unyielding. “Ah, yes, I know who you are,” I reply.

Now I remember where I’ve seen him before. When Misha first brought me Laura’s file, I remember flipping through the pages, my eyes scanning over the details of her life. Her mother’s death, the fire that destroyed their family business, the con man Dave, who left her with nothing but debts and broken promises.

And there, buried in the midst of all that tragedy, was a picture of George Thompson.

Laura’s father.

The man who was supposed to protect her, to love her unconditionally. But even in that grainy, black-and-white photo, I could see the coldness in his eyes, the cruelty lurking behind his smile.

“What I don’t know is why you’re here, pretending to be a loving father,” I say.

George’s smile falters, a flicker of anger passing over his features before he smooths it away. “I’m here to support my daughter on her special day, of course. What kind of father would I be if I missed her wedding?”

He reaches for Laura’s hand, his fingers brushing over her skin in a way that makes her flinch. She jerks her hand back, taking a step closer to me, her body tense and coiled like a spring.

“Dad… I think you’d better go,” she says, taking a small step back, her body angling slightly away from her father as if seeking distance.

George’s eyes narrow, a calculating gleam in his gaze as he glances between Laura and me. “You know, Laura, you should be grateful that someone like Victor even looked twice at you.”

What the fuck?

I scoff, shaking my head.

He turns to me, speaking louder now, as if seeking my approval.

“She’s just like her mother, not too bright. If it weren’t for you, her bookstore would be gone, burned to the ground. She’s lucky to have caught your eye.”

Laura flinches, her shoulders hunching as if each word is a physical blow. She wraps her arms around herself, her fingers digging into her skin.

“Please, Dad,” she tries again; a tear flickers in her eye. She clenches her jaw tight. “Just go. We can talk another time.”

But George isn’t listening. He steps closer to Laura, his face twisting into a sneer. “Ungrateful, that’s what you are. After all I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me? You think you’re too good for your own father now that you’ve snagged a rich husband?”

I feel my blood boil, the rage coursing through my veins like molten lava. My hands itch to wrap around his throat, to squeeze until his face turns purple and his eyes bulge out of their sockets.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m moving. My fist connects with George’s jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the room. He staggers back, his eyes wide with shock and pain as he clutches his face.

The room falls silent, everyone staring at us in stunned disbelief. Laura’s hand flies to her mouth, a small gasp escaping her lips.

George’s face turns an ugly shade of red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You… You hit me,” he says incredulously, as if he can’t quite believe it. “You broke my fucking jaw!”

I shrug, a humorless smile tugging at my lips. “Consider it a warning. Next time, I won’t be so gentle.”

George stares at me as if I have six penises, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. “You can’t do that!” he screeches, his voice high and thin.

“I just did,” I say, stepping in front of Laura to shield her from his view.

Laura’s hand finds mine, her fingers trembling as they lace through my own. I give her a reassuring squeeze, a silent promise that she’s not alone.

“Victor, please,” she says softly, pleading. “Let’s just go. He’s not worth it.”

I look back at her, seeing the exhaustion and pain etched into every line of her face. My heart clenches.

I step forward, using my height to loom over him. “Now, you listen, suka. Laura is my wife now. She’s a Morozova. And in this family, we protect our own.”

I step in closer, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “If I ever hear you speak about her like that again, if you ever disrespect her in any way… Well, let’s just say the Bratva has ways of dealing with men like you.”

George swallows hard, fear flickering in his eyes. He knows I’m not bluffing, knows that I have the power and the resources to make good on my threat.

“Apologize to my wife. Now.”

George’s jaw clenches, hatred burning in his gaze. But he knows he’s beaten, knows he has no choice.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Laur,” he grits out, the words sounding like they’re being ripped from his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Laura nods, her expression unreadable.

George’s jaw clenches, but he knows he’s beaten.

With a final, venomous glare in Laura’s direction, he lets the bodyguards escort him away. As I watch him, I catch a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye. A shadow darting behind the towering marble statue of the Virgin Mary. My instincts flare, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

Who the hell was that?

But before I can investigate further, Ksenia strides up to us, her stilettos clicking against the polished floor. She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, her lips pursed in disapproval.

“What was that little display of machismo?”

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “It was hardly machismo, Ksenia. The man was disrespecting my wife. I simply put him in his place.”

Ksenia moves in close, her voice dropping to a low, serious whisper. “Don’t fall for her, little brother.” Her eyes, usually so cool and calculating, hold a glimmer of genuine concern. “She doesn’t belong in our world.”

“I hate weddings,” I mutter, fingers clumsily attacking the tie that’s been a noose around my neck all morning. Behind me, the door shuts with a soft, final click, the sound oddly loud in the silence that follows.

Laura stands a step behind me, her scent teasing me in ways it shouldn’t. My body is ruined, blood soaking into the thick layers of bandages near my shoulder.

“Is that why you planned a mafia operation the night before our wedding?”

Turning to face her, I catch the way her gaze sweeps over the room. Her eyes move like she’s memorizing every detail, every shadow cast by the dim lighting, every plush cushion, and the rich, velvety drapes that frame the windows. This suite, the best the hotel has to offer, boasts a history as deep and complex as our family’s. We’ve owned this place for a century, its walls witness to countless secrets and silent deals.

“Are you worried about me, little firecracker?” I ask, moving closer to her, forgetting the tie that’s suffocating me.

She stands still, gazing into my eyes. Her jade-tinted eyes, flecked with blue, surprise me. I thought she’d be scared, but instead, she just looks at me and replies, “Yes, I was.”

She swallows, her lips pressing together as her gaze travels from my bruised shoulder to my face. Her fingers gently touch my cheek, making me feel something I can’t quite name.

Don’t look at me that way.

I fight the unfamiliar emotions stirring inside me.

She’s just here for a year. Nothing more.

I specifically asked Andrew, my lawyer, to add a clause stating that no emotional involvement shall occur.

But this woman… she’s making me feel weak.

I catch her hand and move it aside, clearing my throat to change the mood. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your side of the bargain.”

“You promise me, Victor,” she says, her tone serious. “You’ll never, ever put Ser and her family in danger.”

I meet her gaze steadily. “I told you, little firecracker, I’m a man of my word. As long as you hold up your end of the deal, your friend and her loved ones are safe.”

Relief washes over Laura’s face, the tension draining from her shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispers, and for a moment, I’m struck by the vulnerability in her eyes.

I nod curtly, uncomfortable with the guilt gnawing at me. Using her best friend to force her into this marriage—it’s a new low, even for me.

Blackmailing an innocent woman, exploiting her love for her friend to trap her—it’s not sitting right, principles or no principles. Bratva life means doing what needs to be done for the family, but this feels different. Dirtier.

Suka!

But first, I need to get this damn jacket off without blacking out. One problem at a time.

Turning to the full-body mirror, I try to shrug off my jacket, eager for a distraction. But the movement sends pain lancing through my shoulder, a vivid reminder of last night’s escapades. A grunt escapes me.

“Let me,” Laura interrupts smoothly, her hands reaching out. She delicately helps peel the jacket off my injured frame.

I see her face in the mirror, still in her wedding gown. She looks ethereal, a vision of beauty that I hadn’t fully appreciated until now. My mother’s necklace rests elegantly on her skin, drawing my gaze down to her cleavage. I know what lies beneath, and the thought makes my balls tighten.

Despite the pain coursing through my body, I can’t help but imagine peeling that gown off her, revealing every inch of her smooth skin. I want to mark her, claim her as mine in every way possible. She is my wife now, and the possessive hunger inside me gnaws at my insides, demanding to be satisfied.

Fuck, what is she doing to me?

As Laura slowly tugs off my jacket, I catch the way her mouth falls open slightly, a small huff of breath leaving her lips when she sees the red blood soaking through the bandages. Her eyes widen, concern etched into every line of her face. Tears build in those ocean-green depths, threatening to spill over.

“This is nothing,” I tell her quickly, trying to brush off her worry. “I’ve had worse papercuts.”

She doesn’t laugh at my poor attempt at humor. Instead, she steps closer, her fingers trembling as she reaches for the buttons of my shirt.

“I thought… I thought you might not make it to our wedding.”

Her words are soft, low, but they hit me like a physical blow.

She cared. She actually cared if I lived or died.

I watch, transfixed, as she slowly unfastens the first button, then the second. Pain and arousal war within me, my cock stiffening against my will despite the agony radiating from my shoulder.

Great, Victor. Half-dead, but still ready to fuck.

“Do you really want me to stay alive?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it. I need to know, need to understand why she gives a damn about a man she’s been forced to marry.

She hesitates, her fingers stilling on my chest. When she looks up at me, her lashes are damp, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know… But I don’t want you dead.”

Carefully, she helps me shrug out of my shirt, her breath catching as she takes in the sight of my blood-soaked bandages, the angry bruises mottling my skin. I feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I’ve never been before.

“Why… why do you do this?” she asks, her voice husky.

I shrug, then instantly regret it as pain shoots through me. “It’s what we do. I’m not about to let some punk make off with a cargo worth fifteen million.”

Her eyes pop at the figure, then her lips press tight, a frown forming as she finds her words. “But no amount of money is worth your life.”

I chuckle humorlessly.

How na?ve is she?

“Many would disagree with you. Men have been trading their lives for money and power since the dawn of time.”

She frowns, worry still creasing her brow. “I don’t understand.”

Fuck, she’s pitying me.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, kiska,” I sneer, anger rising in my chest.

“I’m not,” she insists, meeting my gaze head-on. “I just… I feel sad for you.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, cruel and cutting. “Nothing sadder than not being able to pay off a bad debt, having your shop burn down, and no money to rebuild.”

Fuck.

I regret it instantly.

Hurt flashes in her eyes, followed by a flicker of anger.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.