Chapter 8

Laura

I STEPback, my hands falling away from his chest. The hurt from his words stings like a slap, but I refuse to let him see how deep it cuts. I clench my jaw, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over.

Screw him.

I turn away, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the anger and pain swirling inside me. When I finally trust my voice not to shake, I face him again.

“Well, yes, you’re right,” I say, my tone icier than I intended.“Being poor and pathetic is just the worst. How silly of me to think that your life might actually matter more than money or power.”

His eyes flash with something that looks like regret, but I don’t give him a chance to respond. I’m too raw, too wounded to hear any more of his cutting words.

Just then, a knock at the door interrupts the tense silence between us.

I gather the delicate fabric of my gown in one hand, making my way to the door. With a soft click, I turn the handle and open it, revealing a familiar face.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he says, a tired smile on his lips. “I’m Dr. Petrov. We met briefly at the dining table the other day.”

Recognition dawns on me as I take in his chiseled features, the lines of fatigue and concern doing little to diminish his rugged, masculine presence.

“Of course, please come in,” I say, stepping aside to allow him entry.

Dr. Petrov nods gratefully, his exhaustion evident in the slight slouch of his broad shoulders as he moves past me into the room.

His gaze darts between Victor and me. “I know you must be tired, but I need to check on your wounds, Victor.”

Victor nods, his jaw tight. I can see the pain he’s trying to hide, the exhaustion weighing on him.

Dr. Petrov’s eyes twinkle as he sets his medical bag down. “Well, it’s nice to hear the first husband and wife fight.”

“We’re not fighting,” Victor and I say in unison, our gazes locking in surprise.

Dr. Petrov chuckles, shaking his head. “Could’ve fooled me. The tension in here is thicker than Victor’s skull.”

“Just patch me up, Doc,” he grumbles, easing himself down onto the bed.

I hover nearby, watching as Dr. Petrov carefully removes the blood-soaked bandages. I can’t help but wince at the sight of the angry, puckered wound on Victor’s shoulder.

“You really should be more careful,” I murmur, my earlier anger fading into concern.

Victor’s eyes meet mine. “I’ll keep that in mind, wife.”

Wife.

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine; possessive and dominant. I look away, focusing on Dr. Petrov’s skilled hands as he cleans and redresses the wound.

“There,” the doctor says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “This should hold up for tonight’s wedding reception. Well, almost.”

Victor flexes his shoulder, grimacing slightly. “Thanks, Doc.”

Dr. Petrov nods, packing up his supplies. “Just doing my job. You two play nice now, you hear? I don’t want to have to stitch up any more wounds tonight.”

He winks at me, and I feel a blush creeping up my neck. Victor just grunts, but I swear I see the hint of a smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

Dr. Petrov pauses at the door, his hand on the knob. He turns back to face us, a knowing smile on his lips. “Oh, before I forget, your father wanted me to pass along a message.”

Victor arches a brow, his posture tense. “And that would be…?”

Dr. Petrov smirks, shaking his head. “The Pakhan is over the moon about your nuptials, Victor. Said he’s been waiting for this day for years, wondering if you’d ever settle down and give him a grandchild to spoil.”

“Fuck off, Doc,” Victor curses, shaking his head. “He’s using his bad health to force me into marriage.”

I bite my lip, a sudden realization hitting me.

Well… like father, like son, I guess.

Because isn’t that exactly what Victor did to me? Used my desperate situation to back me into a corner, leaving me no choice but to marry him?

Dr. Petrov holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m just the messenger, Victor. But you know as well as I do that the Pakhan’s word is law. And he’s made it clear that securing the family legacy is a top priority.”

He glances at me, his expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I think you made a beautiful bride, Laura. The Pakhan is lucky to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

I flush at the compliment, unsure how to respond. Victor, on the other hand, simply grunts, his gaze fixed on the window.

With a final nod, Dr. Petrov takes his leave, the door clicking shut behind him with a sense of finality.

Awkwardly, I stand there, my gaze drawn to Victor’s bare chest. The sculpted planes of his muscles, the tattoos that snake across his skin…

Damn, he’s so fucking hot.

“Could you be more discreet when you’re eye-fucking me, little firecracker?” Victor’s voice snaps me out of my reverie, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I clear my throat, my face burning. “I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t…”

Victor chuckles, low and deep. “Sure you weren’t.”

I start to turn away, desperate to escape the heat of his gaze, but his voice stops me. “You’re not going anywhere, wife.”

The word sends a thrill through me, even as I bristle at his commanding tone. “I’m pretty sure I can go wherever I want.”

He arches a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Is that so? And where exactly do you think you’re going to go?”

I open my mouth to retort, but the words die on my tongue.

He’s right. I’m his wife now, with all the danger and restrictions that come with being tied to the Bratva—curfews, schedules, and a constant target on my back. My life will never be my own again.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teases, his gaze dipping to my lips.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest.

“No, I just need to get this gown off me,” I lie, reaching behind my back to fumble with the zipper as I walk toward the bathroom. But no matter how I twist and turn, I can’t seem to get a grip on the damn thing.

“Come here,” Victor commands, his voice rough and dangerous.

“No,” I reply, my fingers still struggling with the zipper.

“I’ll help you undress.”

I glance over at him, my breath catching in my throat. He’s sitting up on the bed now, the crisp white sheets a stark contrast to his tanned, muscular body. For a moment, my mind wanders, imagining how it would feel to be tangled in those sheets with him, skin to skin, lost in pleasure.

I shake my head, trying to clear the dangerous thoughts. “No, thank you,” I manage, my voice strained as I tug at the zipper more frantically.

“Obey, wife.” His tone is low, almost a growl. “Come. Here. Now.”

Something in his voice, in the way he’s looking at me, makes me obey without a second thought. I walk toward him, my legs shaking with each step.

The air between us is thick with tension, with a lust so tangible I can almost taste it. The way he’s watching me, his eyes dark and hungry, makes my stomach clench, and my thighs press together.

I stop in front of him, our gazes locked, the silence heavy and charged. He reaches out, his hands gripping my hips, and spins me around in one swift motion. I gasp, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Hold still,” Victor tells me, his voice authoritative as his fingers grasp the zipper of my dress.

I obey instinctively, my body freezing in place as I feel the whisper of his touch against my spine. He slowly drags the zipper down, each tooth releasing with a soft snick that seems to echo in the charged silence between us.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I can hear the hint of a smirk in his tone. “See how much easier things are when you listen to your husband?”

I bite back a snappy response, sensing that now is not the time to challenge him. Not when he’s so carefully controlling his strength, his movements precise and almost gentle as he unzips me, slowly and torturously dragging the zipper down.

I shiver as the cool air hits my exposed back, the dress parting inch by tantalizing inch until it reaches the end of my tailbone.

Victor’s breathing is heavy, faster now. I can feel the heat of him, the barely restrained desire radiating off his body.

I let the dress fall, pooling at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties and bra. My back is to him, but I can picture the look on his face, the way his eyes are probably devouring every curve, every inch of newly bared skin.

“Victor,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Yes, wife?” His response is strained, rougher than before.

I swallow hard, my next words a challenge and a plea all at once. “Do you want to consummate our marriage now?”