2. ANDREY

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.

She turns her cool eyes on me, assessing me. No smile lifts her mouth, and her voice is flat as she replies, "Well then, the dress you chose is a good choice if you're happy with the results— master ."

My eyebrows lift imperceptibly at her tone and the use of the word master. "Master?" I smirk, knowing I'm playing with fire as I retort, "Does this mean you've finally come to accept your fate as my wife and future mother of my children?"

Isabella's voice remains flat, matching the emotionless gaze in her eyes. "Does it matter what I think, feel, do or don't do? It appears I'm merely a puppet in this world, to be manipulated at the whims of my master , so interpret the narrative as you wish. If you desire my acceptance, then…" She shrugs her pretty creamy shoulders, giving a tight smile.

"I have a lot of desires, Isabella, especially where you are concerned," I say, my voice low and deliberate, "I know you don't see it this way now, but you have an important role to play in my life now. One that can be rewarding if you choose to see it that way. And trust me, kiska, I intend for us both to benefit from this union in many ways. So you'll find that your compliance will only make things smoother for us both, and once I can trust…"

"Let's not start this marriage off with lies, Andrey, making it more of a farce than it already is." Isabella's voice lowers, but there's no denying the subtle hiss in it. "You, your family, and my father are the only ones that benefit from this debacle. I'm just the pawn in this game of whatever it is you're all playing, so get this straight…"

"I'll play my part." The mask drops, and I have to force myself not to cringe at the hate that is flashing in her hazel eyes as she continues. "But know it's just that—a part. I don't now, nor will I ever, care about what you or anyone else wants, desires, or thinks they deserve. My days of worrying about other people's wants or needs are over. If this ordeal has taught me one thing, it is that it really is a dog-eat-dog world—especially your world."

That's the second time since meeting the little spitfire that a person has spoken to me like they don't know who I am or what I'm capable of. The first time, Isabella really didn't know who I was, and this time, she's letting me know in no uncertain terms that she doesn't care. My eyes narrow dangerously as I watch her eyes go blank once again, and her mask slips back into place.

"Your father may have bought me . My body may respond to you in ways I seem not yet able to control," Isabella continues her tirade, the gold specks in her hazel eyes glinting with malice. "But you will never get my soul."

I'm about to let her know that's the last time she talks to me like that, and not only do I accept her challenge, but I'll also enjoy every last minute of making her see that I always get what I want. And I want all of Isabella, but the judge reappears. I make a mental note to address the issue with Isabella later as Judge Thompson's voice washes over us—his words binding us in a union that feels both inevitable and precarious.

Even though she angered me beyond the tipping point, I find myself fighting the urge to reach out and comfort her, knowing that she resists my presence as much as she desires it. Guilt hits me hard for a second at the part I've played in getting her out of one cage only to put her into what she feels is another.

I quickly push the thoughts and feelings aside. This is Isabella's life now, one designed by her father and mine. I wasn't the architect of her fate, but I am now the keeper of it.

"Do you, Isabella Moretti, take Andrey Belov to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Judge Thompson asks.

Isabella's voice is steady and still flat as she simply replies. "Yes."

She stares directly at me, a hint of defiance in the slight lift of her chin, ensuring I understand that she's purposefully omitted "I do." It's a clear message: while she may comply outwardly, she'll never do anything willingly for me.

Well, we'll see about that, my little hellcat. I raise an eyebrow, letting her know I got her message, as Judge Thompson turns to me.

"And do you, Andrey Belov, take Isabella Moretti to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

My turn. I look into Isabella's eyes, deliberately tightening my hands on hers, my way of saying I'll never let you go. I lean slightly forward and feel her stiffen somewhat, but she doesn't move or let her mask slip. We're having a silent battle of wills, and Isabella is about to get yet another lesson in how much fucking greater mine is than hers.

"Yes, I do." I lower my voice and add softly with a half smile. "Until death do we part."

To give Isabella her due, she doesn't flinch. The only inclination of any hint of panic is her throat bobbing as she swallows, and that little vein is now trying to burst through her neck it's throbbing so hard.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," Judge Thompson says and takes a step back.

I wonder if he can sense that this part is either going to end in myself and Isabella going up in flames due to all the tension between us or bloodshed as Isabella narrows her eyes warningly.

I'm not sure what she's trying to warn me about because whether she's willing or not, I'm going to seal this union with a kiss in front of my family and our guests. I'll be fucked if I let her embarrass me by turning her cheek on me when I reach for her lips with mine or have her recoil as she did from her father.

Leaning in, I capture her face in my hands. The moment our lips meet, I feel her stiffen, but she doesn't pull away. Not that she could, as I have her head in a vice grip and one hand entangled in her neat chignon.

The cheers of our guests roar beside us. Knowing we're not alone is the only thing ensuring I don't throw Isabella on the ground and show her just how quickly I can turn her stoic mask into one of heated passion. While I'm driving my stiff shaft into her tight wet pussy I could have her screaming I do repeatedly at the top of her lungs.

"If you'll follow me with your witnesses to Ivan's home office," Judge Thompson says, clearing his throat, breaking us apart and pulling me from my thoughts. He turns, leading the way. "There, you can sign the marriage register and get on our way to the Moretti estate for the celebrations."

Urie and his fiancée, Olga Lebedev, our witnesses, follow us into my father's home office while the rest of the guests leave. It takes less than six minutes to get the signing done, and I can see Judge Thompson wants to chat. My eyes catch Urie's, and he ushers the chatty man out.

Isabella starts to walk after them, but I stop her, stepping in front of her as Urie pulls the door shut behind him, leaving us alone, "Not you, Isabella. You and I need to have a little talk before we join the guests at your father's house."

She tilts her head to look at me and raises her eyebrows as she steps backward, putting space between us. "What would you like to discuss…" She gives me a little curtsy before mocking me with an added, " My lord ."

"Oh, Isabella!" My voice drops, and I give a soft laugh. Flipping the lock on the office door, I start to advance toward her. I see her eyes widen momentarily before darting to the door. "If only you knew how calling me master and my lord is affecting me. Trust me, it's not the desired effect I believe you were going for."

I chuckle delightedly as her eyes drop to the monster now straining against my pants. I'm sure of two things right now: one, my wife is about to get a taste of the darker side of me once again, and two, we're going to be late for the celebrations waiting for us at her father's house.

I've decided I'm definitely not waiting until tonight to consummate this marriage while teaching my wife a few lessons in manners and who's in charge!