CHAPTER 8
Naomi
I pushed the food around on my plate, unable to eat another bite of the rich meal without throwing it back up. I thought that the wedding would be the most nerve-wracking part of today, but sitting beside my “husband” and watching him proceed to get drunk was perhaps worse.
It wasn’t because he was drunk. No, I was kind of hoping that he would have too much to drink and would delay the whole consummation for at least one night so I could figure out how I was going to explain to him that I wasn’t a virgin.
It was the fact that he could be violent. I had seen it before, and with the amount of alcohol he was consuming, there was no doubt that he wasn’t going to be the man I had wed today.
Not that I knew him at all.
Gavril Kirilenko was a man shrouded in brutality, but also there was a measure of intrigue I was finding with him. It had all started with the moment yesterday where he thought it was better for me to suck his cock as an apology than to do anything else. What kind of power trip did that give him?
What sort of man didn’t give a shit about who was around to just do that?
I didn’t find him as forthcoming or as easily read either. Gavril was clearly a man who liked to be in control at all times, given that he had mentioned it to me repeatedly throughout our reception alone. He wanted Sveta’s devotion to him. He wanted her to know that there would be no one else.
Had that happened to him before?
Rubbing my forehead, I pushed my plate away and reached for my wine, taking a small sip. I wasn’t a wine drinker much, but if ever I needed liquid courage, I needed it now.
Gavril stood suddenly, holding up his hands and quieting the people that were left. I was amazed at how he could do that so effortlessly, how he commanded a room in ways I hadn’t even seen Roman do before. “Friends,” he announced, his voice booming over the outdoor space. “It’s time for you to leave, and time for me to take my bride upstairs.”
A lump appeared in my throat as, nearly immediately, people started to gather their things, the scrape of chairs across the flagstone surface filling the air. No one looked my way as they filed out either and once the last person had rounded the corner, Gavril reached out with his hand. “Come, Sveta,” he said, his eyes bright and face flushed from the alcohol he had consumed. “It’s time.”
I wanted to balk at his hand, to refuse to take it, but with him the way he was, I was scared, no, terrified, of what he might do next.
So, I took his hand, allowing him to help me up.
“Her room is ready,” Vera stated, appearing out of nowhere. “I can help her tonight.”
“No,” Gavril barked, pulling me to his side, his strong body leaning on me. “She is my wife. She will spend the night in my rooms.”
Vera’s eyes widened. Clearly that wasn’t something that happened very often. What did he have in his rooms?
A wall of weapons?
A torture rack?
Dead bodies?
A bubble of laughter nearly escaped me, and I had to swallow hard to keep it from coming up to the surface. Whatever Gavril was hiding in there, I was about to find out.
“Yes, master,” she answered, lowering her head. Gavril didn’t acknowledge her as we strolled past, his pace clipped and hurried. I wanted to tell him to slow down, but I knew he wouldn’t listen, and my heart hammered against my chest wall at what awaited me tonight.
We took a hard right once inside the house, bypassing the stairs and moving to the back side of the house, where a door sat closed. Gavril released my hand long enough to touch his watch to the lock on the outside and I heard the door pop open, only furthering my curiosity.
Good God, what did he have in there that needed to be locked up?
The lights came on the moment we stepped over the threshold, and I found myself in the midst of a small sitting area with dark leather furniture and a large TV over an unlit fireplace.
Gavril’s private domain.
I turned to find him shutting the door with a solid click, his hands already ripping at his jacket. “Take it off,” he growled as he threw the tuxedo jacket on the floor, loosening a few buttons on his shirt.
My hands shook as I reached for the veil, dislodging it from my hair and placing it on the chair to my right. Next I stepped out of my shoes, the wood floor cold under my feet. I didn’t dare look at Gavril as I reached for the zipper on the dress, letting the silken material puddle at my feet until I stood there in my strapless bra and silk panties.
Goose bumps danced across my skin, but it was nothing compared to the vise on my lungs, finding it difficult to breathe properly.
“Stop,” Gavril commanded.
I let my hands fall to my sides, forcing myself to look up at him. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, his voice deadly calm.
“Y-you,” I forced out in Russian, my tongue thick in my mouth.
No change in his expression. “What purpose do you serve being here?”
“I—” I started, my mind racing with what he would want to hear. What purpose did I serve to him? I knew he probably wasn’t looking for a partner to share in his power, his position.
Was he just looking for a woman to warm his bed or something else? “You want my father’s Bratva,” I finally said. “Having me gets you that.”
Gavril smirked. “Lovely Sveta,” he said in a slow, velvety breath, the sound coating my skin like a silken caress. “I want so much more than that. Having you doesn’t give me what I want.”
He took a step closer to me, and I fought the urge to back away. He moved like an animal stalking his prey, measured and in control even though he had consumed an exorbitant amount of alcohol.
“What I want is a child,” he finally said, his eyes flickering to my stomach. “A child with both bloodlines.”
Oh shit. Realization dawned on me at what he was playing, what he was trying to claim. It wasn’t Sveta; it was the generations he wanted to have.
“With you carrying the heir to the Krasnaya Bratva,” he continued, heedless of my internal panic. “Then your father’s men, your men, will come to me willingly.”