: Chapter 22

Anissa is almost better.

She’s managed to pull herself out of bed, and I’ve allowed it.

She did such an impressive job with the task Rafail gave her that he wants to assign her another. But I tell him she needs a break because she’s been sick.

The truth is—I don’t want her working.

I miss her.

I’ve done everything I can to baby her. And while she protests and insists she can handle herself, she likes it.

I know she does.

And goddamn, I love having someone to take care of.

She praises my cooking and sighs contentedly when I rub her back. We take every bath or shower together now. I love the way she lets me massage her skin and wash her hair.

I even painted her nails. It was harder than it looked.

But it hasn’t been easy not fucking her through all of this.

I’ve banged a few off in the shower, but it does nothing to satisfy my appetite.

I want her hot, tight cunt wrapped around my cock.

Her nails clawing at my back.

Her over my knee because she’s earned a good fucking spanking with her sass.

I want her.

But I don’t want to hurt her.

Rafail gives me a laundry list of tasks, and when I finally go looking for her, she’s nowhere to be found.

“Anissa!” I yell, fearing the worst. My heartbeat thunders.

‘Over here!’

I follow her voice and find her standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a ridiculous amount of shopping bags.

The glint in her eyes is wicked.

I take one look at the mess she’s made and groan. ‘Oh my god.’

She grins. ‘Nah,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘He’s not gonna save you tonight.’

‘Woman,’ I growl. ‘Please.’

‘It’s been days,’ she purrs, stepping closer. ‘I’m fine now. Really. I want you.’

My jaw tightens. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

She tilts her head. ‘What if I want you to hurt me?’

I shake my head. ‘I won’t do it that way.’

But that doesn’t mean I can’t touch her.

That doesn’t mean I can’t make her come.

I strip her slowly, deliberately, kissing the slope of her shoulder, the curve of her cheek.

With a sigh that makes my dick hard, she whispers, ‘I’ve missed this.”

‘So have I.’

I bury my face in her hair and inhale.

I remember the way I used to ache for her scent when I was stalking her.

I wanted her so fucking bad.

And now…

Now, she’s in my arms.

And she’s so much more than I ever imagined she would be.

I nuzzle the swell of her breast, flick my tongue over her nipple, and lay her on the bed. I’m dizzy with need, I want her so damn bad.

‘I want you inside me,’ she whispers. “Please.”

I shake my head. ‘Not yet. I want to make sure you’re better.’

She moans, arching against me, and whines when I pull away.

I smirk. ‘Behave yourself.’

She smirks right back and spreads her legs.

Fuck.

Her pussy is glistening, her thighs slick with arousal, driving me out of my fucking mind.

‘Maybe you can fuck me in the shower,’ she suggests, her voice low, teasing. ‘Maybe you’d feel better about that.’

“No.”

Her lips part in protest, and she lets out a whine. “Why do I have to beg?”

I’ve had enough.

I flip her over my lap, press my palm to her lower back, and cup her ass.

She gasps.

But of course, she only squirms and spreads her legs wider, offering herself to me.

I groan, sliding my fingers through her wet heat, teasing her and circling her aching clit.

‘I do owe you a spanking, don’t I?’ I murmur.

A wicked little smirk. A slow, deliberate nod. ‘I think you do… Daddy.’

Oh, I like the brat.

I like the brat a lot.

I spank her, my palm curving as it slaps across her ass perfectly.

Jesus, that feels good.

‘Say it again.’

‘Say what, Daddy?’ Her voice is all tease, all temptation. ‘Is that what you want? Is that why you fed me in bed and took care of me?’

I spank her again, harder this time, my handprint marking her perfect ass. ‘You kinky little witch.’

She moans and writhes, grinding against my fingers.

‘Fuck me, Daddy. Please.’

‘I told you. Not yet.’ I rub slow, teasing circles over her clit. ‘That doesn’t mean you can’t come, baby. Here. Open up for Daddy.’

Jesus fuck,I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe how fucking hard it made me.

I stroke her, sliding my fingers deep inside her, and she moans, her hips rocking desperately against my hand.

Fuck a week, might as well be an eternity.

I squeeze her nipples, circling her clit as she takes all of it, her body trembling beneath me.

‘I’m so turned on,’ she gasps. ‘I can’t let go. I can’t… I’m all tense.’

I spank her again.

‘Are you trying to rush me?’ My voice drops, turning lethal. ‘Who said we’re on a timeframe?’

I lean down, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the red handprint on her ass. She shivers.

I love that reaction.

She moans and rides my fingers, but I slow down, taking my time because I know what she needs.

I lay her on her back, and her eyes go wide as I wrap my hand around her throat. I flex just enough for her to gasp while I pump my fingers inside her.

Her hips lift off the bed, begging.

I press my fingertips into her neck, her pulse racing under my hand.

I stroke her clit, bend down, and bite her nipple.

With a strangled cry, she comes. Hard.

Her back arches off the bed, and I don’t stop. I keep stroking, teasing, watching the way she writhes beneath me, lost in pleasure.

Jesus, she’s beautiful when she comes like this.

And I am hard as fuck.

‘Oh my god,’ she pants out, coming back down from her high.

She reaches for my belt buckle, her hands shaking.

‘I’m not going to⁠—’

‘I know, I know.’ She pouts. ‘But if I don’t get your cock in me right now… Promise me I will soon,’ she demands, her lower lip jutting out petulantly.

It’s adorable.

Her little pout.

Her need.

‘Oh, I promise,’ I murmur darkly. ‘I’ll fucking rail you. Harder than you’ve ever had it before. Every. Fucking. Day.’

I lean down, my lips grazing her ear.

‘There won’t be another cycle, Anissa.’

She stills.

‘I’ll put my baby inside you.’

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she strokes my cock, her gaze darting to the side as if trying to process it.

Then she bends, licks the head, and moans.

That’s all the encouragement I need.

I brace myself over her and fuck her mouth.

She moans, swallowing me whole, sucking, licking the tip, her eyes rolling back as if I’m the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted.

‘Yes,’ she groans around my cock. ‘Fuck my mouth.’

I fuck her hard—until her eyes water and she cries out. But she’s into this.

She cups my balls, her head moving in rhythm, tugging me back and forth, taking me.

‘You take me so fucking good, beautiful,’ I growl. ‘Such a good girl, taking my cock. That’s right, baby. That’s exactly what Daddy wants.’

I fist her hair, guiding her, my cock hitting the back of her throat, and she swallows perfectly.

Jesus.

She strokes the base of my cock, licking and sucking my balls until I feel it—until I know I’m about to come.

She nods, encouraging me, eyes burning with hunger.

‘You gonna take it?’

She grins around my cock. ‘Yes. Give it to me. I want to taste you.’

That’s it.

I come so hard I see stars, spilling into her mouth, and she swallows every fucking drop.

Her tongue circles me, teasing, stroking, milking me for everything I have.

Fucking perfect.

I needed this.

I missed this.

We collapse onto the bed, the smell of sex thick in the air.

She grins up at me. ‘I’m game for doing that again.’

I chuckle, pinching her ass.

She squeals. ‘That hurts! You spanked the shit out of me.’

‘Didn’t give you half of what you deserved,’ I grumble.

She tilts her head, hopeful. ‘Is that a rain check?’

I shake my head. ‘Yeah, baby. It’s a rain check.’

We lie in the quiet, my fingers threading through her hair.

I cradle the back of her head, pressing her to my shoulder.

It feels right.

Too fucking right.

‘You’re better,’ I murmur. ‘But we need to talk.”

She freezes, but before she can say anything, I continue.

‘Listen. I talked with Polina.’

She stiffens.

I nod, my throat tightening. ‘Remember, Polina is loyal to Rafail. She has to report anything that could be… concerning. Anything that could impact our Bratva. Potential blowback.’

Her brows knit, her lips pressing into a thin line. ‘Yeah. I won’t forget that.’

I swallow, then go for it.

‘Polina told me that the condition you have right now can be genetic.’ I pause, watching her face. ‘But that it’s likely from scar tissue.’

Her expression doesn’t change, but she goes completely still.

‘Anissa. Is that true?’

She’s silent for a long moment before she whispers, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I tighten my grip, my fingers pressing into her skin. I’m careful not to hurt her. “You have to.”

“Why?” Her voice is raw. “It’s in the past.”

I lift her hair, twisting gently, just enough to tilt her chin and force her to meet my eyes. Her gaze is wide. Unblinking. But she doesn’t look away. And the raw pain in her eyes makes me vow to kill whoever hurt her.

I’d do anything for her. Anything.

“Because I need to know,” I say, intentionally gentling my voice. I lean in, my lips grazing her ear, my breath hot against her skin. “If there’s someone in your past who hurt you—someone still breathing—tell me now.”

My fingers curl tighter. “Because if there is, I’ll make sure they don’t for much longer.”

I let the words sink in.

She swallows, and for the first time, I see it.

Not fear. Not horror.

Hope.

I press on. ‘Scar tissue comes from two things, Anissa.’ I pause. ‘Surgery or injury.’ I wait. “Did you have surgery?”

She exhales, then shakes her head. “No. But I won’t be the only one spilling secrets, Matvei. I’ll tell you what happened to me”—she tilts her head, studying me—“if you answer a question of mine.’

I nod.

I have nothing to hide.

‘I want you to tell me all about the night you had to kill your brother.’

Her voice is steady, but her eyes… her eyes hold something deeper.

‘I know you want to understand me,’ she continues, “but I need to understand you.’

I wasn’t expecting that.

Wasn’t expecting that at all.

‘Fine.’ My voice is rough. ‘I’ll tell you anything.’

She tilts her head, considering. ‘I’ll even go first if you want me to,’ I add.

She nods. ‘I’m going to take you up on that.’

I draw in a breath.

I’ve never told anybody what happened.

The only people who needed to know… were there with me.

If my parents knew, they would hate me even more than they already do—if that’s even possible.

They know he died.

They know he was punished.

They know I was there.

They don’t know why I was the one who pulled the trigger.

‘My brother betrayed the Bratva.’ My voice is steady, cold. Detached. ‘We have a code. A sacred code. He broke it. And because of that, he faced the ultimate consequence. Vorovskoy Mir, the Thieves’ Code.”

The Bratva comes before all else.

Never cooperate with the authorities.

Never, ever betray your brothers.

She exhales softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘Et tu, Brute?’

I swallow.

‘He was my little brother,’ I say, my chest tightening. ‘I protected him. I loved him. When we were younger, I held him accountable for things, but I never imagined I’d have to hold him accountable for this.’

She doesn’t flinch.

She doesn’t recoil.

She just absorbs it.

And the pain in my chest loosens just a little.

‘I can see that,’ she murmurs. ‘What happens when someone betrays the Bratva?’ she asks. ‘I know what the Irish do—something tells me the Bratva is even worse.’

I let out a humorless laugh.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘The Irish are pretty fucking brutal. We lose the privilege of our tattoos.’

She cringes.

Her eyes widen. ‘Oh my god. So you… you remove them? I’m guessing that doesn’t involve a laser.”

‘Yeah.’

I don’t tell her how.

I don’t tell her that, in my brother’s case, it involved a blowtorch.

The smell of burnt flesh still makes me retch if I think about it too long. I can’t even grill anymore.

I force a smile. She looks at me like she understands exactly what I mean.

‘Oh, Jesus, Matvei.’

‘Yeah.’ My throat tightens. ‘That was just the beginning.’

I drag a hand through my hair. ‘I made him state the code while he was dying. Semyon had already beaten the shit out of him. He was conscious when I finally got to him.’ I swallow. ‘I told him I loved him. But I was loyal to the process. And I was the one who pulled the trigger.’

She doesn’t speak for a long moment.

‘You shot him?’ she finally asks.

I nod.

Rafail didn’t make me dispose of the body.

I was a fucking wreck after that.

I couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

My mother tried to have me committed, but Rafail intervened. She didn’t know the half of it.

I shake my head, laughing bitterly. “Started smoking then.”

“Did it help?” she asks quietly.

I look in her eyes. “Took the edge off.”

A flicker of something like understanding passes through her expression.

“Took years to find you,” I continue. “You know that.”

She swallows. “I know.”

“And it wasn’t until Semyon needed help and I went through Anya’s brother’s computer that I finally did.”

Her lips part slightly. “Because of the Irish.”

“Yeah.” My jaw tightens. “The Irish.”

I thought telling her this would be brutal. And it is. But somehow, saying it out loud makes it a little easier to bear.

I exhale. “Your turn.”

The memory of what I had to do has me fired up.

I need another target—one that ends in victory instead of crushing devastation.

For a moment, she doesn’t speak. Then she lets out a slow breath like she’s bracing for impact. ‘I think I need a shot. Or drugs.’

I smirk. ‘I can arrange that.”

‘That… would actually be really good,’ she says.

I nod, walk over to my desk, and pull out one of the joints I keep for special occasions. I don’t smoke often, but sometimes, it helps. I like sharing one with her.

I light up, take a slow drag, and bring it over to her.

I pass it to her, watching as she presses it to her lips. She inhales deeply, holds it for a moment, then exhales slowly.

Tendrils of smoke curl through the air. The sweet, smoky smell is the only one I can handle.

We pass it back and forth in silence.

The flicker of fire.

The ring of smoke.

The sweet, earthy scent.

The pressure in my chest eases just a little.

I lean back in bed.

‘That’ll make me horny,’ she murmurs.

I smirk. ‘Is that supposed to be a warning?’

She exhales another slow drag.

‘Rafail wasn’t the first person I was promised to,’ she says suddenly.

I blink.

That is not where I expected this conversation to go. I’m already ready to murder someone, and I don’t even know the story yet.

“My father had a friend,” she says, her voice quiet. Controlled. Too controlled. “He was old and gross. He had a reputation for hurting women. Easily twenty years older than me. And when I found out my father promised me to him, I ran.” She swallows hard. “That was the first time.”

She stops and closes her eyes for a second. I hold her hand, pushing beyond the need to hear everything now. “He caught me.”

Her voice is flat. Devoid of emotion. That makes it so much worse.

“He said he wouldn’t have an ungrateful brat for a wife. So he had his men… beat me.”

My hands clench into fists. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “They laid me down. Kicked me. Broke my ribs. Stomped on my abdomen.” She exhales shakily. I blink to clear the red in my vision. “Two black eyes. A busted lip. Four broken ribs.” A pause. “I didn’t know I sustained those until my father brought me to a doctor a month later because he was sick of waking up to the sound of my coughing.”

I can’t fucking breathe.

This is the only time in my life I remember wishing that someone was still alive only so that I could have the privilege of killing them all over again.

She doesn’t react, just stares past me as if she’s still locked in that room. “My father said I was an ungrateful little bitch, and I deserved what I got.”

Something inside me snaps. My vision tunnels. The entire world narrows to her.

“So after I healed,” she says bitterly, “he arranged to give me to someone else.”

I force the words through gritted teeth. “Rafail. Who was the man who hurt you?”

She looks away.

‘Who was it?’ I growl.

‘I don’t remember.’

She’s lying.

Why the fuck is she covering for them?

I step closer, my voice a razor’s edge. ‘You know I’ll find out. There’s no point in lying to me.’

She still won’t look at me.

‘Anissa.’

Nothing.

Then finally, so quietly, it almost doesn’t reach me, “I’m not worth starting a battle over, Matvei.”

The laugh that escapes me is dark and vicious.

I kneel on the bed beside her, grip her chin, and force her to look at me.

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I murmur. ‘You’re worth the fucking war.’

Her eyes fill with tears, and she tries to blink them away.

She fails.

‘Why me?’ she whispers.

I give her the simplest answer because I don’t want to tell her how much she means to me.

‘Because you’re mine.’

I pause.

‘You know I’ll find out who it was, and easily.”

If it was someone in our alliance, I’ll fucking⁠—

She exhales. ‘I really don’t know. But I could find out.’ Her lips twitch. ‘Forgery is my specialty, after all.’

Again, she doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘What if I’m not who you think I am? What if⁠—’

‘I told you. You’re mine. I’m not under any delusion that I know you perfectly or that we’ll never have struggles, nothing to figure out. But what I do know about you?’ I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. ‘You’re fearless. Brilliant.” I smirk. “Kinky as hell. And you were meant for me.” My voice drops, dark and certain. ‘I know that. You’re my woman. And anybody who laid a fucking finger on you is dead.’

Her breath catches.

‘I’ve killed for a fuck of a lot less than this, woman.’

Her eyes light up, and that wicked little smirk curves her lips.

My little witch.

Casting her spell on me, magic sparking in her gaze.

‘Come here.’

She fists my shirt and yanks me toward her.

I shake my head. ‘I want you to get some sleep. I have work to do.’

She props herself up on her elbows, watching me thoughtfully. ‘I’ll try…’ She pauses. ‘Back in my apartment—did you fuck around with my sleep meds?’

I meet her gaze head-on. ‘I did. I gave you something that would make you think you were hallucinating.’

She shakes her head, muttering, ‘You’re one psycho fucker, you know that?’

I smirk. ‘I know.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘What else did you do?’

‘I’m not telling you.’

‘You’ve already admitted to writing on my walls.’ She glares. ‘Did you fuck around with my playlist? Did you put a Russian lullaby on it?’

I shrug. ‘Maybe.’

She scoffs. ‘You rearranged my clothes, didn’t you?’

I shrug again.

She shakes her head but is already scrolling through her phone. I watch as her fingers fly over the screen.

She’s searching for someone.

Aria.

It’s six hours earlier in America—she should be able to get her attention at this time of day.

‘You took my blonde wig,’ she says suddenly, her eyes locked on mine.

I exhale sharply. ‘Do we really need to go through all this? Can’t we just let bygones be bygones?’

She crosses her arms. ‘Fucking around with my bank account was a low blow, Matvei.’

I arch a brow, already opening the door. ‘I never fucked with your bank account.’

She stares at me, brow furrowing.

Who the fuck touched her money? Was someone else fucking around with her?

Fucking who?

And then my phone pings.

Goddamn, I have to take this call.

Aria.