ANA
“Dochka.” The familiar word slices through the heavy air, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn, seeing my father standing in the doorway. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, holding a small bouquet that feels like a cruel joke. His eyes are haunted as they meet mine. He’s trying to smile, trying to be strong. For me. I walk toward him without a word, stepping into his arms as they open, and the second his warmth wraps around me, something inside me breaks. A tear slips free, hot and fast, but I wipe it away quickly, as if it never existed. He can’t know. He’s carrying enough guilt without my pain adding to it. “How are you holding up?” His voice is rougher than usual as he hands me the bouquet—small, delicate, like me. Like the old me. “Do you want me to stay? I can wait with you until it’s time.” I force a smile so tight it hurts. “I’m fine, Papa. It’s my wedding day, right? I’m happy.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. He sees through it, his jaw tightening as he reaches out and cups my cheek, his touch too soft for this moment, for the nightmare this day has become. “You don’t have to do this. I can find another way. We can delay?—” “No,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. The bouquet slips from my hand, landing on the floor with a dull thud. “We both know there’s no other way.” His face crumples, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He’s been my rock, my protector, my everything since the day my mother died. He was the one who held me through every scraped knee, every disappointment, every victory. And now I have to save him. Tears fill his eyes, and for the first time in my life, I see him break. My father—the man who never flinched when his men were gunned down, the man who stood tall even as his empire burned—is crying. I swallow down the scream clawing its way up my throat. “Papa,” I whisper, grabbing a handkerchief from the dresser and dabbing at his eyes. The sight of his tears shreds me to pieces, but I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not yet. “You were always dreaming about your wedding when you were little,” he says, his voice cracking with nostalgia. “Your dolls, the dress, the big church. It was all you ever talked about.” I smile bitterly, the ache in my chest spreading. “That was before I knew what the world is like.” He shakes his head, pulling me closer. “The world may be ugly,dochka, but your dreams are still yours. I was supposed to protect you from all of this. Not,” his voice breaks, and it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest, “make you pay for my mistakes.” I can’t hold it back anymore. The tears spill over, hot and unchecked, running down my face in streaks. “I’ll be fine,” I manage to say, even though it’s a lie. A lie I’ve been telling myself since the day this nightmare began. I’ve learned from him how to put on a mask, how to make the world believe you’re unbreakable when you’re already shattered. His hand drops to his side, but the look in his eyes is killing me. “I know you will,” he whispers, his voice filled with both pride and sorrow. “You’re my daughter.” We stand in silence, the weight of what’s coming pressing down on us both. This room feels like a tomb—cold, suffocating, the exact opposite of what a wedding should be. I always imagined a day filled with light, love, and laughter. I dreamed of a beautiful dress, walking down the aisle toward a man who looked at me as if I was his entire world. Instead, I’m walking toward a man I despise. No expenses have been spared, but there’s no amount of luxury that can mask the truth. In a few short minutes, I’ll be promising myself to a stranger—a man I’m marrying not for love, but for survival. Twelve-year-old me would have run screaming from this moment. She would have refused. But I don’t have that luxury. If I don’t marry him, my father will lose everything. His empire, his men, maybe even his life. What a sick, twisted fairytale. My father steps back, clearing his throat. “I should check on things,” he says, though his voice wavers with uncertainty. I shake my head, cutting him off before he can offer to stay again. “I’ll be fine. I’m Nikolas Petrov’s daughter, after all.” The words are meant to comfort him, but the pride in my voice feels hollow. Still, it makes him smile, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes. He pulls me into one last hug, and I cling to him, holding on tighter than I ever have . “I’ll see you at the chapel,dochka,” he whispers. I kiss his cheek, fighting the urge to beg him not to leave. Helplessly, I watch as the door closes behind him. The moment he’s gone, my legs give out, and I collapse into the chair, burying my face in my hands. My tears continue to fall freely, and I pray for a miracle. For the ground to swallow me whole and spit me out somewhere far, far away from here. Somewhere I can forget this day ever happened. But I’m not a child anymore. I don’t get to run and hide. This is my duty, my fate, and I’ll walk down that aisle and marry the man I loathe to save the one person I love most in this world. There’s no other choice. An hour later, I sit in front of the mirror, my hair twisted into a blooming low bun, my face smoothed and sculpted by layers of makeup. The woman staring back at me is a stranger—her lips too perfect, her eyes too bright, her expression too composed. It’s as if I’m looking at a mask, rather than a person. The makeup artist gently dabs beneath my eye with a small brush, her movements practiced and gentle. My eyelids flutter closed, grateful for the brief reprieve from staring at the stranger I’ve become. “Do you have allergies?” she asks, her voice laced with concern. “No. Why?” I reply, even though I already know the answer. “You’re teary,” she explains, frowning a little as she inspects her work. I raise a hand instinctively to touch my face but catch myself just in time, letting my arm drop back to my lap. “I’m sorry.” She gives me a reassuring smile in the mirror. “It’s okay. Brides cry all the time. It’s an emotional day.” She pauses, applying more powder under my eyes. “Don’t worry, the mascara is waterproof. It won’t run when you see your husband.” I don’t correct her or tell her I’m not a typical emotional bride. It’s the dread pressing down on me like a stone, threatening to crack me open. I just want this wedding to be over. She brushes the last bit of powder away. “He’s quite the catch, you know. Your fiancé.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He was on the cover ofMost Wanted Bachelorslast month. And now he’s getting married to you.” Her eyes gleam with something—envy, maybe admiration. Either way, it twists in my gut like a knife. If only I could hand him over to her, let her take my place. “Thank you,” I murmur, unsure of what else to say. She hesitates, biting her lip before asking, “Was it love at first sight?” Love. The word tastes like ash in my mouth. I almost laugh—an empty, bitter sound—but I hold it in. How could anyone think love had anything to do with this? Why would I love a man who is marrying me only to punish my father? Dmitri Orlov. Heir to the Orlov empire. To the outside world, he’s a businessman, the golden boy gracing magazine covers, his every move followed by cameras and admirers. But to those of us who know him—truly know him—he’s thepakhan. A man feared for his ruthlessness, a man who crushes his enemies without blinking. The makeup artist doesn’t understand. She could never. I let the silence stretch, and she takes my pause for confirmation, a dreamy smile spreading across her face. “I knew it,” she says, nodding as if she’s solved some great mystery. “With men like that, it’s impossible not to fall in love with them. The way they look at you, it gives you butterflies.” If only she knew. There are no butterflies, only terror. I sigh, glancing back at the mirror. She’s still waiting for an answer, her expression expectant. “Yes,” I lie, forcing a smile. “It was… love at first sight. We met at an event, and when I saw him across the room, I just knew.” Her smile widens, and she nods, satisfied. I feel the weight of my lie settle like a stone in my chest. The organ’s deep,resonant chords fill the air as the chapel doors swing open. I take a deep breath, the veil pressing lightly against my face, my wedding gown heavy around me like chains. My father’s arm slips through mine, his grip steadying me. “Dochka,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m proud of you.” I swallow the lump in my throat, my lips trembling as I force a smile. “Thank you, Papa.” We walk down the aisle together, each step a deliberate effort to keep my body from betraying the panic bubbling just beneath the surface. Faces blur in my peripheral vision—familiar faces, dangerous faces. Friends and enemies alike are watching, waiting. I keep my gaze forward, locked on the man standing at the altar. Dmitri Orlov. He towers over the priest, his expression unreadable, his broad shoulders rigid beneath the perfectly tailored suit. His features are sharp, striking—handsome, yes, but in a way that feels dangerous, predatory. The kind of beauty that warns you not to get too close. My heart stutters as our eyes meet through the thin veil. There’s a cold intensity in his gaze, like he’s stripping me bare, seeing parts of me I’ve never shown to anyone. I look away, focusing on the priest’s voice, though the words slip past me like fog. The vows come and go, my voice sounding distant and hollow as I recite the lines I’ve memorized. Dmitri’s response is short and clipped. He barely looks at me, yet I can feel the weight of his presence, the power he exudes. “And now,” the priest announces, “you may kiss the bride.” The words hang in the air, heavy with finality. I stand frozen, my body stiff, waiting for him to move. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, slowly, Dmitri reaches out, lifting my veil. I hold my breath as his fingers graze my skin, his touch unexpectedly gentle. He steps closer, and I can feel the warmth of his body, the clean, masculine scent filling the space between us. He leans in, his breath ghosting over my lips, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if he’s going to stop. If he’ll pull away and leave this moment unfinished. But he doesn’t. His lips brush against mine—a soft, barely-there touch, yet it ignites something strange and unwelcome inside me. It’s a simple kiss, brief and restrained, but my heart is pounding in my chest, my pulse thrumming loudly in my ears. A flicker of heat surges through me, confusing and unwanted. He pulls away before I can process the feeling, and the room erupts in applause. My hands are trembling as I clasp them together, trying to hold on to something, anything, that makes sense. I glance at my father, watching him wipe a tear from his cheek, but all I can think about is the ghost of Dmitri’s lips on mine. As we step outside the chapel, Dmitri’s hand slips from mine. “I’ll see you at the reception,” he says, his voice detached. “There are things I need to attend to.” Without waiting for my response, he turns and walks away, his broad back disappearing into the crowd. I stand there, watching him go, swallowing down the knot of anger and hurt that rises in my throat. The applause still rings in my ears, but all I feel is emptiness. The tears burn behind my eyes, but I force them back, smiling for the crowd as they spill out of the church. Married. To a man who couldn’t even stay by my side after the ceremony.DMITRI“Mr. Pavlov is waiting in your office,” Jakob, my secretary, says as I stride in.I nod, not breaking pace, and push open the door.Igor Pavlov, thepakhanof one of the New Jersey Bratvas, stands as soon as he sees me. His massive hand stretches out, and I grasp it firmly. “Orlov,” he greets me with a smirk. “You could’ve scheduled this for another time.”“Why would I?” I drop his hand and move behind my desk, letting my briefcase hit the floor with a thud.He shrugs, watching me with sharp, calculating eyes. “You just got married. Figured you’d be on your honeymoon. Or are the rumors true?”I arch an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair. “Rumors?”Before he can answer, there’s a knock. The door swings open, and Alexey steps in, anotherpakhan,with a reputation as unpredictable as his temper. He doesn’t bother with formalities, taking a seat next to Igor like he owns the place.“Roman won’t be joining us,” Alexey informs us, lighting a cigar with a flick of his lighter. “He’s dealin
ANA He appears at the top of the stairs, stepping out of the shadows of the second floor. The gray T-shirt he’s wearing stretches across his chest, showing off the hard muscles beneath, and the black sweatpants hang just low enough to hint at the strong lines of his body. It should be illegal for a man like him to look this good. It’s almost comical, really, how the universe saw fit to give him both power and the body of a Greek god. “Ana,” his deep voice cuts through my thoughts as he approaches, and I freeze on the stairs. I take my time replying, dreading what this encounter will bring. “Yes?” He’s standing just a few steps away, too close for comfort, and I can’t help but notice how the air seems heavier when he’s nearby. “Do you have a moment?” It is a question, but it’s more of a command, really. And what could we possibly have to talk about? I shake my head. “No. And I doubt there’s anything we need to discuss unless it involves making my life more miserable.” W
DMITRII head down the hallway from the conference room, just having concluded a meeting with other members of the Bratva who’ve come to pledge their allegiance and support to the Orlov enterprise.Some of them, like Alexey, didn’t seem so willing, but I could tell theyknewthey didn’t have a choice. I didn’t give them one.And they don’t deserve it, either, because many of them have forgotten what they did to my family after my father died.Nikolai Petrov might have committed the biggest betrayal, but the others aren’t blameless. They all tried to take a piece of what’s mine, coming through side channels because they thought I was too wrapped up in grief to notice.I suppose, in some way, I have to thank Nikolai for being so bold in his claim. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t have gained the upper hand I now enjoy. Even though his daughter tests my patience every single day and I have to summon every shred of self-control I have when I’m around her.She’s an expert at getting under my skin.
As I walk down the hallway that leads to my study, I hear footsteps coming from behind. Since I sent Janet to my room, Iam curious about who’s in this part of the house. I turn and take a few steps forward, coming face-to-face with Ana.She has on a faded blue top and shorts that stop at the hem of the shirt, leaving her legs bare.Her legs draw me in, asking to be wrapped around something. And I can imagine a couple of places where I’d like them to be. While I do things to other partsof her body, to see just how unruly and untamed she can be. And those lips?—How am I just noticing that she has a pale pink upper lip while the bottom one darkens a little around its curves?“Can I help you?” Her curt tone pulls me out of my short reverie.I shake my head, noticing that she’s glaring at me.“No,” I respond.Why was I ogling her?She’s Anastasia Petrov, for goodness sakes. My last name is just an attaché that means nothing but formality. If she were handed a gun and asked to shoot me, sh
ANAI hesitate to open my eyes, even though the sunlight has already flooded the room, casting long beams of warmth across my face. I’ve been lying here, awake, for what feels like hours, but it’s probably only been fifteen minutes. Still, I don’t want to move. There’s no reason to.In my old life, weekends meant something. I would’ve called my father, maybe spent the day at his house helping him with the legal tedium of his business. Or I’d have gone grocery shopping and stocked up on things I enjoyed. My weekends had a purpose back then.But none of that matters here. Not in this empty, echoing house. Not in this cold, new life where the rooms are too big, silent, and suffocating.I sigh, throwing the covers off and rolling out of bed with the grace of a sloth, letting myself collapse onto the floor with a dull thud. The pain is minimal, just enough to remind me I’m alive. I drag myself upright, rubbing the spot on my arm that hit the ground harder than intended.“Why did I do this?
As I turn, I catch a glimpse of a man standing a few feet away, watching me. He’s dressed in a full suit, which seems wildly out of place on a Saturday. Our eyes meet, and he quickly looks away.What the hell?I frown, glancing around. What’s a guy like him doing here? It doesn’t make sense.But then again, none of this makes sense. My life hasn’t made sense in weeks.I shake my head, trying to brush it off. “None of my business,” I mumble to myself as I turn around, continuing down the aisle.But something about the man lingers in my mind. Maybe it’s the way he looked at me—like he knew something I didn’t, like there was some invisible string tethering him to me. Or maybe I’m just paranoid, which wouldn’t be surprising given the circumstances. After all, I’m living in a nightmare I didn’t choose.I try to shake it off, losing myself in the racks of clothes. Ten minutes go by as I sift through Alice and Olivia pieces, trying to decide whether buying something new is even worth it. A d
She pauses. “Is everything okay?”“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice tight. “He wasn’t answering, and now I can’t even dial his number. Could you call him? Don’t tell him I asked you to.”“Of course. I’ll do it right now.”I hang up, and the wait feels like an eternity. Seconds turn into minutes, and I catch myself biting my cuticles—an old habit I’d kicked, which seems to resurface whenever Dmitri’s involved.My phone rings. The moment I hear it, I snatch it up, pressing it to my ear. “Yes?”“You were right, his phone’s still off,” Daria says, her voice careful. “But I called his second line, and he picked up. He told me to tell you he’s fine.”I freeze, processing her words. Hissecond line? I didn’t even know he had another phone.“Did he say anything else?” I ask, the knot in my stomach tightening.“No, Ana. Just that he’s fine.”My forehead wrinkles in confusion, and anger begins to simmer under my skin. “He didn’t say he’d call me back?”She hesitates. “No.”I’m about to say somet
DMITRI“Dmitri Orlov,” Igor announces as he strides into my office, grinning like the fool he is.I know exactly why he’s smiling. He’s just secured a deal usingmyname, thinking I wouldn’t catch on. But I did. Of course, I did. I let him believe he’s clever, though—it’s far more entertaining to watch him dig his own grave.For now, I play along. I turn off my laptop and close the file on my desk before rising to meet him. “Let’s go to the conference room. The others are waiting.”Igor’s grin falters just slightly. “You don’t look like a happy man, Dmitri. Trouble at home?”I shoot him a sidelong glance, my voice cold. “Would you like trouble inyourhome, Igor?”He chuckles nervously, his bravado faltering. “I didn’t mean to pry. Just concerned.”“You don’t need to be concerned. You’re here for business, nothing else.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “Alexey and Bianchi are already seated, and your business is… lesser, compared to theirs. Let’s not waste more time. Time is money, I
I was grateful.Andrei’s face creased with worry. “Are you okay?”I drifted back to the presence and nodded. “I just thought of Dad. I mean, isn’t it funny how I was able to meet you because of the shipment he hid?”“Tell me about it. You think Peter had this all mapped out before he died?” Andrei asked with a playful grin. “That he wanted me to meet you?”I shrugged. “He was a genius. It’s not completely out of the box. He worked with you, so he must’ve known how great of a person you are.”Andrei chuckled. “Your father watched me murder men in cold blood a few times. There is no way he would have wanted a man like me for his daughter.”I looked him straight in the eyes and corrected him. “Every father wants a man who would love and protect their daughter. You’re all of those things, and I’m sure he would have approved.”Even if Mom hadn’t been a fan of it at first, she’d adjusted pretty well.Andrei took my hands and kissed the back of my palm. “And I promise to always love and prot
GiselleSeven Months Later“It’s your birthday in less than an hour,” Mom said over the phone.For the first time since Dad died, she sounded happier, as if she’d finally gotten to that final stage of grief.Acceptance.The stage where even though the pain was still there, it just became easier to live with.I believed I’d also gotten to that stage.There were days when I missed Dad so much and wished he was still here, but those days were fleeting, and I found myself cherishing the memories we had when he was here.I’d shifted my focus to finding my own path in life and living in the moment. Andrei was the moment; because of him, I could live happily and smile freely again, something I never thought I would experience after Dad died.I stared blankly at the wall above me and sighed. “Yes, Mom. It’s my twenty-third birthday in an hour, and the only company I have is an empty house.”It was the first time I’d ever been home alone for a while now. Andrei made it a duty to always come ho
“I think we need to celebrate.” She leaned in and whispered. “Let’s sneak away from here.”I took her hand in mine. “Come with me.”She squinted. “Where are we going?”“You’ll see.”I led her to the rooftop of the building, closing the door behind us to avoid any interruptions and burying the noise of the chaos below.The rooftop was quiet, and the city stretched out before us, a glittering expanse of lights and movement. The night breeze was cool, carrying with it the distant sounds of cars racing down the street.Giselle stood beside me, her hands covered in mine as she admired the full moon and the bed of stars in the sky.Our fingers grazed, and it felt like the entire world had been set ablaze, the heat licking through my veins and the air cracking with a jolt of tension.The weird feeling in my chest intensified, and my pulse raced. It was a reminder of what she meant to me—what I’d just discovered she meant to me.I watched her, something in my chest fluttering as I admired how
AndreiThe air was thick with the aroma of burning cigars, the low murmur of laughter and conversation blending with the shuffle of cards and the clinking of crystal glasses.My fingers drummed idly against the felt-covered table, my gaze sweeping across my opponents.They were all seasoned members of the Bratva with hands that were scarred from bloodshed and dark eyes that threatened death.Antonio Morozov and Victor Volkov.We were all cut from the same cloak—all three of us—bred with cruelty, brutality, and bloodshed. Different in many ways yet similar in more than one.And at this table, every card we tossed was a matter of our pride. The joy that came with victory surpassed winning a war with a rival family.I’d always been a good player, only lost a game a couple of times. My skills were unbeatable, and everyone here knew it.But it was different tonight. Giselle’s presence made it different.She sat on the edge of a leather chair across the room, her back straight and hands fol
I wrapped my arms around his neck, reveling in the heat seeping from his body and into mine as he carried me to our room.His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his body pressing against mine and enveloping me with warmth.We barely made it past the bedroom door when I shifted from the position in one fluid motion, wrapping my legs around his hips and tracing his lips with mine.His arm snaked around me, and one of his hands slid under my swimsuit, finding my bare breast and cupping it.I raked my fingers through his hair and kissed him. It was a hot, searing, primal kiss that evoked something deeper than lust from both of us. It was need, mixed with deep yearning.He deepened the kiss, dragging his thumb across my nipple and twisting it lightly.I moaned into his mouth, bucking when I felt his erection poke against my sex, and ground against him, desperate to ease the throbbing between my thighs.He slid a hand through my thong and cupped my sex, and then, fisting the thong, he ripp
I swam toward him, resting my elbow on the edge just by his feet and tilting my head to look at him. “It’s called a two-piece swimsuit.”“Ah, I see.” He whipped his head around and glared at his guards, a silent signal for them to look away.I laughed. He hadn’t just grown more protective; he’d become even more possessive and jealous as well. It was cute to see. “You know they’ve been watching me swim every day for weeks now, right?”“Well, they’re not allowed to watch you swim anymore. No man is allowed to watch you swim beside me.”I huffed. He’d just saved me from having to discuss the bodyguard situation. “How was work today, husband?”“I had a couple of meetings with thePakhanand a couple of members of the Bratva. All I could think of while I was there was coming back home to you.” He placed a finger beneath my chin and leaned in. “I missed you.”“Me, too.” I squinted and grinned. “I think I missed you more.”He pretended to think for a moment. “I doubt it.”Something about the w
GiselleIt’d been two months since the whole fiasco with the FBI and Tyfun-1. Luckily, the cops hadn’t found anything to implicate me with the drugs, and the news about it had become irrelevant.A lot of things had changed—like my relationship with Andrei.I’d started to truly enjoy his presence, with no fear or doubts attached, and I missed him in his absence—like a part of me had been torn away.He’d changed a lot, too, over the months.Although he was still that dominant, fearful, and brutal man others feared, he’d become softer with me. He smiled more now and didn’t have to pretend to be cold whenever we were together.To be honest, I didn’t think I could’ve pulled a better man than him on my own, even if I tried.It was the middle of summer, and the weather outside was scorching. Andrei wouldn’t be home until evening, and I’d grown tired of watching TV.I went to the pool outside, sliding off my robe and slipping into the water. I groaned as a blissful chill cascaded over me, was
And there was no way in hell I was going home tonight without the damn camellias.***When I got home, Giselle was standing in the living room, arms crossed, waiting. Her hair was loose, falling in dark waves over her shoulders. Her lips parted slightly as her gaze dropped to the box in my hands.She held her chest and exhaled. She ran to me, pressing up on her toes to hug me.I snaked one arm around her waist, hugging her back. She smelled jasmine and vanilla tonight—delicious and sweet.“I was so worried, Andrei,” she whispered, hugging me tightly, as if I would vanish into thin air if she pulled away. “You told me you were coming home hours ago.”I pulled back first and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “I was coming home until I saw something that looked just as beautiful as you.”She peered at the box again but completely ignored it. “Did you get into trouble? Was thePakhanmad at you?”I looked at her long and hard—the way her brows creased with worry and her emerald eyes da
“I’ve seen how you men live. I’ll be damned before I let myself become that kind of a mess.”I nodded. I’d thought the same thing months ago, and here I was, risking it all for a woman I never thought I’d meet.She’d been freaking worried this morning, afraid of how this would turn out. I needed to go back home to her. I needed to see her face and watch her give that delightful smile when I broke the news to her.Rising to my feet, I smoothed out my suit and nodded to thePakhan. “I’ll be leaving now. I’ll give you an update if there’s any soon.”He nodded back. “Khorosho.”Dobryn was leaning on the white S.U.V. when I reached the parking lot. His face wrinkled with concern when he saw me. “How did it go, sir?”“Luckily, he wasn’t angry.” I climbed into the back seat, pulling out my phone to text Giselle that I was on my way home.The car roared beneath me, and soon, Dobryn reeled it out of the parking lot. “Where are we going now?” he asked, peering at me through the rearview mirror.