Chapter 3 - Irina
Irina couldn’t believe it. Out of all the sick bastards who could have bought her, why did it have to be a Volkov?
The realization hit her like a freight train as she sat in the back of the sleek black SUV, her wrists still zip-tied behind her back.
The man beside her might think his alias fooled everyone at that disgusting auction, but Irina had made it her business to know exactly who to look out for after what happened to Azriel.
Her brothers could protest all they wanted about her “meddling,” but she’d done her research.
She knew the sharp angles of those cheekbones, the predatory way he carried himself, the cold calculation behind those golden-brown eyes.
This wasn’t just any Volkov foot soldier. This was Matvei fucking Volkov himself.
The leather seat creaked as she shifted, testing the zip-ties for the hundredth time.
Still tight. Still cutting into her skin.
The bastard hadn’t even bothered to loosen them after dragging her out of that hellhole, just threw her into his vehicle like a piece of cargo he’d purchased. Which, technically, he had.
Her stomach churned at the memory of all those leering faces, the way they’d looked at her like she was meat on display.
But Matvei’s bid had silenced them all, his voice cutting through the crowd with an authority that made even the auctioneer straighten up.
She should have been grateful, she supposed.
Some of those other men had looked like they’d enjoy breaking her in ways that would leave permanent scars.
But gratitude was the last thing on her mind as she studied her captor from the corner of her eye.
He was bigger than she’d anticipated from the grainy surveillance photos Kostya had shown her months ago.
The expensive suit did nothing to hide the lethal muscle underneath, and those minimal tattoos she could see peeking from his collar spoke of a man who’d earned his position through violence, not inheritance.
His blond hair was perfectly styled despite the chaos of the evening, and when he’d grabbed her arm to guide her from the auction house, his grip had been firm enough to leave bruises.
Handsome didn’t begin to cover it. The man was devastating in a way that made her hate herself for noticing.
“Stop staring,” he said without looking at her, his voice carrying that same commanding tone that had dominated the auction. “It’s rude.”
Irina’s temper flared. “Rude? You just bought me like a fucking cow at market, and you’re lecturing me about manners?”
That got his attention. Those golden eyes snapped to hers, and for a moment, she saw something flicker there. Surprise, maybe. Or amusement. It was gone too quickly to be sure.
“Watch your mouth,” he said, but there was no real heat behind it. If anything, he sounded almost... impressed?
“Or what? You’ll return me for a refund?” She leaned forward as much as the zip-ties allowed, ice-blue eyes blazing. “Face it, Volkov. You’re stuck with me now.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. So he knew that she knew. Interesting.
“Smart girl,” he murmured, and something about the way he said it made her skin prickle with awareness. “Though not quite smart enough to avoid getting yourself kidnapped in the first place.”
The barb found its mark. Irina’s cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. “Maybe if my brothers had bothered to teach me how to defend myself instead of treating me like spun glass, things would have gone differently.”
“Poor little princess, locked away in her ivory tower.” His tone was mocking, but his eyes never left her face. “Must be hard being the precious baby sister.”
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“I know enough.” He settled back against his seat, studying her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
“I know you’ve been trying to insert yourself into family business for years.
I know your brothers and cousins think you’re too delicate for the real work.
And I know you’ve been gathering intelligence on my family since the Azriel incident. ”
Irina’s blood ran cold. How could he possibly know about her research? She’d been so careful, using burner phones and encrypted channels, never accessing anything from the family computers.
“Nothing to say now?” Matvei’s smile was sharp as a blade. “You’re not the only one who does their homework, little Nikolai. The difference is, I’m actually good at it.”
The SUV slowed, and Irina’s heart began to race as she recognized they were pulling into some kind of government building. The courthouse. Her mind scrambled to process what that could mean, even as dread pooled in her stomach.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
The driver, a mountain of a man with graying temples, came around to open Matvei’s door. Her captor slid out with fluid grace, then turned back to her with an expectant look.
“Come on. We don’t have all night.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”
Those golden eyes hardened. Without warning, he reached in and hauled her out of the vehicle, one arm wrapping around her waist to steady her as she stumbled on unsteady legs. The contact sent an unwelcome jolt of electricity through her, and she cursed her body’s traitorous reaction.
“What’s happening,” he said, his breath warm against her ear, “is that you’re going to walk into that building like a good girl and do exactly what I tell you to do. Because if you don’t, I’ll carry you over my shoulder, and I promise you won’t enjoy the alternative.”
The threat should have terrified her. Instead, it sent a dangerous thrill racing down her spine. What the hell was wrong with her?
“You’re insane if you think I’m just going to meekly follow along with whatever sick game this is.”
“This isn’t a game.” His grip tightened, and she could feel the tension radiating from his body. “This is business. And you, sweetheart, are about to become a very important part of it.”
He guided her up the courthouse steps, his hand burning through the thin fabric of her dress. Irina’s mind raced as she tried to piece together his endgame. Why bring her here? What kind of business required a courthouse at nearly midnight?
The answer hit her like a physical blow as they approached a clerk’s window where a bored-looking woman waited with a stack of papers.
“No.” The word tore from her throat as understanding crashed over her. “No, absolutely not.”
“Marriage license,” Matvei said to the clerk, completely ignoring Irina’s growing panic. “We called ahead.”
“You can’t be serious.” Irina dug her heels in, trying to pull away from his iron grip. “This is kidnapping, coercion, illegal detention...”
“This is business,” he repeated, those cold eyes never leaving the clerk as she shuffled through her paperwork. “Nothing personal.”
Nothing personal. The words hit her like a slap. Of course it wasn’t personal. She was just a pawn in whatever game he was playing with her family. A tool to be used and discarded when she was no longer useful.
The realization should have made her feel better. Instead, it filled her with a rage so pure it took her breath away.
“My brothers will kill you for this,” she hissed, struggling against the zip-ties until her wrists were raw and bleeding. “They’ll tear this city apart stone by stone until they find you.”
“Let them try.” He finally looked down at her, and the predatory smile on his lips made her stomach flip. “By the time they figure out where you are, it’ll be too late. You’ll already be mine.”
Mine. The possessive way he said it sent another unwelcome shiver through her, and she hated herself for it. This man had bought her, was forcing her into marriage against her will, and her body was still responding to him like he was some kind of dark fantasy come to life.
“I won’t sign anything,” she said desperately. “You can’t make me.”
His smile widened, showing teeth. “Watch me.”
The clerk looked up, clearly uncomfortable with the obvious tension between them. “Sir, if the lady is unwilling...”
“The lady is being dramatic,” Matvei said smoothly, his public facade sliding into place like a mask. “Pre-wedding nerves. You understand.”
“I am not having a pre-wedding anything!” Irina snapped. “This man kidnapped me! He’s forcing me to...”
Matvei’s hand moved to the small of her back, fingers digging in just hard enough to make her gasp. The clerk couldn’t see the grip, couldn’t see the way his touch was both threat and promise.
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice honey-sweet and utterly terrifying, “you’re making a scene.”
The endearment was a warning, and they both knew it.
Irina’s mind raced as she weighed her options.
She could keep fighting, keep screaming, hope someone would intervene.
But this was clearly a setup, the clerk was probably paid off, and making more noise would only give Matvei an excuse to make good on his earlier threat.
Or she could play along. Let him think he’d won while she figured out how to turn this to her advantage.
The thought that had been brewing since she’d first recognized him suddenly crystallized into something concrete. What if she could be the spy who infiltrated the Volkov organization? What if she could gather enough intelligence to finally give her family the upper hand they needed?
It would be dangerous. Possibly fatal if she were caught. But it would also be the greatest contribution she could make to the family business, the ultimate proof that she was more than just the precious baby sister who needed protecting.
“Fine,” she said quietly, and felt Matvei’s grip on her waist relax slightly. “But I want these zip-ties removed first. I can’t sign anything with my hands behind my back.”
He studied her face for a long moment, clearly trying to gauge whether this was another trick. Finally, he reached into his jacket and produced a small knife, moving behind her to cut the plastic restraints.
The relief as circulation returned to her hands was immediate, but Irina barely noticed. She was too focused on the feeling of his body heat at her back, the careful way he made sure not to cut her skin as the zip-ties fell away.
“There,” he murmured, his lips close enough to her ear that she could feel his breath. “Much better.”
She turned to face him, rubbing her raw wrists, and found herself trapped between his body and the clerk’s window. He was even more imposing up close, broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world, golden eyes focused on her with an intensity that made her feel like prey.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she said, proud of how steady her voice sounded. “I’m only doing this because I don’t have a choice.”
“I know.” Something flickered across his expression, too quick to interpret. “But you’re doing it all the same.”
The clerk cleared her throat. “If you’re ready to proceed...”
Matvei handed over what appeared to be a substantial amount of cash along with two sets of identification papers. Irina caught a glimpse of her photo on documents she’d never seen before and realized just how long he’d been planning this. The level of preparation was both impressive and terrifying.
“Sign here,” the clerk said, pushing the papers toward them. “Both of you.”
Irina stared down at the marriage license, her name already filled in next to his alias. Marcus Volkov. Even his fake identity was a barely concealed threat.
Her hand shook as she picked up the pen. This was it. Once she signed, there would be no going back. She would be legally bound to this dangerous man, trapped in whatever web he was weaving around her family.
But she would also be inside his organization. Privy to his plans, his weaknesses, his secrets. She could feed information back to her brothers, help them anticipate and counter his moves. She could be the weapon that brought down the Volkov empire from within.
The pen scratched across the paper as she signed her name with deliberate precision. Beside her, Matvei did the same, his signature bold and confident.
“Congratulations,” the clerk said with forced cheer. “You’re now legally married.”
Married. To Matvei Volkov. The man who was planning to destroy her family.
Irina looked up at her new husband and found him watching her with an unreadable expression. There was something almost like respect in his eyes, as if he recognized the courage it had taken for her to sign.
“Hello, wife,” he said softly, and the word sent a dangerous thrill through her veins.
“Hello, husband,” she replied, putting every ounce of defiance she could muster into the word. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
His smile was sharp and predatory and absolutely devastating. “Trust me, sweetheart. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
As he guided her back toward the SUV, his hand possessive on her lower back, Irina couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just signed her name to something far more dangerous than a marriage license.
She’d signed up for a war.