Chapter 4 - Matvei
Matvei had been prepared for screaming. He’d been prepared for tears, for desperate pleas, for her to throw herself on the floor and refuse to move until he dragged her bodily to the altar.
What he hadn’t been prepared for was the way Irina Nikolai picked up that pen and signed her name like she was endorsing a fucking check.
The casual precision of her signature threw him completely off balance.
This wasn’t how kidnapped heiresses were supposed to behave.
They were supposed to be broken, terrified, compliant through fear rather than choice.
They weren’t supposed to look him dead in the eye and call him husband as if it were a challenge.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
As they walked back to the SUV, Matvei’s mind raced through possibilities.
Maybe she was in shock, operating on autopilot while her brain tried to process the trauma.
Maybe she was playing some kind of long game, biding her time until she could escape or turn the tables.
Or maybe she was exactly what she appeared to be: a spoiled Bratva princess who thought she could charm her way out of anything.
None of those options sat well with him. Matvei Volkov hadn’t built his empire by underestimating his enemies, and right now, his new wife felt very much like an enemy.
“Get in,” he said, holding the SUV door open for her.
She complied without argument, settling into the leather seat with the kind of practiced grace that spoke of years of formal training. Finishing school, probably. Or maybe just growing up in a world where every movement was scrutinized and judged.
Matvei slid in beside her, immediately aware of how small the space felt with both of them in it. She smelled like expensive perfume underneath the lingering scent of fear and adrenaline, a contradiction that somehow perfectly encapsulated everything confusing about this woman.
“So,” he said as the driver pulled away from the courthouse, “are you going to tell me why you signed that license, or do I have to guess?”
Irina turned to look at him, those ice-blue eyes unreadable in the dim light. “Does it matter? It’s done now.”
“It matters to me.” He shifted to face her fully, using his size to crowd her against the window.
“See, I was expecting you to fight me every step of the way. I had a whole speech prepared about what would happen to your precious brothers if you didn’t cooperate.
But you didn’t give me the chance to use it. ”
She was quiet for a long moment, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. When she finally spoke, her voice was tired in a way that seemed bone-deep.
“You want to know why I signed?” She leaned forward suddenly, getting right in his face with a boldness that caught him off guard.
“Because I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, thrown around like a piece of meat, and sold to the highest bidder. I’m exhausted, I’m sore, I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I would really like to sit down somewhere that isn’t moving.”
The raw honesty in her voice made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. Up close, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly despite her defiant posture. She was running on pure adrenaline, and it was starting to crash.
“Besides,” she continued, settling back against the seat, “if you meant to hurt me, you wouldn’t have married me first, would you?
Marriage implies some kind of value, some reason to keep me alive and relatively intact.
So forgive me if I chose the path that seemed most likely to end with me breathing. ”
Then, her eyes narrowed just slightly, sharpened like glass.
“And as for my brothers... You think threatening them will scare me? The men you’re thinking of would tear you apart without blinking. I say this with absolute conviction and not an ounce of respect.”
Matvei stared at her, caught between annoyance, admiration, and suspicion.
The logic was sound, even if it was built on incomplete information.
She had no way of knowing that this marriage was nothing more than a legal formality, a way to ensure she couldn’t simply disappear if his original plan went sideways.
“Smart,” he said finally. “But not smart enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Instead of answering, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. Within minutes, they were pulling through the gates of his Beacon Hill estate, the Georgian mansion rising before them like something out of a gothic novel. Appropriate, considering the circumstances.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Volkov,” he said, noting the way she flinched at the name. “I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”
The front door was answered by his housekeeper, a stern-faced Russian woman named Katya who’d worked for his family since before he was born. She took one look at Irina and immediately began fussing in rapid Russian, shooting disapproving looks at Matvei that he chose to ignore.
“She’s saying you look half-dead,” he translated. “She wants to know if you need a doctor.”
“I understand Russian,” she said curtly.
Matvei stilled. His expression didn’t change much; he was too disciplined for that, but there was a brief flicker, a tightening around the eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or surprise.
He hadn’t expected her to catch that.
Yes, she was Russian-American. His file on her said as much. But in his mind, she’d been filed under spoiled, soft, uninformed. The kind of girl who wore designer clothes and couldn’t pronounce the name of her grandmother’s village.
She didn’t miss the shift in his posture.
And from the way one brow lifted ever so slightly, she made it clear: I know what you assumed. And you’re wrong.
“And I’m just fine,” Irina said, but her voice lacked conviction. She was swaying slightly on her feet, and Matvei found himself reaching out to steady her before he could stop himself.
The contact sent an unexpected jolt through him. Her skin was soft and warm, and for just a moment, she leaned into his touch before catching herself and pulling away.
“Katya will show you to your room,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He expected more questions, more defiance. Instead, Irina simply nodded and followed the housekeeper up the grand staircase, her posture regal despite her obvious exhaustion. She didn’t look back, didn’t acknowledge him at all, and something about that dismissal grated against his nerves.
Matvei retreated to his study, pouring himself three fingers of vodka and settling behind his massive mahogany desk.
The familiar ritual should have helped him focus, should have cleared his head so he could plan his next move.
Instead, he found himself replaying every moment of their interaction, trying to decode the puzzle that was his new wife.
The marriage had been meant as a power play, nothing more. Marrying the youngest Nikolai would give him leverage over the entire family, a bargaining chip he could use to force their surrender or cooperation. It was supposed to be simple, straightforward, brutal in its efficiency.
So why did he feel like he’d just stepped into quicksand?
His phone buzzed with a text from his partner in this particular venture. Package delivered?
Delivered and signed for, Matvei replied. Moving to phase two.
But even as he sent the message, doubt gnawed at him. Phase two involved using Irina to lure her brothers into increasingly desperate positions, making them take risks that would ultimately destroy them. It was a solid plan, one that should have felt like victory.
Instead, it felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that one wrong step would send him tumbling into the abyss.
The vodka burned his throat as he drained the glass, but it did nothing to quiet the unease building in his chest. He needed to focus.
Needed to remember why he was doing this.
The Nikolais had been a thorn in his side for too long, their power and influence blocking his expansion at every turn.
This was business, nothing more. The girl was just a means to an end.
But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way Irina had looked at him in that courthouse, defiant and terrified and somehow magnificent all at once.
Cursing under his breath, Matvei pushed back from his desk and headed upstairs.
He needed to check on his house-guest, make sure she wasn’t plotting some kind of escape.
It had nothing to do with the nagging concern that she might collapse from exhaustion, and everything to do with protecting his investment.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
The guest wing was quiet, lamplight spilling from under the door of the room where he’d had Katya install Irina. He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. What exactly was he planning to say? Hello, wife, just wanted to make sure you’re not dead?
Instead, he pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sound of movement. Nothing. She was probably asleep, finally succumbing to the crash that had been building since the courthouse. Good. Sleep would make her easier to handle in the morning.
He was turning to leave when a soft sound made him freeze. Not quite a sob, but close. The kind of sound someone made when they thought they were alone and could finally let their guard down.
Matvei’s hand was on the doorknob before he could stop himself, some instinct overriding his better judgment. The door swung open silently, revealing a room bathed in moonlight from the tall windows.
The bed was empty. Sheets turned down but undisturbed.
His blood went cold as he took in the open window, the curtains fluttering in the night breeze. The room was on the second floor, but there was a sturdy trellis just outside, overgrown with ivy that would provide easy handholds for someone desperate enough to try.
“Fuck.” The word exploded from him as he strode to the window, looking down at the manicured gardens below. No sign of her, but then again, she’d had at least an hour’s head start. More than enough time to disappear into the Boston night.
Matvei’s phone was in his hand before he’d fully processed the situation, fingers flying over the screen as he activated the estate’s security protocols—motion sensors, cameras, perimeter alarms, everything he had at his disposal.
If she were still on the grounds, he’d find her.
If she’d somehow made it past his security. ..
He didn’t want to think about what that would mean for his carefully laid plans.
“Sir?” Katya appeared in the doorway, her weathered face creased with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“The girl,” he said tersely. “How long ago did you leave her?”
“Perhaps an hour? She said she wanted to bathe, asked for privacy.” The older woman’s eyes widened as she took in the empty room. “Oh no. She seemed so tired, so defeated. I never thought...”
“That’s the problem,” Matvei snarled, already moving toward the door. “You never thought. None of us did.”
He’d underestimated her. Badly. While he’d been sitting in his study, congratulating himself on a plan well executed, his prize had been climbing out a window like some kind of fairy tale princess making her escape. The irony would have been amusing if it weren’t so infuriating.
Matvei bounded down the stairs three at a time, his mind already calculating routes and possibilities. Where would she go? The obvious answer was home, back to her brothers and the safety of the Nikolai compound. But Irina had proven herself to be anything but obvious.
The front door slammed behind him as he burst into the night, shouting orders to the security team that was already mobilizing. Floodlights blazed to life across the grounds, turning shadows into stark relief. Dogs barked in the distance, trained to track and corner but not to harm.
“Search every inch,” he commanded, his voice carrying across the manicured lawns. “She can’t have gotten far on foot.”
But even as his men spread out in organized patterns, Matvei couldn’t shake the feeling that Irina Nikolai was already long gone. She’d played him from the moment she’d signed that marriage license, lulling him into complacency with her apparent compliance.
The realization should have enraged him. Instead, it filled him with something uncomfortably close to respect.
Standing in his driveway, watching his security team tear apart the night in search of his missing wife, Matvei found himself laughing. It was a harsh sound, devoid of humor, but he couldn’t stop it from bubbling up from his chest.
He’d married the youngest Nikolai to gain leverage over her family. Instead, he’d apparently married a woman who was every bit as cunning and ruthless as her brothers. The irony was fucking perfect.
His phone buzzed with reports from the search teams. Nothing at the perimeter. No sign of forced entry or exit. No trace of her passage through the gardens.
It was like she’d simply vanished into thin air.
“Clever girl,” he murmured, pocketing the phone. “But not clever enough.”
Because Irina might have escaped his house, but she couldn’t escape the fact that she was now legally his wife. And Matvei Volkov always collected on his investments, one way or another.
The hunt was just beginning.