Chapter 13 - Irina
Anka had been coming by the mansion regularly since the family dinner, sometimes with Raya or Sofie in tow, but more often alone.
What had started as cautious politeness between them had gradually warmed into something Irina hadn’t expected: genuine friendship.
Not the careful political alliances she’d grown up navigating or the protective hovering of her sisters-in-law, but a real, messy, honest friendship with someone who understood what it was like to be the sister in a family of dangerous men.
Today, Anka was sprawled across the couch in the sitting room, painting her nails a shade of red that probably cost more than most people’s rent, while Irina tried to focus on the book in her lap.
It was impossible, really, when every few minutes her mind would drift back to the night before, to Matvei’s hands on her skin, his mouth against hers, the way he’d made her feel things she’d never imagined possible.
“You’re glowing,” Anka said without looking up from her nails. “It’s disgusting.”
“I’m not glowing,” Irina protested, but she could feel heat creeping up her neck. “I’m just... content.”
“Content.” Anka snorted. “Right. That’s what we’re calling it now.” She finally looked up, her golden-brown eyes, so like her brother’s, dancing with mischief. “You know, I’ve never seen Matvei smile this much. It’s unnerving. Yesterday, he actually hummed while he was reading reports.”
The knowledge that she affected him as much as he affected her sent a warm thrill through her chest. After their confrontation in the restaurant, after everything that had happened between them, she’d been afraid that maybe he regretted it, that maybe the careful distance he sometimes maintained meant he was pulling away.
“He’s been different,” she admitted, closing her book and giving up any pretense of reading. “More... present, I guess.”
“That’s one word for it.” Anka capped her nail polish and settled back against the cushions. “My brothers have been calling him whipped behind his back. Simon started a betting pool on how long it’ll take him to completely lose his mind.”
“That’s terrible,” Irina said, but she was fighting a smile.
“That’s family,” Anka corrected. “Speaking of which, when’s the last time you got out of this house? And I don’t mean supervised trips to the distillery or carefully choreographed dinners with your brothers.”
Irina considered the question. The truth was, she’d been so caught up in her new reality, in Matvei, in the strange domesticity they’d fallen into, in the way he looked at her like she was something precious, that she hadn’t really thought about it.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “A while.”
“That’s what I thought.” Anka stood up, moving with the kind of predatory grace that ran in the Volkov family. “We’re going out. Tonight. Drinks, dancing, the full experience.”
“I don’t think Matvei would—”
“Matvei doesn’t get a vote,” Anka interrupted, her voice taking on that steely quality that reminded Irina she wasn’t just Matvei’s sister, she was a Volkov in her own right. “You’re not a prisoner, Irina. You’re his wife, and wives get to have girls’ nights.”
The word “wife” still sent a small thrill through her, even though she knew their marriage had started as something else entirely. But lately, especially after last night, it had begun to feel real in ways that both excited and terrified her.
“Where would we go?” she asked, and Anka’s grin was pure triumph.
“I know just the place.”
The club Anka chose was nothing like the sterile, sanitized venues Irina’s brothers had occasionally allowed her to visit with a full security detail.
This place thrummed with actual life, real people, real energy, real danger lurking just beneath the surface of pounding music and flashing lights.
It was exactly the kind of place her brothers would have a collective heart attack over, which made it absolutely perfect.
“This is incredible,” Irina breathed, taking in the crowd of bodies moving on the dance floor, the way the lighting painted everything in jewel tones that shifted and changed with the beat.
Anka grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bar, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. “Wait until you see what they can do with vodka here. It’s almost criminal.”
They found seats at the far end of the bar, a spot that gave them a perfect view of the dance floor while keeping them partially hidden in the shadows.
Irina had dressed carefully for the evening, choosing a black dress that hugged her curves without being too obvious about it, paired with heels that made her legs look endless.
She’d caught Matvei staring when she’d passed his office on the way out, had seen the way his eyes had darkened with want and possessiveness.
The look had sent heat spiraling through her belly, but she’d forced herself to keep walking.
“Two of your best,” Anka told the bartender, leaning against the bar with the kind of confidence that came from never having to worry about paying for anything. “And don’t water them down. We’re celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?” Irina asked, accepting the drink that appeared in front of her moments later. It was clear and potent-smelling, with just a hint of something floral.
“Your first real night of freedom since you got married,” Anka said, raising her glass. “To breaking out of cages, even the pretty ones.”
They clinked glasses, and Irina took a sip that burned all the way down but left a warm, pleasant buzz in its wake. “Is that what this is? A cage?”
Anka studied her for a long moment, her expression growing serious despite the party raging around them. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. You tell me, do you feel trapped?”
The question caught Irina off guard. Did she feel trapped?
The mansion was beautiful, luxurious in ways that even her family’s wealth couldn’t quite match.
Matvei had never forbidden her from leaving, had never locked her in or posted guards at her door.
But there was something else, something more subtle, the way he always seemed to know where she was, the way his security was everywhere without being obvious about it, the way she’d started thinking of his approval before making decisions.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Sometimes I think I’m the freest I’ve ever been. Other times...” She trailed off, taking another sip of her drink.
“Other times you realize you’re just in a different kind of prison,” Anka finished. “Believe me, I get it. I’ve been fighting the same battle my whole life.”
“But you’re still here,” Irina pointed out. “Still part of it all.”
“Still hoping I can change it from the inside,” Anka corrected. “Still stupid enough to think that maybe if I’m clever enough, strong enough, I can make them see that we’re more than just pretty things to be protected and displayed.”
There was a bitterness in her voice that Irina recognized, a frustration that felt all too familiar. “Your brothers don’t listen to you either.”
“Oh, they listen. They just don’t hear.” Anka drained half her glass in one swallow. “They think they’re being protective, being good brothers. They don’t understand that protection can be its own kind of violence.”
The words hit Irina like a physical blow, because they were so perfectly, devastatingly accurate.
All her life, her brothers had wrapped her in cotton wool, keeping her safe from the world but also keeping her from truly living in it.
And now here she was, repeating the same pattern with a different man, letting herself be charmed by his protectiveness instead of questioning what it really meant.
“God,” she breathed. “You’re right.”
“I usually am,” Anka said with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s my most annoying quality, according to my family.”
They sat in contemplative silence for a moment, sipping their drinks and watching the crowd.
The music shifted to something with a deeper bass line, something that seemed to pulse through the floor and up into their bones.
Irina found herself swaying slightly on her stool, the alcohol and the rhythm working together to loosen some of the tension she carried in her shoulders.
“Tell me about before,” she said suddenly. “Before Matvei bought me, before all of this. What was your life like?”
Anka’s smile turned genuine, less guarded. “Complicated. I was in university, studying art history of all things. Can you imagine? A Volkov with a liberal arts degree.”
“That’s amazing,” Irina said, meaning it. “What kind of art?”
“Renaissance, mostly. All those tragic women in paintings, trapped in their golden frames.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The irony wasn’t lost on me.”
“Do you miss it? University?”
“Every day.” Anka finished her drink and signaled for another round. “But family comes first, right? That’s what we’re taught from birth. Family, loyalty, sacrifice. Always sacrifice.”
The bartender set fresh drinks in front of them, and Irina found herself studying Anka’s profile in the shifting light. There was something haunted about her, something that spoke of dreams deferred and choices made for the good of others rather than herself.
“What about you?” Anka asked. “What did you want to be when you grew up, before you realized you were going to be a Bratva princess forever?”
Irina had to think about it. Her childhood dreams felt so distant now, so impossibly naive. “A marine biologist, actually. I wanted to explore the ocean, to uncover and tell the stories of marine life and ecosystems that few people ever noticed or understood.”
“Of course you did,” Anka said, but she was smiling. “You’ve got that crusader look about you. Bet your brothers loved that idea.”