28. Chapter 28
28
Konstantin
B lood’s still hot in my veins, knuckles throbbing from where I smashed that bastard’s face, but it’s not enough to kill the rage clawing my chest. That smirk—like he’d stolen something right under my nose—burns worse than the sting.
I don’t know him; I’ve never seen his slick grin at any Summit, and that’s a problem. In my world, strangers aren’t accidents; they’re knives waiting to cut. And he was too damn close to Bella, my wife , her blue eyes wide with a fear she tried to hide. I can still feel her trembling under my hand, her nod saying she’s okay when we both know she’s not.
I put her in this viper pit, and now I’m wondering if the biggest threat’s not the creep I hit but me, dragging her into my chaos.
She’s pressed against me now, her curves soft under that red dress, my hand splayed low on her hip to keep her mine in this sea of sharks.
The silk’s a fucking taunt, no panties beneath—my fault, my obsession—and my cock’s hard as steel, screaming to pin her against the nearest wall and claim her until she’s gasping my name.
One year, play the wife, raise Alya, Nikolai, Lev, no love. Bullshit. Every shiver she gives me, every glance from those sea-blue eyes, chips at my control. I want her—body, fire, all of it—but it’s her trust, the way she leans into me despite this madness, that’s got my heart pounding in ways I swore I’d never feel again.
“Konstantin,” Bella murmurs, voice low, a mix of nerves and that sarcasm I crave. “You’re gonna bruise me.” Her eyes flick up, defiant despite her shake, and I loosen my hold—just enough.
“Stay where I can see you,” I say, rougher than I mean, my thumb brushing her hip. “This place is a trap.” Not just for her but for me, with that stranger’s “I’ll be seeing you” ringing like a warning shot. I need to know who he is… now.
Timur’s weaving through the crowd, his sharp face unreadable, but I know he’s on edge—same as me. I nod him over, keeping Bella close, her scent—jasmine, heat—hitting me like a drug.
A woman in a sequined dress, some tech heiress with a laugh like breaking glass, nudges her friend, eyeing Bella like she’s a cheap knockoff. My blood spikes.
“Find somewhere else to gossip,” I snap, voice low, deadly. The heiress freezes, her friend tugging her away, and they vanish into the crowd.
Bella stiffens, her breath catching, and I feel her embarrassment—she’s not used to this, my world of knives and power plays. She’s a queen in her own right, closing deals, fighting for her brother and sister, but here, she’s raw, a flame in a storm, and I’m the bastard who’s got to keep her burning.
Timur reaches me, his eyes flicking to Bella before settling on mine.
“Boss,” he says, voice tight. “Crowd’s stirred up. You want us moving on this now?”
“That guy I hit,” I cut in, keeping my tone low, my hand still on Bella’s back, her pulse racing under my fingers. “Who the fuck was he? Never seen him here—not once. No Summit vet moves like that, sniffing around her.” My jaw clenches, a dark churn in my gut.
This wasn’t some drunk chancing his luck. That glint in his eyes—hungry, too knowing—screamed intent, and I don’t have a name, not yet.
He slipped through my fingers, gone before we could grab him, and that’s not a mistake I let slide. Nobody gets that close to Bella, asks about her or my business, and walks free. Not in my world, not when she’s wearing my ring.
Bella shifts against me. “He…” she starts, voice soft but clear, cutting through my thoughts. She glances at Timur, then me, her blue eyes wide with something between fear and defiance. “He knew I was with you, Konstantin.”
My blood turns to ice, then fire. Knew she was with me? The words hit like a trigger, and my fingers dig into her hip, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel her gasp, her heat pulling me back from the edge.
I want to tear this ballroom apart, find that bastard, rip answers from his throat, but Bella’s here—soft, fierce, trusting me despite the chaos I’ve dragged her into.
“What else?” I growl, locking eyes with her, then Timur, who’s gone still, his ice cracking at her words.
“Nothing,” she says, swallowing, her lips parting. “Just… he was too sure. Like he’d been watching us.” Her voice shakes, and I see it—her world of open houses and sibling fights crumbling under my reality of blood and betrayal.
“Enough to target her,” Timur says, voice flat but heavy. “Could be a scout, someone’s eyes. We’re checking staff, security feeds. If he’s here, he’s not alone.”
“Find him,” I snarl. “And anyone he’s with. Nobody gets near her again.”
Bella’s looking at me now, her lips parted, and there’s something in her eyes—fear, yes, but a trust that hits like a fist. She’s in my world, blind to its rules, and I need to keep her whole.
For Alya, Nikolai, Lev, I’m steel, but for her?
I’m fraying, and it’s treacherous.
I guide Bella toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd’s eyes, my hand sliding to her lower back, possessive, daring any man to stare. A guy with a diamond cufflink tries—he gets my glare, and he’s gone, tail tucked.
Bella’s not just my wife; she’s my stake in something I didn’t ask for, something that’s thawing parts of me I buried after my father’s lessons.
I want her—fuck, I want her—bent over, begging, my name on her lips, but not here, not with threats circling. Later, at home, I’ll break, storm her room, take what we both need. For now, I’m her shield, not her ruin.
The quartet’s music dips, and I feel her relax against me, just a fraction, her curves molding to my side.
“You don’t have to play guard dog,” she says, half-teasing, but her voice shakes, and I know she’s rattled—by the creep, by me, by this whole damn night.
“Need to,” I mutter, my lips grazing her ear, her shiver sparking heat I can’t afford. “You’re mine to protect.” And more—too much more—but I don’t say it.
Bella’s words—he’d been watching us—are still a fucking splinter in my brain, and Timur’s “not alone” warning has my nerves strung tight. My hand’s glued to her, her warmth the only thing keeping me from flipping tables to find that sukin syn who dared come near her.
The Chateau Marmont’s ballroom hums with 200 vultures—moguls, liars, all flashing their wealth like it hides the blood on their hands—but I’m not playing their game tonight.
Bella’s shaking against me, her curves a dangerous distraction, and I’m fighting not to drag her somewhere private and fuck the fear out of her. Blyad , I need to focus, but her jasmine scent and that red dress—bare underneath—are screaming for me to lose control.
Two guys break through the crowd, their grins too polished, like they rehearsed in the mirror. I know them—Elliot Hayes, a tech bro with a crypto fetish, and Marcus Tate, a venture capital vulture who smells deals like blood.
Elliot’s wiry, his glasses slipping as he talks too fast, while Marcus is broader, his bald head gleaming under the chandeliers, his smirk screaming “I’m untouchable.” Their wives hover behind, all glitz and sharp laughs, ready to pounce.
“Konstantin, you legend,” Elliot starts, voice slick as his gelled hair. “That punch? Viral material, man.” He chuckles, but his eyes dart to Bella, calculating. “Look, we’ve got something big—AI startup, next-level encryption. Needs a… discreet investor with your reach.”
Marcus nods, leaning in, his cologne choking. “Think global, Belov. Secure data hubs, offshore servers—your kind of network could make it fly. We’re talking billions, low profile.” His smile’s all teeth, like he’s selling me a yacht, not a front for data laundering or worse.
Suka, they’re bold, dangling a tech scam to tap my Bratva lines—ports, contacts, shadow routes—without saying it. Sugarcoating a dirty deal, thinking I’m desperate for their crumbs. My face stays stone, but I’m itching to shove their pitch down their throats.
“Not tonight,” I say, voice flat, my hand firm on Bella’s waist. “Send it to my people. If it’s real, we’ll talk.”
Elliot’s grin twitches, but Marcus laughs… too loud.
“Just a taste, you know? You’re the guy for this, Konstantin.” He’s still pushing when their wives glide forward, oozing fake warmth and glittering claws, zeroing in on Bella like she’s gossip bait.
“Mrs. Belov,” Elliot’s wife—whatever the fuck her name is—coos, her silver gown catching the light, her smile plastic. “That dress is so daring. And married to Konstantin? My God, what a fairy tale!” Her tone’s sweet, but her eyes scream pity, like Bella’s some fling I’ll toss by next week.
Marcus’s wife piles on, her red lipstick too bright.
“Absolutely! Such a surprise! You’re so lucky to snag him.” She tilts her head, touching Bella’s arm like they’re friends, but it’s a jab—lucky, not worthy, like Bella’s just my arm candy, not a woman who’d outhustle them in any deal.
Bella’s breath catches, her body tensing against mine, and I feel her shake—anger, maybe fear, buzzing under her skin. She’s been snatching champagne from waiters’ trays since that bastard cornered her, her fingers tight on a new flute, and I curse myself for not clocking it earlier.
She’s rattled, her real estate spine no match for this viper nest, and these bitches are grinding her down. I’m about to snap when a flicker at the crowd’s edge stops me cold.
Filipp.
Slinking along the ballroom’s edge like the spineless mudak he is, his icy blue eyes glinting with that smug hunger I loathe. Thirty-one, lean as a blade, and dumb enough to think he’ll steal the Bratva from me. He thought I’d never find a wife—idiot—and I warned him to stay the fuck away from Bella.
Yet here he is, with Tatiana, my stepmother, gliding beside him, her dark hair piled high, her smile a razor. At 48, she’s a vulture in Chanel, her beauty a mask for the venom underneath. She’s always scheming—deals, power, her kids’ inheritance—and she never fails to piss me off.
Filipp catches my glare and falters, his smirk twitching like he’s just remembered my fist. The suka doesn’t dare come near; he sidesteps fast, muttering to some suit in a cheap tux, pretending it’s where he meant to go all along. Typical. Hiding in Tatiana’s shadow, letting her do the dirty work.
My gut twists as Tatiana keeps coming, her eyes locking on Bella, narrowing like she’s sizing up prey.
“Konstantin, darling,” Tatiana purrs, stopping too close, her perfume cloying. She glances at Bella, her smile twisting. “And this must be your… acquisition. Charming, really, for a last-minute choice.” Her voice is silk, but it’s a slap, calling Bella a nobody.
Bella stiffens, her flute nearly tipping, but her jaw sets, fire flashing in her eyes.
“Acquisition?” she snaps, voice sharp despite the shake. “I’m nobody’s trophy, lady. I close deals bigger than your ego—try me.” She steps forward, chin up, and blyad, I’m proud, my cock twitching at her nerve, even as I brace for Tatiana’s bite.
Tatiana laughs, low and cold, but her eyes flicker—she didn’t expect pushback.
She leans closer to Bella, her smile tight and syrupy, like she’s offering tea while slipping poison in the cup.
“Be careful, girl; you don’t know who you’re talking to.” It’s a warning wrapped in silk, her face all charm, but the venom’s clear—she’s marking Bella as an outsider, a nobody who’s stumbled into her game.
Bella’s flute wavers, her eyes narrowing, and blyad , she doesn’t back down, even if she’s clueless about Tatiana’s weight.
“Oh, I know a bully when I see one,” she snaps, voice sharp but slurring at the edges, her cheeks flushed from too many drinks.
Tatiana raises an eyebrow.
“You don’t scare me, whoever you think you are.” She sways slightly, chin still up, and my chest tightens—pride, want, and a stab of worry.
Tatiana doesn’t even glance at her; just makes a sharp “Tsk” sound, lips curling like Bella’s not worth the air. She turns her gaze to me, eyes glinting with that poison I know too well.
“Such a disappointment,” she says, like I’m the one who dragged trash into her world.
Just like that, she turns, batting her lashes at a gray-haired mogul nearby, her voice loud enough to carry.
“Oh, Richard, we must discuss that Napa venture—such potential!” She’s fishing for deals, sidelining me, and it’s classic Tatiana: undermine, distract, conquer.
Filipp just smirks, his gaze lingering on Bella like he’s testing me, daring me to snap.
I clench my jaw.
The mudak —I warned him to stay away from her, and now he’s here, with Tatiana, thinking he can play me.
My blood’s roaring.
Blyad , I’d love to smash that smirk off his face, but I won’t—not here. Photographers are circling this damn Summit, snapping every move, and I’m not handing them a headline for tomorrow’s rags. “Belov Loses It at Chateau Marmont” isn’t the plan.
Keep it locked, keep her safe, deal with this suka later.
Bella’s trembling beside me, her knuckles white on that damn flute, and I see it now—her anger at Tatiana, her fear from that creep earlier, the champagne she’s been grabbing from trays all night to hold it together.
She snatches another glass from a passing waiter, downs it in one gulp, and leans into me, her body soft and unsteady, curves pressing hard against my side.
“Who the hell is she?” she mutters, looking up, her cheeks pink, eyes glassy, swaying so her shoulder slips against my chest. Her lips pout, red and slick, and sukin syn , she’s a mess—drunk.
“She’s my stepmother,” I say.
“Stepmother…” Bella repeats, her voice trailing, and then it hits her like a brick. She tilts her head, staring up at me, her plump lips red as sin, slick from champagne, her blue eyes wide with shock.
I shift, turning her slightly, shielding her from Tatiana’s venom and Filipp’s stare. Her lips part, a soft gasp, and my cock twitches.
“Let’s go home,” I say. My hand slides to hers, fingers locking tight.
I don’t give a fuck anymore. I just need her out of this fire. Back home , where I can protect her—where I can have her.