Chapter 2
Valentina Volkov was always meant for me.
ROMAN
“Normally, I would savor this, but I’m late for a stalking appointment,” I say, my tone thick with amusement.
I tilt my head, the dim lantern light dancing off my golden skull mask. The man before me flinches, wrists bound to the chair, his breath ragged. Pathetic.
“So,” I continue, twirling my knife between my fingers, “let’s not waste time, da? Who’s moving product through my waters? Names, routes, harbors—I want them all.”
He stares at me, mouth opening, then snapping shut. As if silence will save him. As if he hasn’t already pissed himself.
Outside, the Bering Sea rages against the cliffs, wind howling through the cracks in this rotting Alaskan shack. But the sound of his shuddering breath is louder.
I sigh. Disappointed.
“You’re making this difficult.” I step closer, the silk of my ponytail brushing my shoulder as I crouch before him. My knife finds his cheekbone—a flick, just enough to let the blood rise like a slow parting kiss.
“Lie to me again,” I murmur, voice smooth as winter frost, “and I’ll carve the answers out myself…starting here.” I tap his crotch.
He shudders. Breaks. And then? He talks.
I grin.
Nothing but a blood stain left behind. The wolves will appreciate the meal.
The sea is violent tonight. Waves crash against the hull, whitecaps clawing at the sleek black cruiser as I guide it through the churning dark. The Midnight 42 hums beneath my grip, its quad engines ruthlessly slicing through the frigid Alaskan waters.
A lesser man might be uneasy. Seas like this can swallow ships whole, drown weaker souls in oblivion. But my Russian blood is pure ice.
The night air is sharp, laced with salt and frost, biting at my face. My gold skull mask rests inside my coat, one of rare constants in my life.
Soon, she will be, too.
The estate looms ahead, carved into the cliffside like a kingdom built on blood. The only road up is a death trap—guards, cameras, snipers. But the water…the water is mine. And the cliffs.
I cut the engine, letting momentum carry me closer. Silent. Invisible. The boat glides while my eyes lock onto the towering silhouette of Valentina’s gilded prison of a home.
Three days.
In three days, she belongs to another man. My goddamn brother. Unworthy.
But I will take her.
She will be mine.
I step to the edge of the deck, remove my gloves, and prepare for the climb. The bitter wind howls, but I am untouchable.
And if I judge accurately by the security cameras, her father will be finished with her punishment soon.
I ascend higher, moving with the ease of a predator. The jagged cliffs may be dangerous, but they become an extension of myself. The air grows thinner, the distance shorter, and the summit looms closer, its cold presence like the final test of my will.
One misstep, one fumble, and my body will be crushed against the rocks.
Below me, the ocean rages, the wind howls, and waves crash against the cliffs, but my weather gear shields me from the elements. This climb is nothing. Strength, precision, silence—I was forged for this. Every motion calculated, every risk weighed and conquered.
I reach the apex, settling onto the crest of the rocky outcrop where trees surround me—the perfect vantage point. From here, I see everything. The glow of her bedroom light spills against the glass.
Valentina steps into her room, notices the vase, and makes a beeline to the table where the roses await, thanks to my discreet courier on the inside.
She lifts a violet rose. At some point, I will tell her I commissioned the exact color to mirror her eyes. She looks up, glancing beyond the window. Yes, she feels me watching.
The hunger inside me sharpens, raw and primal. She is mine.
I haven’t spent the darker part of two decades doing my father’s dirty work just for him to hand my reward to my goddamn brother. Anton. Fucking mudák. The golden heir. The so-called future face of Alaska’s underworld. I am the mask hiding in the shadows.
Valentina Volkov was always meant for me.
Anton is charismatic. I am cunning.
He’s the diplomat, the polished heir who trades politics over cigars with my father and his associates.
I am the blade. The rope. The poison.
Whatever the job requires, I am the weapon that delivers.
Too good a weapon for my father. Once I became too valuable, he rescinded his original agreement. “She would be a distraction for you, Roman,” Sergei had explained. “Znai svoe mesto.”
Know my place. Know my fucking place.
I’ve known my place for thirty-seven goddamn years.
Valentina Volkov will never belong to Anton. My brother wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a woman like her.
But I do.
And soon, she’ll know it.
I smirk as she finds the black pearls and reads the note. Blood surges to my cock at the glimmer of a smile on her face. Boredom is not the only reason she conceals the notes and accepts my gifts. No, she has too much spirit. Too much passion. Too much…hunger.
She applies herself. For the past six years, since she was nineteen, I’ve watched her.
Her father curated her education for one purpose: to perfect her. Beauty and breeding. Private tutors drilled her in etiquette, literature, music, and ornamental skills to make her a more enticing possession.
But Valentina is more than just a prize. She is a creator, a dreamer, an artist of hidden things.
So, she found a way. With her brother’s help, she enrolled in private online courses, devouring literature, writing poetry, sketching, and painting the Alaskan wilderness. If she couldn’t live freely, she could at least create her own escape.
I’ve hacked her computers, discovering the pieces she composed, meant for only her ears. I’ve recorded her playing the piano when no others were present.
Valentina is a force of nature. Whether calligraphy or sculpting, she mastered it and moved on. In the shadows of her captivity, she experimented with stolen oils, blending perfumes that whispered stories against her skin.
Her father never knew. Or he never cared to see the fire inside her.
Oh, those rare nights when I’ve managed to fuck with the estate system, I didn’t simply drop a note or two.
Instead, I watched her sleep, breathing in her unique scent, luscious yet feral.
Like midnight saffron and smoldering musk, laced with the ghost of black hemlock, stolen opium, and the dark promise of something unseen.
Valentina is insatiable, uncontrollable, but I will be the first man she begs to control her. She may resist at first. Oh, I’m looking forward to her resistance, but she will grow to love my chains, recognizing their true freedom.
V samykh blagorodnykh sem’yakh byvayut skandaly. And in the noblest families there are scandals. Oh, what an eager scandal I will bring to her family! And our fathers will writhe like worms on a hook.
I tap my wrist, summoning my smart chip program, grinning as I survey her body from nearly every angle. She faces the window, her violet eyes shimmering. I zoom in on the window, and my jaw clenches when she slips the gold dress from her shoulders. Fuck! My dick throbs.
This is an escalation.
Up till now, all I’ve seen is her wearing the sexy slip at bedtime.
In the gold dress, she was exquisite. Now, she is a masterpiece, breathtaking as she binds the choker of black pearls around her delicate throat.
All my muscles bulge when she lets her hair down, sensual curls ravishing her chest and shoulders.
The wind picks up, whipping across my body and shaking the trees all around me. But all I see is her.
“That’s my good girl,” I say, low and reverent, as I watch my future bride.
Not just a bride. Valentina Volkov is a queen, my koroleva.
Ya mogu smotret’, no poka ne mogu vzyat’. Tak blizko, i vsyo zhe tak daleko. I can watch but not yet take. So near, yet so far.
The desire to cup her flushed breasts and sweep my thumbs over her nipples, tipped with her arousal, is overwhelming.
Her curves are a sculptor’s wicked fantasy—shapely hips that beg to be bruised and marked with my teeth, flawless waist, and breasts so lush and full, they’d tempt a monk.
With her decadent golden curls, she is sin and temptation.
If Eve in Eden could be captured but with the spirit and witchery of Lilith…
The faintest, softest curls of dark gold clothe the heavenly apex of a triangle between her legs. I smirk at what else my lens captures—wetness glistening on her thighs.
She doesn’t mimic a provocative striptease. No, Valentina is sharp, shrewd, and dauntless. My cock jerks when she sweeps her gaze along the landscape, her eyes hunting for her stalker. I am too well-canvassed, but at one point, I’d swear her eyes lock with mine…for the barest ghost of a moment.
At first, her hand glides along her chest, wandering across her lovely breast before sliding down her smooth stomach, then poised upon her mons.
I lower my brows, eyes narrowing, cock jerking until she forms a fist, but she wags her index finger.
My blood burns at the silent taunt. So sexy. My dirty girl.
And then, she turns. A predatory fire erupts through me, an unchecked possessiveness when I make out the pink striations across her back and a few red welts. Fuck, I was the only reason she didn’t have more mудак sniffing around her. One live blogger slipped through my fingers.
She paid the price for her rebelliousness.
Soon, I will be the only one who will administer punishment.
Unfortunately, I was delayed due to my father’s little errand.
A subtle turning of Valentina’s chin grants me her pouty lips parting. A sigh lowers her shoulders. And then, her hands fold behind her back and…oh, that naughty, little vixen forms the middle finger, draping it right over her ass crack. The bulge in my pants is so painful, I must adjust.
Valentina doesn’t close the drapes, but she does approach the bed. I smile in approval as she removes the choker and proceeds to tuck it away in a small hole in her mattress. She is careful, Moya Koroleva. My Queen.
She slowly climbs into bed, her eyes showing their fatigue, but I don’t leave until she is fast asleep. However tempting it is to tamper with the alarm system and enter through her window, I restrain myself.
On her wedding day, I will steal what belongs to me, slipping her from my brother’s grasp like a shadow in the night—never to return. I will carry my rightful bride far away, to a place where no vows but mine will ever bind her.