Chapter 36
“An arena block.”
ROMAN
The chains rattle as I shift, each movement sending fresh agony through my bruised body. The doctor patched me up after the bullet, but the pain beneath it all is a dull roar that never fades.
Nothing I can’t handle.
But what twists my gut is the thought of Valentina—the fire in her, crushed beneath his cruelty. The idea of what she’s suffering gnaws deeper than any wound. My wife is strong. But how strong? She sacrificed everything for us, for me most of all. Anton will consume her with the hottest of fires.
Who will she be when the final flame dies?
I don’t regret taking her. Not for a second.
But I regret the masked ball, regret letting her meet Sasha, regret not taking better precautions.
I never imagined my brother could be so cunning—implanting a tracking device under Sasha’s skin, like a snake in the grass.
Rage, regret, fury—they wash over me in waves, crashing and pulling me under.
I hate him. I hate him with a fire that burns through every vein, scorching my soul to ash. I will break free from these chains. I will carve him open, piece by piece. I will make him pay—in blood, in pain, a thousand times over—for every wound he’s carved into her.
Then, at the far end of the dungeon, a dim light flickers on. My chest tightens. My spine locks up.
There she is. Naked, exposed like a war trophy, her skin marked with cruel red welts across her breasts, arms, thighs. Anton’s hand is tight around the back of her neck, possessive and brutal.
I snarl and shake the chains, raw hatred boiling in my veins.
Anton forces her closer. He opens the goddamn cell door and ushers her inside, stepping forward, triumphant, a self-righteous venom dripping from his lips.
All I see is her eyes. Amethyst through the tears.
But no less wondrous, no less alive. I refuse to look upon her body.
No, I hold her gaze, showing her I am still with her.
“Never forget, Roman,” Anton says, voice cold as steel, “you set all this in motion. She was just the spark. You were trained, not I. You made billions, while I scavenged off Father’s scraps.”
Knifing my eyes against his, I growl, rattling the chains. “You built your empire on selling human souls—the blood and flesh of women and girls.”
Anton smirks, unrepentant, tightening his grip on Valentina. She mouths a silent “I love you”. Fuck, she wrecks me. Her strength is my greatest weakness.
“And what of your living, Roman?” Anton challenges, freeing her neck, solely so he may circle her like the vulture he is.
“Have you told your precious Valya how many lives it took to win her? Tell her now. Spill your goddamn guts. The truth about the car crash. About stealing her on our wedding day. The lies. The deception. How your loyal staff played along.”
Valentina does not flinch. Her arms don’t squeeze. They don’t even cover herself. She does not shrink. Not for any man. Not for any king. Nor god. Even now…she is my jewel on fire, burning eternal.
I meet her eyes and confess everything—my sins, my guilt, my desperate attempts to keep her safe. But what I see cuts deeper than any blade. It’s not anger blazing there. It’s grief… and something softer—longing.
Fuck. It’s worse.
It’s love.
Her love is my death.
She turns, amethyst eyes sharp as blades, locked on Anton. “I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck what he did in the past. What matters is who I am to him.”
Her voice is steady, defiant, filled with a pride that crushes me with its beauty. Shatters my heart and my soul.
“He treats me like a queen. Because I am his queen. And you, Anton, treat me like a whore—nothing else.” Revulsion, refusal, rebellion.
“I will never be your wife. Fuck whatever false vows you force me to say. I am Valentina Makarova—wife, bride, queen, and jewel of Roman Makarova. And that is something you will NEVER take from me. Or him.”
I gaze at her in awe. And horror.
She’s standing tall, staring down the storm in my brother’s eyes and daring it to do its worst. She will ride the storm through hell itself.
Anton’s expression hardens, his cruelty sharpening. With a brutal sneer, he chains her to the nearby wall, opposite mine. Her front to the chilled wall. Her back facing out.
“Well done, brother. You keep your dungeon well stocked,” Anton says with lethal approval.
He runs a finger along the rows of whips hanging from hooks and pulls one free, his smile a razor’s edge.
A cold fire ignites inside me, sharp and relentless. I taste venom on my tongue, the raw need to rip him apart limb by limb before he can put a mark on her.
She turns to me. Silent tears stream down her cheeks. Her body is soft. She knows locking up will only make it worse.
“And I must commend your style—a literal sex dungeon,” Anton croons.
The first lash cracks through the air. She opens her mouth, but no cry escapes. My heart sinks into a deep grave. Because she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
Nothing but love there.
Another lash, and my fury explodes. “I’ll carve you to pieces with my bare hands, Anton. I’ll carve out your dick, one cut at a time. I swear it.” My voice breaks as I plead. “Forgive me, Valya. Forgive me for failing you—for not being the king you deserve, who would protect you.”
Her whispered reply is a fragile, fierce flame through the darkness: “A true queen protects her king, Roman. All she needs is to know the king will always love her, Moya Korona—ahh!” she shrieks when my brother slashes her with the whip.
Her voice shatters as she sobs, and I vow, “Always, Moy Samotsvet. Forever.”
By the time her screams turn hoarse, her back is a ruin of welts and marks. It’s a small comfort to know he didn’t lacerate the skin too much. No, he doesn’t want his shiny bride trophy damaged too much before the wedding. And he has many other ways to torture us both.
He adjusts the chains so she faces him.
And the moment he lifts her legs, smiles sadistically, and drives himself inside her, raping her, my heart goes dark, my soul blackens. I will bring him nothing but blood.
“Fuck me back, moya nevesta,” he growls, fingers locking around her throat.
She refuses to look at him, to give him the benefit of her tears. Her eyes hold me in her gaze. So fucking strong. Stronger than I could ever be.
Goddamn Queen of Queens.
Her voice spits with venom. “I can’t fuck you back, Anton. Because a real man fucks his woman like a queen. You could live a thousand lifetimes and never scratch the surface of your brother’s finesse.”
Heated pride fills me, but it’s short-lived from the present predator’s interest lighting his eyes. My blood freezes.
“Let’s show him then, Valentina,” he says softly. “And maybe I will be… inspired.”
He grips her throat and slams into her with vicious, animal force. She takes the sword—driven deep, all the way to the hilt.
But I will claim that sword. I will rip it free from my brother’s grasp and use it to cut him into a thousand pieces. And I’ll give every single shard to her until she turns them into a crown.
THE NEXT DAY
The heavy dungeon door opens.
Between the cold and the chains, I’ve barely slept, but my wife is suffering a far worse nightmare. Valentina preys on my thoughts with every passing moment. Hard to fucking breathe. Like a fist strangling my lungs.
I glare at my brother when he rounds the corner and stares at me through the cell with a sick and twisted smile, his eyes soaking in the bare state of my privates. He’s wearing one of my black wool coats with my suit underneath and signature black leather gloves with the fur trim.
“Where is she, Anton?” My jaw hardens to granite, along with my spine.
“Sleeping,” he says while removing one glove at a time and slapping them across his palm. “I am quite proud of how I wore her out.”
“She needs medical treatment, you rotting bastard,” I say through gritted teeth while he paces.
“Don’t worry your pretty, golden head, brother. My medic is good. Her back is healing. How does it feel to know my scars cover yours?”
I clench my fists. “All I feel is a mad and violent eagerness for when I will cover your whole body, from head to toe, in blood.”
“Oh, you will get your chance. But not my blood.” His smile grows into a grin.
It pours ice over the molten fire in my veins.
“You see, I am quite intrigued by the lengths you will go to help her. She has certainly gone to extraordinary lengths. Did you know she kept crying out your name while I fucked her? Even though I plunged her face into the bath every time.”
I yank at the chains again, fuming, “You’re a walking corpse, Anton. A worthless flesh bag, you understand?”
“Your threats will not help her, Roman. But there are other ways…”
He paces again. I track him with my eyes the whole time, like a predator. I may be prey right now, but I am the one in the shadows, preparing, waiting. A time will come. And I will strike.
“Talk, mraz’ poganaya.” Filthy scum.
“Dear Papa and I have decided to host the wedding here. He will be here soon. While I’m enjoying my dessert of a honeymoon before dinner, it doesn’t mean you can’t be polite and offer a wedding gift to the bride and groom.”
“She’s not your bride.”
“Fortuitous,” he goes on, unhindered. “The weather has relented for the next week. A little window of opportunity for our guests to arrive. We will likely enjoy an extended holiday here…until the thaw.”
I can already wager who those guests are. Anton’s allies. My enemies. Enemies I made by dismantling his former trafficking ring, assassinating those I needed to.
“They are quite eager to see your head on the auction block. But for the sake of my future wife and our bargain with her sacrifice, I found a compromise.” He pauses, his face fractured by the cell bars.
“Spit it out, Anton.”