Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Igor
The late December New York streets slammed into me with their icy air as I pushed open the apartment door.
Elena's body heat had been clinging to my skin just moments ago, but in an instant, it was devoured by the winter night.
My Bentley crouched quietly by the roadside, casting a subdued gleam under the moonlight.
Artyom, my most trusted right-hand man, was already standing beside the car. When he spotted me, he quickly pulled the door open.
I approached, and his massive frame hunched slightly against the bitter wind. "Boss," he murmured.
I slipped into the backseat, my body already cooling from the heat Elena had stirred in me.
"To the estate." My voice carried exhaustion, each word heavy as lead.
"Yes, sir."
The car merged into New York's late-night arteries.
I closed my eyes, head pressed against the headrest, that damn phone call echoing in my skull.
It hadn't been my father calling—it was fucking Dmitri, the old man's most loyal lapdog.
He'd used that bureaucratic tone to inform me, "Igor, the Don wants you back at the estate immediately.
Final arrangements for the engagement ceremony need confirmation with the Ivanov family. "
At the end, he'd added with pointed meaning, "The Don says he hopes you'll always remember—Bratva comes first."
My jaw clenched instantly, muscles jumping beneath the skin. That bastard always knew exactly how to drive his words like ice picks straight into my bones.
Family. Bratva. From the moment I drew breath, those two words had been carved into my blood and bone. Being the Bratva Don's only son didn't just mean power and status—it meant chains and responsibilities I could never shake.
I'd inherited everything from my father—that cold-blooded, tyrannical, power-hungry bastard.
Taking over this sprawling underground empire and pushing it to even greater heights was both my ambition and my fate.
To achieve it, I had to accept marriage to the only daughter of another Russian crime family that controlled vast drug networks.
Natasha Ivanova. I'd met her several times—a classic Slavic beauty, tall and seductive. Years of ballet training had given her perfect posture, her straight spine radiating inborn arrogance. She and Elena... Christ, they were creatures from completely different worlds.
Elena embodied every fantasy I'd ever had about women. Her blonde, slightly curling hair caught light like spun silk, her blue eyes clear as the finest crystal. And those lips—full enough to make any man desperate to taste them.
She was sweet and kind, impossibly perfect. Except she lacked that one crucial qualification—being "the daughter of a family controlling drug networks."
But that single fucking title was the deciding factor.
I opened my eyes, ice forming in my gaze. We'd already left the slums where Elena's shabby apartment sat. Now the entrance to the luxurious estate in Long Island filled my view—manicured hedges, carefully tended gardens. A completely different universe.
It didn't matter. Once this was all settled, I'd take good care of Elena.
I'd buy her the finest penthouse in the Upper East Side, set up a trust fund she could never exhaust. She'd become my most precious secret.
She'd be happy. That sweet girl treasured even the diamond necklace I'd casually given her, too precious to even wear.
Give her a few comforts and she'd glow for weeks.
The thought brought a twisted sort of comfort to my restless mind.
When the Bentley stopped before the main house, I saw my father, Konstantin Vorontsov, standing with the Ivanov family on the stone steps, winter light casting long shadows around them.
Alexander Ivanov noticed my car first—Natasha's father, a man whose hearty laugh masked fox-like cunning.
His gaze shifted to me, and the others followed.
I took a deep breath and opened the door, cold air flooding my lungs.
"You're late." My father's voice held no warmth.
"Traffic," I replied expressionlessly, my eyes scanning past Natasha, who was watching me with burning intensity.
Tonight she wore a tight red dress that clung to every curve, her makeup flawless, sultry eyes roaming over me.
When she caught my gaze lingering on her, she raised her crimson lips in a perfect smile.
We entered the massive sitting room where flames roared in the fireplace. Under crystal chandeliers, the long table displayed an array of drinks—whiskey, vodka, wine. I found a seat and leaned back, spending the next hour like an outsider, letting their conversation drift past my ears.
"Speaking of which, Natasha just keeps excelling." My father actually smiled—a particularly false expression on his face. "I heard she just landed the principal dancer with the New York Ballet Company. Igor is fortunate to marry her, as is the Vorontsov family."
Natasha turned toward my father as if they'd rehearsed this countless times. "Mr. Vorontsov, you're too kind. Standing beside Igor is my honor."
Her voice was impossibly soft, but her eyes never left me.
Alexander let out a booming laugh, clapping my father's shoulder. "Konstantin, you're too modest. Everyone in New York knows Igor's methods. He's not only taken over the business but made all challengers simply vanish. I can truly rest easy knowing my daughter will marry such a man."
The mutual ass-kissing between these old foxes made me sick. I grabbed the whiskey, letting the amber liquid burn down my throat, trying to use alcohol's fire to chase away the disgust.
Natasha's mother, who'd been sitting elegantly silent, chose this moment to speak gracefully.
"Since this is a union of equals, the spectacle must match both families' status.
I've confirmed with the Royal Hotel management—every detail of the engagement banquet will be the highest caliber.
We'll show all of New York this isn't just an engagement party, but the birth of a new empire. "
The moment she finished, Natasha picked up the thread, her gaze locked on me. "Mother's absolutely right. Igor, our union is destiny."
The two old foxes exchanged satisfied looks, their smiles heavy with anticipation for the coming alliance.
Alexander steered the conversation back to practical matters. "The Ivanov family's South American supply channels will open completely to the Vorontsovs. And your transportation networks must provide the safest possible passage for our goods."
"Done." My father's response was crisp and decisive.
"I have one requirement." I set down my glass, meeting Alexander's gaze.
"Your supply sources are valuable. But transportation stays under our complete control—from port unloading to final distribution, every step involves only our people.
I don't want to see any Ivanov personnel interfering with security on my territory. "
My words were direct and hard, the room's atmosphere instantly tightening. Alexander's smile froze momentarily, but he recovered quickly.
"Absolutely! Igor, I admire that caution. Safety first—of course transportation should go to the most professional people."
I nodded, ignoring Natasha's reproachful look.
They continued discussing territory divisions, personnel arrangements, and operational details.
But my thoughts had already drifted back to that cramped apartment, back to Elena.
She was probably fast asleep now, curled up on that uncomfortable bed.
She always carried a faint lemon scent that could calm my frayed nerves for precious moments.
"Igor?" My father's voice suddenly cut through my thoughts. "About the ceremony's exchange of tokens—any preferences?"
I finally lifted my gaze from the swirling glass, glancing coolly at Natasha, who was watching me expectantly.
"Whatever you decide." My voice held no emotion.
"Then we'll use both families' ancestral rings," my father decided. "Good. Business is finished. Let the young people handle their own affairs."
The elders tactfully withdrew, leaving just Natasha and me in the vast dining room.
Natasha rose gracefully from her seat, walking toward me with elegant steps.
"You rarely come to the estate lately." Her voice carried a probing note.
"I'm busy." I drained the whiskey, feeling alcohol burn my throat.
"Busy with what? I haven't heard of any new Vorontsov family ventures." She approached until I could smell her overwhelming, suffocating perfume.
"Business matters," I replied coldly, looking elsewhere.
"Really?" She laughed softly, perching her hip against my chair's armrest, leaning against my arm. "Igor, we're about to be engaged, even married. Can't you show me a little more warmth? Or are you dissatisfied with me somehow?"
I moved my arm away from the armrest, looking at her. "More like your expectations are too high. If I remember correctly, this is just a business arrangement."
She bit her lip lightly. "Fine, we won't discuss that. You seem troubled."
Then her slender fingers traced circles on my chest through my shirt.
"Maybe we could do something... enjoyable." Her tone carried obvious suggestion.
My spine went rigid with pure revulsion. I grabbed her wrist hard enough to make her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow in pain.
"I told you, Natasha," I looked at her, my voice turning cold, "our marriage is purely transactional. I don't need you warming my bed."
I shoved her hand away roughly, making her stumble backward. But what surprised me was that when I looked at her, instead of retreat or anger, she smiled even more seductively.
"I told you—I won't give up."
The next second, she did something completely unexpected—she dropped to her knees in front of me. Before I could react, she'd expertly unzipped my pants. She looked up, those brown eyes flashing with defiance, then took me into her mouth.
Her technique was skilled—definitely not something learned at those expensive European boarding schools. But my body remained completely unresponsive, my mind flooded with images of Elena's face. Only her, only Elena could make me feel anything.
Natasha obviously sensed this. She worked harder, trying every trick to arouse me. All useless.
I couldn't stand it anymore, roughly grabbing her hair and yanking her away from me. Her lips still glistened with moisture, her eyes full of humiliation and confusion.
"See," I leaned close to her ear, mocking, "no matter how hard you try, it stays soft."
Natasha glanced at my still-limp cock. Fury instantly blazed in her eyes, her beautiful face twisting.
"Igor Vorontsov!" She snarled. "You can't deny we're about to become husband and wife! I will have you!"
She wiped her mouth, straightened her disheveled dress, and stormed out of the sitting room.
I looked down at my unresponsive body. Since meeting Elena, I couldn't get hard for another woman. She was like the deadliest poison, seeping into my marrow, controlling every nerve, every desire.
I hastily fixed my pants, grabbed my coat, and headed out.
Near dawn, I returned to Elena's apartment, using my key to quietly open the door. Darkness claimed most of the room, only weak moonlight through the window sketching the living room's blurred outline.
I tiptoed into the bedroom, approaching Elena's bed.
She was sleeping, breathing steady and deep.
My night vision let me see her innocent sleeping face clearly.
Her blonde hair spread across the bed like the world's finest silk.
Her lashes cast shadows on her soft features, making her pure as an angel.
But her full lips contradicted that purity—slightly parted, as if inviting someone's entry.
Maybe my gaze burned too intensely. Her long lashes suddenly fluttered, then slowly revealed her clear blue eyes.
"You came back..." Her voice carried sleepy confusion, scratching at my heart with inexplicable tenderness.
I murmured agreement, pressing a kiss to her smooth forehead. But then her nose wrinkled slightly.
"You smell like perfume. Strong perfume."
Though her voice stayed soft, wariness crept into her tone. My heart skipped a beat. Natasha's scent—overpowering and sharp.
I straightened, trying to project casual indifference while panic churned inside. I casually removed my coat, draping it over a chair, then offered a vague explanation. "Yeah, just met a client at a hotel."
Elena sat up in bed, most of her sleepiness gone. Her eyes watched me in the darkness with probing intensity.
"A woman?"
The guess hit like a punch to the face.
"No." I denied too quickly, the lie so rushed even I could hear the guilt. "Probably picked it up in the lobby or elevator."
I immediately looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Her suspicion and doubt felt like tiny needles pricking my heart, spreading pain. Silence stretched between us. I could hear my own breathing, the occasional car passing outside.
"I'll shower, wash off this smell." I quickly changed the subject.
Without waiting for her response, I grabbed clean clothes and headed for the bathroom, my steps much faster than when I'd arrived. I could feel her gaze following me, heavy as a thousand-pound weight on my back.
Finally, I closed the bathroom door, shutting out Elena's stare.