Chapter 3 Konstantin
Konstantin
She doesn't speak for the first hour of the drive.
Jemma sits in the back seat of the SUV, pressed against the door as far from me as the seatbelt allows. Her hands are folded in her lap, knuckles white. She's staring out the window at the darkness and falling snow.
She's terrified.
Good. She should be.
But she's also still here. Still breathing steadily. Not crying, not screaming, not doing any of the things a truly panicked woman would do. She's thinking. Processing. Trying to understand what's happening.
Smart girl.
"We're about an hour from Severny Harbor," I tell her.
She doesn't respond.
"Jemma."
Nothing.
I reach over and rest my hand on her thigh. She flinches but doesn't pull away. Can't pull away. Nowhere to go.
"You need to listen to me."
"I'm listening." Her voice is flat. Empty.
"When we get there, my family will be waiting. My mother, my cousin Dimitri, his wife Anya, their daughter Natasha. Others." I squeeze her thigh gently. "You're going to smile. You're going to pretend we're dating. You're going to be warm and charming and perfect."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll make sure everyone knows exactly how we met. That I had to drug you. That you're here against your will." I keep my voice calm. "And then they'll pity you. They'll think you're weak. A victim."
Her jaw clenches. "I am a victim."
"No. You're a woman who's going to walk into that house on her own two feet, smile at my mother, and convince everyone that you want to be here.
" I lean closer. "Because the alternative is admitting to a house full of criminals that you couldn't stop me from taking you.
And they'll wonder what else you can't stop. "
She turns to look at me then. There's fear in her eyes, yes. But also fury. "You're threatening me."
"I'm explaining reality." I remove my hand from her thigh. "You can hate me later. Right now, you need to survive tonight."
"And if I don't? If I tell them the truth?"
"Then you'll spend the next five days locked in a room, and you'll leave with nothing." I pause. "Or you can play along, collect fifty thousand dollars, and walk away after Christmas with your pride intact."
She stares at me for a long moment. Then she turns back to the window.
The rest of the drive is silent.
We're close now. The trees give way to the outskirts of Severny Harbor, Washington. The roads are freshly plowed. The businesses are all ones we own or have a stake in.
This is Volkov territory.
And I'm bringing Jemma Dean into the heart of it.
Dimitri's mansion appears through the trees.
It's massive, ostentatious, lit up like a Christmas dream.
Every window glowing with warm light. White lights strung along every roofline, wrapped around the columns.
A massive wreath on the front door. Snow covering the grounds in pristine white, and I can see the outline of what must be ice sculptures in the front garden.
Christmas music drifts from inside—something classical and Russian.
Jemma sits up straighter. "That's where we're staying?"
"Yes."
"It looks like a Christmas card."
"Dimitri's wife has... strong opinions about holiday decorating."
"Dimitri is your cousin."
"Yes."
"Who runs... what did you say? An operation?"
"The Severny Harbor Volkov Bratva. He's pakhan here. I run Vancouver."
She processes this. "You're Russian mafia."
"Yes."
"This is insane."
"You've said that several times now."
"Because it keeps being true!"
I almost smile. Even terrified, she has fire. "We're here. Remember what I said."
Andrei pulls up to the front entrance. There are already several cars parked from family arriving throughout the day. The front door opens before we're even stopped.
And my mother comes flying out.
"Blyad," I mutter.
"What?"
"My mother. She's... enthusiastic."
"KOSTENKA!" Yelena is already crying, not bothering with a coat despite the cold. She reaches my door as Andrei opens it. "You came! You actually came!"
I step out. She pulls me into a hug that's more tackle than embrace. "Yes, Mama. I said I would."
"And you bring girlfriend! WHERE IS SHE?"
Jemma is still in the car. I can see her through the window—pale, terrified, frozen.
I walk around and open her door myself. Extend my hand.
She looks at it. Then at me. Her eyes are saying please don't make me do this.
I keep my hand extended. "Now."
She takes it.
The moment her hand touches mine, I pull her close. My arm goes around her waist, possessive and unmistakable. She's trembling.
"Breathe," I murmur in her ear. "You can do this."
"I can't."
"You can." I turn us toward my mother. "Mama, this is Jemma. Jemma, this is my mother, Yelena."
Yelena's eyes are already welling up. "Oh. Oh, devochka, you are beautiful! So beautiful!" She pulls Jemma from my arms into a hug.
Jemma makes a small, startled sound. But then, a miracle: she hugs back.
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Volkov," she says, and her voice is steady.
"No, no! You call me Yelena! Or Mama!" My mother pulls back, gripping Jemma's arms. "You are perfect! DIMITRI! COME SEE!"
The front door opens again. Dimitri appears, followed by Anya and Natasha.
"Finally," Dimitri says, grinning at me. "I was starting to think you made her up."
I flip him off. My mother swats my arm.
"Dimitri, this is Jemma. Jemma, my cousin Dimitri, his wife Anya, and their daughter Natasha."
Jemma smiles. It almost looks real. "Hi. Thank you for having me."
Natasha runs forward. "Are you really Uncle Kostya's girlfriend?"
Jemma glances at me. I tighten my grip on her waist in warning.
"Yes," she says. "I am."
"Babushka said you were very pretty and she was right!"
"Thank you." Jemma's smile gets a little more genuine. "You're very pretty too."
"I know! Do you want to see my room? I have a dollhouse!"
"Natasha, let them settle in first," Anya says, walking over. She takes Jemma's hand. "Come on, let's get you inside before you freeze. You must be exhausted from the drive."
The women pull Jemma toward the house. She looks back at me once, her expression screaming help me.
I follow.
Inside is chaos. Family, cousins, aunts, uncles, all talking at once in a mixture of Russian and English.
The house smells like pine and cinnamon and baking cookies.
A massive Christmas tree dominates the entryway—easily fifteen feet tall.
Garland drapes from every surface. Christmas music plays softly underneath the conversation.
Everyone stops when they see Jemma.
"Everyone, this is Jemma," my mother announces proudly. "Kostya's girlfriend!"
And then it starts. Everyone wants to meet her, ask questions, hug her. She handles it better than I expected—smiling, shaking hands, answering the safe questions.
"We met at the coffee shop where I work."
"It's been almost a year."
"Yes, I'm excited to be here for Christmas."
She doesn't say "he drugged me in an alley."
She doesn't say "I'm terrified and I want to go home."
She plays her part perfectly.
Dimitri appears at my elbow. "She's good."
"Yes."
"Pretty too. Where'd you find her?"
"Coffee shop."
"And she actually agreed to come meet the family?" He looks skeptical. "What did you have to do? Threaten her?"
I don't answer.
Dimitri goes still. Then: "Kostya. Tell me you didn't—"
"She's here. She's safe. That's all that matters."
"Jesus Christ. You actually?"
"Leave it."
He stares at me. "You're insane."
"So I've been told."
***
After what feels like hours, I rescue Jemma from the crowd. She's surrounded by aunts asking about wedding plans. Her smile is starting to crack.
"Come on," I tell her, taking her hand. "I'll show you our room."
Her eyes widen slightly at "our room" but she follows.
We head upstairs, down a long hallway decorated with garland and small white lights, to the blue bedroom at the end. I unlock it with my fingerprint and pull her inside.
The room is beautiful thanks to Anya's touch, clearly. The bed has white linens and deep blue pillows. There's a small Christmas tree in the corner, already lit. Through the windows, I can see the lights of the town below and the snow still falling softly.
The door closes. Locks automatically.
Jemma turns on me immediately, her back to the twinkling tree lights.
"I did it. I played along. I smiled at your family. I lied to everyone." Her voice is shaking. "Are you happy?"
"You did well."
"Don't patronize me!" She presses her hands to her face. "Your mother hugged me. She called me beautiful. That little girl asked if I wanted to see her dollhouse and I had to smile and pretend everything was fine when—when—"
"When what?"
"When you KIDNAPPED ME!" Her voice breaks. "I'm standing in a house full of criminals pretending to be your girlfriend because you drugged me and brought me here against my will!"
"Yes."
"That's all you have to say? Yes?"
"What do you want me to say?" I move toward her. She backs up. "That I'm sorry? I'm not. That I'll let you go? I won't. Not for five days."
She's backed up to the bed now. Nowhere left to go. "What happens now?"
"Now?" I cage her in, hands on either side of her head. "Now you sleep in my bed."
Her breath catches. "No."
"Yes."
"I won't—"
"You will." I lean in close enough to feel her breath on my face. "Do you know what I can smell right now, Jemma?"
"Stop."
"Fear. You're terrified. Your pulse is racing. Your hands are shaking." I inhale slowly. "But I can also smell arousal."
Her face flames red. "That's not—"
"It is." My hand slides down to her throat to feel her pulse. "You're scared. But you're also wet. Your body knows what your mind won't admit yet."
"Which is?"
"That you want this."
"I don't—"
"You read books about men like me. Dangerous men. Obsessive men. Men who take what they want." I lean in until my mouth is by her ear. "And then you touch yourself thinking about them. About what it would be like if a man like that wanted you."
She's trembling. "How do you know that?"