Chapter Two
Arkady
The Gold Room erupts.
Not loud—not yet—but I feel the shift. Bodies turning. Fabric rustling. Breath held then released in sharp bursts. The whispers start in the back rows and ripple forward like a wave gathering speed.
I don’t look back.
My footsteps echo off the parquet—steady, measured, each one driving me further from the altar and the woman standing there with tears streaking her makeup. One foot in front of the other. The doors ahead gleam with gold leaf, grotesquely ornate. Like everything else in this fucking charade.
“You will regret this, Arkady!”
Sergei Tulikov’s voice cracks through the silence like breaking bone.
I stop. Turn halfway.
He’s on his feet, one hand white-knuckled on the chair back, the other wrapped around Rosanna.
She’s folded into him, her face pressed to his chest, shoulders trembling.
The performance is flawless—she’s been practicing this particular brand of fragile since she was old enough to realize tears got her what she wanted.
Sergei’s only child. His perfect, breakable doll. He’s kept her wrapped in silk and diamonds since her mother died, never let a harsh word touch her, never let reality intrude on the fantasy world he built around her.
I wonder how long before he realizes I just did her a favor.
“You humiliate my daughter?” Sergei’s voice rises, carrying to every corner of the room. “In front of everyone?” He takes a step forward, still cradling Rosanna against him. “You think you can walk away from this? From me?”
I meet his eyes. Hold them. “I just did.”
“No.” He shakes his head slowly. “No, you made a choice. And choices have consequences in our world.” His voice drops, but somehow it carries further. “You know this, Arkady. Your father taught you this.”
“My father taught me a lot of things.” I take a step toward him. Just one. Enough to make my point. “Most of them were shit.”
Gasps ripple through the guests. Someone’s babushka clutches her pearls.
Sergei’s face darkens. “You’ve just declared war on the Tulikov family.
On our alliance. On everything we’ve built.
” He eases Rosanna toward her aunt—a thick-waisted woman in purple who immediately wraps protective arms around the girl.
Now Sergei stands alone, and his posture shifts.
Shoulders back. Chin up. This is the man who built an empire on intimidation and blood.
“I’m going to destroy you,” he says quietly.
“Slowly. Thoroughly. Every business deal, every contract, every scrap of respect you think you’ve earned—gone.
And when you have nothing left, when you’re begging in the streets, I want you to remember this moment.
Remember that you did this to yourself.”
The threat hangs in the air. Heavy. Real.
I should feel something. Fear, maybe. Caution at the very least.
Instead, I smile.
“Get in line, Sergei. There are at least five men who’ve made me that same promise this year.” I button my jacket. “Three of them are dead. One’s in prison. The last one—” I pause. “Well, he learned to keep my name out of his mouth.”
Sergei’s jaw clenches. “You arrogant—”
“Nyet. Realistic.” I turn fully toward him now, giving him my complete attention.
“You want to come after me? Fine. But understand something first—this marriage was a sham. A bad idea from the start. And your daughter…” I snort.
“She has secrets of her own to share. So before you start making threats about honor and respect, maybe look at your own house first.”
His hand twitches toward his jacket. Where he keeps his gun.
Several of my men shift position. I hear the subtle rustle of weapons being readied.
“Go ahead,” I say softly. “Draw it. Right here, in front of all these witnesses. In a registry office. Start a war in a room full of civilians.” I tilt my head. “That’s the Tulikov way, isn’t it? No honor. No code. Just blind rage and collateral damage.”
For a moment, I think he’ll do it. His hand hovers near his jacket, fingers flexing.
Then he drops it.
“This isn’t over.” His voice shakes. “Not even close.”
“It never is.” I turn my back on him—the ultimate insult. “Enjoy the reception, Sergei. I paid for an open bar.”
I walk. Don’t rush. Don’t look back.
The doors close behind me with a muted thud, swallowing the chaos.
The hallway is cooler. Quieter. My pulse drums in my ears, but my breathing stays even.
Footsteps approach from my left—quick, heavy. Stefan appears from the corridor where he’s been scouring the perimeter, his expression grim. The others materialize behind him. Leo. Mikhail. Alexei. They form a loose perimeter, checking sightlines, hands resting casually near concealed weapons.
No one speaks.
Stefan falls into step beside me, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes mine. For a full minute, we walk in silence. Our footsteps echo off the marble floors, past gilt-framed mirrors and crystal sconces that probably cost more than most people make in a year.
“That was—” Stefan starts.
“Don’t.”
“—a complete fucking disaster.”
I stop walking. Turn to face him.
Stefan crosses his arms, his biceps straining against his suit jacket. The tattoo on his neck—a serpent coiled around a dagger—seems to pulse with his heartbeat. “You just burned the Tulikov alliance. In public. In front of the entire Bratva.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” He leans in, voice dropping. “Because Sergei’s not going to let this go. He’s already lost face. His daughter’s humiliated. The merger’s dead. He’s got no choice but to retaliate now, or he looks weak.”
“Let him try.”
“Blyad, Arkady.” Stefan rakes a hand over his scalp. “This isn’t some low-level enforcer you can disappear. This is Sergei fucking Tulikov. He’s got connections, resources, an entire family backing him—”
“I know who he is.”
“Then you know this is going to get bloody.” Stefan’s eyes search mine.
“Your father’s going to lose his shit. The other families are going to take sides.
We’re going to have to fortify every property, vet every supplier, watch our backs every fucking second because Sergei’s going to hit us where we’re weakest and he’s going to do it soon. ”
Everything Stefan’s saying is true.
Sergei won’t just come after me—he’ll go after my businesses, my men, anyone connected to me. He’ll call in favors, make alliances, turn this into a full-scale conflict that could fracture the entire Bratva power structure. People will die. Probably a lot of them.
And my father—
Khren. My father’s going to see this as the ultimate betrayal. Not just walking away from the wedding, but destroying years of careful political maneuvering. He’ll never forgive this.
“I know,” I say finally.
Stefan stares at me. “You know. That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“What do you want me to say?” I start walking again. “That I should’ve gone through with it? Married a woman who means nothing to me, just to keep the peace?”
“I want you to tell me there’s a plan.” Stefan keeps pace. “That you’ve thought this through. That you have some idea how we’re going to handle the shitstorm you just created.”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is, I don’t have a plan. I acted on instinct—or maybe pride, or maybe just pure rage at being manipulated. And now we’re all going to pay for it.
“Yob tvoyu mat,” Stefan mutters. “This is bad, boss. Really fucking bad.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure it out.” I push through the door leading to the parking area.
Stefan exhales through his nose. “You’d better. Because if Sergei moves first, if he catches us unprepared—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to.
We both know what happens when you’re caught off-guard in this world.
You die.
The thought should focus me. Should clear my head and sharpen my instincts.
Instead, all I can think about is her.
The registrar. Standing at that altar, trying so hard to maintain her composure while her dress betrayed her. The way the fabric had clung to her curves, outlining every soft line. The scarf she’d wrapped around herself—useless, really, just drawing more attention to what it was supposed to hide.
Then the tear.
That single moment when the silk gave way, and her breast spilled free. The shocked silence that followed. The flush that climbed her throat, staining her cheeks. The way she’d looked at me—mortified, vulnerable, completely undone.
Khren poberi.
My cock stirs just thinking about it.
This is wrong. Dangerous. I should be focused on Sergei, on the retaliation that’s coming, on shoring up defenses and preparing for war.
Instead, I’m standing here, cock half-hard, imagining what she’d look like bent over my desk. What sounds she’d make when I peeled that dress off her body. Whether she’d fight me or melt into it. Whether she’d—
“Boss?”
Stefan’s voice cuts through the haze.
I blink. Realize I’ve been standing frozen in the parking lot, staring at nothing.
“You good?” Stefan asks, and there’s genuine concern in his voice now.
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look—” He studies me closer. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I pull out a cigarette and light it. Inhale deep. Let the nicotine burn through my lungs. “Just thinking.”
“About Sergei?”
“Sure.” The lie comes easily. “About Sergei.”
Stefan doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop. “We should get you out of here. Sergei’s men are going to pour out of that building any second, and I’d rather not have a firefight in a public parking lot.”
He’s right. We need to move.
But I can’t stop seeing her. Can’t stop wanting her.
Can’t stop thinking that in the middle of destroying my life, I found something I want more than I’ve wanted anything in years.
And that makes me more dangerous than Sergei Tulikov could ever be.
Because when I want something, I take it.
No matter the cost.
Stefan opens the car door. “Come on. Let’s go before this gets worse.”
I take one last drag of my cigarette, then flick it away.
Too late, I think. It’s already worse.
I just haven’t admitted it yet.