Chapter Five
Audrey
My breath hitches and my heart pounds as if it could explode at any second.
It’s hard to breathe when Igor’s eyes are staring into mine with such heavy intensity, his tone possessive and leaving no room for argument.
I should argue. Tell him I’d be fucking dead before I ever agree to something as preposterous as becoming his wife.
But when my lips part, I say the opposite of what I intended.
“Fine.”
His brows lift barely an inch, but I can tell he’s surprised.
“I’ll marry you,” I say with a nod, then flash a smile I’m not quite sure is convincing.
He moves closer, his eyes narrowing on me with suspicion. The air tenses around us, causing the air in my lungs to still.
“Don’t even think of playing games with me, Audrey,” he warns, his voice deep and gruff.
My smile widens, a perfect contrast to the churning in my stomach—not fear, but something else.
This is strange.
I should be angry, afraid even. But here I am staring at the most dangerous man in the city and smiling like it’s nothing. “What games could I possibly be playing with you, of all people?”
His lips curl with a cocky grin, and then he lifts his hand to my face and caresses my cheeks with his thumb.
The touch is intimate, awakening something primal in me that I believed died years ago. My cheeks heat, flushing a bright red, and the churning in my stomach turns into fluttering.
“Good girl.” He drops his hand into the pocket of his tailored suit. “Get ready to move into my place. Our wedding is only a few days away.”
He doesn’t even wait for my response before he turns and heads straight for the door.
Rude bastard.
The moment he’s out of the office, I let out the breath I’ve been holding since he announced our marriage and greedily gulp oxygen into my lungs. Then I lower myself onto the leather couch and process what just happened.
Igor demanded marriage, which means soon enough, I’ll be Mrs. Nazarov.
Dark warmth spreads across my chest and creeps its way up to my face until I catch my reflection in the glass wall smiling back at me. Rising to my feet, I make my way to the side of the office that overlooks the rest of the club.
Despite being launched only a few nights ago, Velour has already become the city’s hottest new power center, packed with politicians, celebrities, CEOs, and some of the deadliest yet wealthiest criminals from the city and beyond.
It’s Igor’s biggest establishment so far, and I’ve had my eyes on it ever since whispers of his grand comeback started spreading through Miami.
From where I stand, I let my gaze drift across the club, taking in every detail—every security standpoint, CCTV camera, every entrance and exit. And most importantly, I observe every VIP escorted upstairs, surrounded by yet another entourage of armed security.
It’s almost surprising how much Igor has built back from ashes of what should have destroyed him, though I admit he’s not the type of man who can be taken down easily.
I’m…impressed.
Almost enough to make me want to put my plan on hold for a moment longer, because he has no idea everything he has now is standing on borrowed time.
The memory of him standing so dangerously close and tenderly stroking my face sneaks into my mind, distracting me for a moment.
My heartbeat betrays me, quickening against my ribs, and I force the memory back into the dark, where it belongs.
No.
I can’t make that mistake twice.
Not now, not ever again.
I’ve tried to get over everything—the betrayal, how he rejected me like I was nothing after making me believe he loved me.
Back then I was too young, and lashed out in desperation just to hurt him. I’d been na?ve, so I underestimated him, and my pain became nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.
But I’m no longer that eighteen-year-old who cried her way out of his hotel room.
This time I’m driven by something more than that. And I won’t merely bruise this empire he’s worked so hard to build. I’ll dismantle it piece by piece, until there’s nothing left for him to rule.
And this time, I’m not fighting alone.
***
It’s been five days since Igor told me we were getting married, and I didn’t expect to be walking down the aisle so quickly.
The wedding is everything the city would expect from a man like Igor Nazarov.
It’s extravagant, and our guests are some of the most distinguished people in Miami. I must admit that not everyone here looks happy. A lot of the guests look confused as hell.
At the altar, right behind Igor, stands a man who looks a lot like him. It’s his younger brother, Ruslan. I’ve seen him a few times at the club, and though we’ve never spoken, the look he gives me sends a shiver down my spine.
He doesn’t seem to like me or the idea of me marrying his brother, but he doesn’t need to. All that matters is that I’m closer to my goal.
Among the crowd of criminals and politicians stands Sergei, who despite not looking excited, manages to wear a blank mask as he scans the environment for any threats.
I’ve done background checks on both Ruslan and Sergei. They’ll be a bit of a problem for sure, but I’ll come up with a way to get them to lower their guards around me. Especially Ruslan.
When I reach the altar, Igor’s gaze moves slowly from my face, pausing at my cleavage for a moment before dipping to the curve of the wedding grown around my waist. When he raises his head to meet my gaze again, his eyes are dark with desire.
The same desire I’ve seen in them countless times before, and I can feel a slow throb awakening inside of me.
My wedding dress is a simple, elegant gown made of expensive silk and cut with the purpose of seducing rather than being virtuous, showing just enough of my cleavage to grab Igor’s attention and fitting tightly around my curves, but leaving everything else to the imagination.
I chose it with one single purpose: to lure Igor into my web. And so far, with the way his throat bobs repeatedly, it seems to be working.
He extends a hand to me, which I gracefully ignore as I take my place by his side. It’s not that I don’t want to keep up with appearances, but it’s hard to put on a performance when the man who’ll soon become my husband looks like one of the gods from Greek mythology.
He’s wearing a finely tailored Armani suit that does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and athletic build. When his striking blue eyes met mine in the moment before he extended his hand to me, I completely forgot how to breathe.
Any contact between us would probably break whatever control I have left—whatever control I need to take him down.
I can’t risk that.
I can’t risk having these little feelings that’ve refused to die over the past couple years take over and ruin everything I’ve worked for.
“You look better than I imagined,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “Well, I guess I should feel flattered my dictator finds me decent.”
I don’t look at him, but I can feel his lips curling with amusement. “Today’s our wedding day, and if you’re trying to provoke—”
“I’ve never tried to provoke you,” I whisper back sharply. “You forced me into marrying you.”
He’s about to shoot back when the Russian priest clears his throat. “If we may begin.”
I roll my eyes at Igor, then shift all of my focus to the priest.
The priest starts to read a Bible verse about love and submission and everything else. I barely hear a word he’s saying because I’m too busy trying not to show how much standing next to Igor affects me.
I hate the way his expensive cologne invades my nose and infiltrates my senses, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything that isn’t my soon-to-be husband.
There’s nothing about this man that isn’t appealing to my senses, and I despise that with all of my being.
When the priest asks Igor if he accepts me as his wife, he answers without hesitation. “I do.”
The same question comes to me, and for the first time, I lift my head and dare to look at the man standing in front of me in the eyes.
Memories from the last day I saw him years ago flood my mind. Memories of the coldness in his eyes when he told me I was nothing but fun to him. The harshness in his tone when he dismissed me and called me a kid.
Anger boils deep in my chest, but it’s not nearly enough to cloud the part of me that still desires him.
“I do,” I finally bring myself to answer.
There’s a flicker of something in his eyes that could pass for relief, or even a glint of joy, but it doesn’t stay long enough for me to decide what emotion it actually is before it vanishes, replaced by that blank expression I’ve grown used to.
He takes a ring from the small box one of his men brings to us, a small silver band adorned with crusts of diamonds around a huge rock at the middle that catches the sunlight shining through the open windows.
It’s beautiful.
And I can tell it costs more than a mansion just looking at it.
Igor slides the ring onto my finger, his thumb lingering against my skin for a second longer than necessary, his eyes never leaving mine.
His touch is warm and deliberate. It seeps into my skin like a slow burn, turning the air in my lungs to ash. For a moment, the air between us tightens, and I forget there are hundreds of people watching us.
I take the second ring from the box, sliding the platinum band over his knuckle without breaking eye contact until applause erupts around us, breaking the spell.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest says. “You may now kiss your bride.”
The crowd of Igor’s business partners, family, and friends erupts in cheers. White flashes burst from every direction. The sudden onslaught makes my stomach drop.
I hate being around crowds, especially strangers. I instinctively try to step back, but before I can pull away, Igor closes his hand around my waist and hauls me against him.
The impact knocks the breath from me.
His arm curls around my waist, keeping me pressed to him while his free hand catches my chin, his thumb digging hard into the dip below my lower lip as he tilts my head up.
“You don’t seem comfortable,” he says.
“Why should I be?” I bite my lip and knit my brows. “You usually have the whole world fighting for your attention. I hate cameras. Let me go.”
His grip on me tightens, his ring biting into the skin around my waist through the fabric of my gown. “You’ll get used to it.”
I narrow my eyes, ignoring the hammering of my heart against my ribcage. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he leans closer and angles his head, brushing his lips against the sensitive shell of my ear.
A sharp electric shiver shoots down my spine, my chest tightening so hard it hurts as the heat of his breath fans across my skin, sending an ache through my nipples that hardens them against the silk of my dress.
“Because this is your life now, wife,” he whispers, his tone so softly lethal that it feels like a blade sliding through my ribs. “And your life belongs to me, Audrey.”
“I don’t belong to you, Igor. I never will,” I snap, pushing back from him. But he’s too strong for my shoving to make any difference. He doesn’t even budge.
A wicked smile plays on his lips, his eyes darkening with amusement. The man manages to be both terrifying and mesmerizing all at once. It’s insanity.
“It’s a little too late for that now, moya malenkaya,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates against my collarbone. His fingers trail a slow, scorching path up the center of my back. “You’re mine now in every way that matters. And you’re never escaping me.”
I open my mouth to fire back, to scream curses at him, but the words get violently stolen from my throat as Igor crashes his mouth onto mine.
It’s sudden—a sharp, ruthless claim that only lasts a heartbeat, but it’s long enough to steal the air from my lungs.
Before I can even process the kiss, he pulls away, leaving my body trembling with hate and rage and something fierier than both.
I knew from the start that the ring on my finger wouldn’t be jewelry. It’s a brand, a reminder that I belong to a monster.
And I have that monster right where I want him.