Chapter 28 Yuri
YURI
When our meeting is over and the men file out, I rest my hand possessively on the small of Inessa's back and guide her through the house out toward the car.
There haven't been any incidents here at my compound, nor have there been any threats, but I'm not taking chances with my most valuable possession.
"Should I have Rosa get you a change of clothes?"
I ask her as we pass the bedroom, but she leans into me and sighs.
"I'm hoping this resolves tomorrow and that we'll be home in our own bed before it comes to that."
The way Inessa speaks of my home as her own now is touching.
Not even two months ago, she called it her prison, and now she sleeps in my bed and eats at my table as if she belongs there.
"Besides, I just want to rest. I'm exhausted and ready to put this behind us."
"Yes, I am too."
I nod at Alexei as we pass him over the threshold and his chest puffs out slightly.
Then I lead her to the car and help her in.
This has been exhausting for us all, and we're so close to finishing things.
"Your men," she says as Oleg pulls the car into the street.
"The way they treated me today—spoke to me with respect…"
Her gaze dances across my face with wonder, and rightly so.
In my world, respect is earned, but in her case, it's granted because she is my wife now.
Before she ever knew it, those men saw her as my equal simply because she carries my name, and they would die for her the way they would for me too.
But now she's earned it.
"They see strength in you now," I tell her.
"The way you handled yourself in that courtroom, the way you stood your ground against both the judge and your mother, and in the war room, the way you announced your intentions—that earned their respect."
She turns to face me, those gray-green eyes searching my expression.
"Is that how you see me too? As an equal?"
I can't believe she still feels the need to ask that.
After everything we've been through, after watching her transform from a frightened bride into a woman capable of demanding her mother's blood, she still questions her place beside me.
"You've been better than me since the first moment I laid eyes on you, Inessa. But the fact that you carry my name now means you're untouchable. You're too good for me."
Hooking my fingers around the back of her neck, I pull her toward me and press a kiss to her forehead.
The way she absorbs it all so quietly tells me she doesn’t really believe it, but it's true.
This woman is too good for me in every way, and I am a better man because she is mine.
"Tell me your plan," I say, settling back to listen.
"How do you think we can pin Viktoria down and make her pay?"
Her eyes flick away, fleeting anxiety flashing across her face before her resolve hardens and she stares out the window.
"I meet with her face-to-face. Let her think she's won, that the courthouse drama shook me enough to reconsider. She'll believe she can manipulate me back under her control."
The strategy has merit, but it also puts Inessa directly in danger.
"And then?"
I'm not sure I like this at all, but I won't for any reason let her think I don't believe in her.
"I tell her exactly what's coming. Every crime she's committed, every theft, every betrayal—all of it gets exposed. The forged documents, the bribed judge, the employees she's turned against me. I want her to know that her empire built on lies is about to collapse."
I study her face as she speaks, looking for any trace of doubt or fear.
Instead, I find only cold resilience.
She has walked through hell and stolen the devil's crown, and now she dons it like the queen she is, and I think it's ravishingly beautiful.
"She'll think she's reeling me back in," Inessa continues, "but I'll be destroying her financially and legally.
Strip away everything she stole, everything she built, everything she thinks makes her untouchable.”
I see a few flaws in her plan, but it's nothing I can't handle.
We have to time her meeting with her mother perfectly to allow Oleg and Kirill time to expose the darkness in Viktoria's organization to the right men.
The roaches will scatter at the same time that Viktoria realizes there is a plot in place to take her out, but it will be too late.
Inessa's distraction will be enough to give us wiggle room to work.
"Your mother is skilled at manipulation," I warn.
"She's had years to perfect her techniques, and she knows exactly which emotional triggers to use against you."
Inessa's laugh is cold and bitter.
"Not anymore. Whatever power she had over me died when she poisoned Alina. When she turned my grief over Batya into a weapon against me. And to think she's working with the very men who killed him."
Her head shakes and finally, her eyes meet mine.
"How can you sit back knowing she may very well have gotten Dominic killed?"
A sliver of anger works its way into my chest and I have to look away this time.
"I've considered that, but if I allow myself to take that vengeance, it will rob you of what you have to do, milaya."
When I turn back to look at her, I see compassion in her eyes.
"She's stolen far more from you than she could ever dream of taking from me, and so long as she gets what she deserves, I'm content to allow you to exact that revenge."
"Well, she's going to pay. I'm not letting her get away with this."
The conviction in her voice tells me she's moved past the point where maternal manipulation could sway her.
But I need to be certain, because once this plan is set in motion, there won't be opportunities for second-guessing.
"You're sure you can face her without being swayed? Without letting sentiment cloud your judgment?"
"I'm sure."
She turns to look out the window at the city passing by.
"The woman who raised me is dead. What's left is a stranger who happens to share my blood, and strangers don't get to destroy everything I've built."
As she speaks, I feel something shift in my chest.
I've spent months convincing myself that what I felt was possession, protection, the natural instinct to guard what belongs to me.
But watching her transform from victim to predator, seeing her emerge from every test stronger and more dangerous than before, I can't deny the truth anymore.
I love her courage, how she stands her ground even when facing overwhelming odds.
I love her loyalty, the fact that she chose me publicly when choosing her mother would have been less of a fight.
Most of all, I love that she's become someone capable of surviving in my world without losing herself completely.
She's adapted, evolved, grown into the role of my partner in ways I never expected when I forced this marriage on her.
Love is weakness in my world, a vulnerability that enemies can exploit.
But now I have something worth protecting that goes beyond business interests or family obligations.
I have someone whose happiness and safety matter more than my own comfort or convenience.
Someone whose enemies automatically become my enemies, whose pain becomes my responsibility to avenge.
"We're here," Oleg announces, pulling up to the safehouse.
He parks and then opens the door for us.
I allow Inessa to climb out first, then I join her, and my hand rides the curve of her ass this time, feeling the muscle flex with each step.
When I give it a squeeze, I see the corner of her mouth lift in a smirk.
It's been a long day, and an even longer month.
I want nothing more than to take my wife to bed and feel the heat of her body wrapped around me.
And as soon as we are in the house and the door is shut, I turn toward her, my hand finding her hip under the thick coat she's wearing.
"Do you know what you do to me?"
I ask, moving toward her until she's backed against the wall.
Her breathing quickens, but her eyes never leave mine.
"I have a pretty good idea," she says, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
"But I'd like you to show me."
The space between us disappears as I press closer, my hands bracing against the wall on either side of her head.
The scent of her skin, the heat radiating from her body, the way she looks at me with complete trust and desire—it's intoxicating.
"Inessa," I tell her, my voice rough with need, "I need you to understand something."
"What?"
“I love you.”
The words drag out of my chest, the first time I’ve given them to her, and I see the truth of it flash in her eyes before I crush my mouth to hers.
There’s no space for questions, no room for anything but the heat that overtakes us both.
Her body yields against mine as I lift her, carrying her the few steps to the sofa, and when I drop her onto the cushions, she drags me down on top of her with fists tangled in my shirt.
I rip it open, buttons scattering across the floor, and her nails rake my chest as I shove her coat down her arms and strip her sweater over her head.
Her bra pops open under my hand and I peel it away, taking her breasts into my mouth one after the other while she writhes beneath me, breath breaking against my ear.
I bite, suck, and taste her until she’s gasping for more, then I drag my mouth down her stomach as my hands tear at the fastenings of her jeans.
The denim resists and I lose patience, wrenching the button free and hauling them down her hips while she lifts to help me.
I drag them from her legs and fling them aside, leaving her bare but for the thin strip of lace she calls panties, which I rip away.
She grabs for my belt, pulls it open, shoves my trousers down, and then her hand is on me, stroking hard enough to make me growl into her neck.
“That’s mine,” she whispers against my jaw, and I answer her by seizing her thighs and spreading her wide beneath me.
I line myself up and press into her, blunt head pushing past the tight heat of her body inch by inch until I am fully seated inside her.
Her eyes flutter shut, a sound rising in her throat that is neither word nor cry, only raw pleasure.
I hold still, buried in her, feeling the way she grips around me, and the restraint it takes to not give her everything at once burns through every vein.
When she claws at my back in demand, I pull nearly free before driving back into her with a force that makes her arch and gasp.
Her voice breaks against my shoulder as I find a rhythm and every thrust claims more of her.
She clings to me with teeth at my throat and nails scoring down my skin, her body meeting mine stroke for stroke.
The room fills with the sound of her gasps, her breath, her moans, all of it driving me harder.
I take her mouth again, swallowing every sound, grinding deeper until she trembles under me.
I want her desperate, wrung out, undone beneath my hands, and I will not stop until she gives me every last piece.
Her legs lock around my hips.
Her heels drive into me, pulling me closer with every thrust.
I hammer into her, until the sound of her breath turns ragged and her nails cut into my shoulders.
“Come for me,” I tell her.
My mouth is at her ear, my words leaving no room for refusal. “Now.”
She gasps when I angle deeper.
Her body jolts under the pressure and her head falls back against the sofa.
I trap her wrists above her head and use my other hand to shove her thigh wider, holding her open for me.
Each drive of my cock grinds against the spot that takes her higher.
She arches, moans, and twists beneath me, but I keep her pinned.
Her voice shatters into a cry. “Yuri.”
Her thick walls grip down hard, the pulses dragging me with her as her climax breaks loose.
She sobs my name and thrashes against the cushions, her release forcing her body to clamp and release around me in sharp bursts.
I keep moving through it, pushing harder, drawing out every second of it until she goes limp under me and her chest heaves against mine.
When her wrists slip free, she seizes me by the shoulders and clings, her face pressed to my throat.
Her breath comes hot and broken against my skin, her body trembling.
I press my mouth to her hairline and taste the salt of her sweat before pulling free.
Her eyes open again.
They are hazy, still stormed with pleasure, but the hunger inside them is far from gone.
"Fuck," she breathes, and I grin at her desperation.
“Good girl," I say, and I roll her over, press her face into the sofa, and haul her hips high.
My hands spread her apart, exposing her, and I slide back into the wet heat of her body with one punishing thrust.
Her cry rips into the cushions.
Her scream muffles into the sofa and her fingers claw at the fabric while I drive into her.
The sound of my flesh slapping hers fills the room, every thrust pushing us both closer to the edge.
I grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises, dragging her back to meet every stroke.
She rocks against me, her voice breaking into curses and pleas, and I bare my teeth at the sight of her giving herself over completely.
“Take it,” I growl, driving into her with full force.
“Yes,” she cries out, her voice hoarse.
“Don’t stop.”
I slam deeper, forcing her knees apart, bending her to take me.
Sweat beads across my forehead and runs down my temples, but I don't let up.
I watch the tremor race through her body, hear the ragged gasp that warns me she is close again, and I keep her there, trapped between the need and the breaking point.
Her cries rise, higher, sharper, her pussy spasming around me as another orgasm tears through her.
She bucks against the cushions, her hands desperate to grip anything, and her sob of release drives me over the line.
I seize her hair, wrench her head back so her throat arches, and my release rips free in a rush that burns through me.
I bury myself to the hilt, spilling deep inside her, grinding through the spasms until I'm spent.
When I let her fall forward, she slumps into the cushions, her body damp with sweat, her breath ragged and broken.
I lower myself over her, covering her back with my chest, my mouth brushing her shoulder.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air carries only the sound of our uneven breathing.
She turns her face, cheek pressed to the cushion, and her eyes catch mine from the corner.
Her lips curve into a faint smile.
“I love you too.”
I kiss the damp line of her spine, every ounce of me sated and raw, and wrap my arm around her waist to hold her there, unwilling to let her go even now.
Inessa is mine, in blood and vow and bed, and I know I will never let another day pass without reminding her of it.