Vadim
As I walk past her room, I hear the soft music coming through the door.
I stop walking and lean against the wall opposite the door, listening.
She isn’t crying. Hopefully she is sleeping and not plotting how to kill me over breakfast. The music is quiet, but deliberate.
She needed background noise before she could shut her eyes.
I know that about her already. The silence truly bothers her.
I push off the wall and keep moving towards my bedroom.
Placing my phone on the bedside cabinet, I strip off before getting into bed to stare at the ceiling in the dark where I’m most comfortable, running through everything that happened today with the mechanical efficiency of someone who has been doing this since he was old enough to understand what the family name cost. Anton is dealt with, but this hasn’t ended.
My phone beeps, and I pick it up, holding it above my face with both hands as I read the reply to the text I sent to Baron earlier.
He has replied in email format, which is not a shock, but it makes me chuckle anyway.
Anton was the head, but he wasn’t the money.
The money is a man named Ruslan Tarasov, who bankrolled the Melnikovs for the last four years and kept his name clean by letting his men do the collecting.
He is not Bratva. He is a businessman with dirty money and dirtier connections, and he will want a return on his investment now that Anton is gone.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I lower the phone.
Baron’s meaning is clear without him having to spell it out. Ruslan Tarasov is the real problem. He always was. Anton was noise. Tarasov is the silence before something goes badly wrong.
I email back. I could do my own research, but Baron is a font of Bratva knowledge, so I might as well use him while he is being amenable.
Who is he?
The phone buzzes, but this time with a call. Baron’s patience with technology has ended.
Before I can even come out with a greeting, he says, “He runs import and export through three legitimate companies out of Limehouse, and none of his paperwork has ever been wrong enough to interest the authorities. He is a man with expensive lawyers and the carefulness they buy. He funds people who do the dirty work, keeps his distance, and then calls in favours when the time suits him.”
“So in order to loan out money to desperate people, Gregor borrowed Tarasov’s money. Which means Gregor’s death is Tarasov’s loss.”
“As is Anton’s.”
“So we are dealing with more than a pissed-off Bratva family.”
“We aren’t dealing with anything. You are,” he corrects me and hangs up.
I bet he’s been waiting to do it since earlier.
But it has confirmed my worst fears. It means Tai’s name makes her a target and her death doesn’t pay. Selling her will.
“Fuck,” I say again and drop the phone onto the bed.
I don’t sleep. I knew I wouldn’t before I got in, and twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling has confirmed it.
I pull on joggers and leave the bedroom, taking the stairs in bare feet.
After midnight, the house is exactly how I need it, with every room dark, no sound coming through the walls, no traffic, no neighbours.
Just the low hum of the security system and my own breathing.
I head for the kitchen and pour a glass of water. Alcohol won’t help. It rarely does.
The security monitors glow in the small room beside the pantry. I check each feed, cycling through the gates, the drive, the garden, and the road outside. Two guards patrol the grounds. Another sits in the gatehouse.
Bogdan is camped outside the door, scrolling on his phone as he smokes a cigarette.
Nothing moves beyond what should.
I pull out my phone and search for everything I can find on Ruslan Tarasov.
His public profile offers very little. Fifty-two.
Divorced. No children. Director of three shipping firms and a property company.
He owns warehouses near the docks and a large house in Surrey.
He donates to two charities. Photographs show a thin man with grey hair and a preference for dark suits.
Men who keep clean public records require attention.
Moving back into the dark kitchen, I place the glass in the dishwasher and lean over the sink, staring out of the window.
Light footsteps behind me make me turn my head to the side. “You should be sleeping.”
“I was. The music stopped.”
“And it woke you up.”
“Did it disturb you?”
“No.”
Tai moves closer. Too close. She places her hand on my bare back. I let her. I don’t move.
“Ask me again,” she says quietly.
I turn then, but she doesn’t move her hand. Instead, it lands on my chest. “Ask you what?”
Her eyes narrow. “You know what.”
“You mean tell you that you will be my wife.”
She nods.
“What is your response to that now? More arguing?”
She shakes her head.
I stand up straighter and pull her flush against me, with my hands on her hips.
Tai reaches up and cups the back of my neck, pulling me down as she presses her lips to mine. “No more talking,” she whispers before she plunges her tongue into my mouth.
I take control of the kiss before she finishes the demand.
Her fingers tighten at my neck. I lift her onto the counter, step between her knees, and kiss her until her breathing breaks. She gives everything back. No hesitation. No fear in the way she pulls me closer.
“Fuck,” I groan. “I want you. I need you.”
“Take me,” she gasps and shuts me up by kissing me again.
I slide my hands beneath her pyjama top and find warm skin. She arches into me, nails pressing into my neck as I move higher.
That ends my restraint, and I pull back.
I tug the top over her head and drop it on the floor. Her nipples tighten under my attention, and I put my mouth on one while my hand covers the other.
Tai gasps and presses her thighs against my sides.
Her skin flushes beneath my hands. I take my time despite the demand tearing through me. I need to know what she likes. I need every response she gives me.
I draw her nipple into my mouth, then bite gently enough to make her jolt.
“Vadim.”
My name leaves her on a broken breath.
I lift my head. “Say my name again.”
“Vadim,” she gasps.
“Taisiya,” I murmur against her skin, using her full name, pronouncing it accurately so she gets to hear it from me.
She responds to it immediately. “Again.”
I chuckle. “Taisiya.”
She arches her back, and I suck her nipple into my mouth again.
Her fingers move into my hair, holding me close while I give the other breast the same attention. Every sound she makes strips away another layer of control.
I pull back and look at her.
Her pupils are wide. Her lips are swollen. Dark hair has escaped its loose arrangement and falls around her face. She is half-naked on my kitchen counter, asking me to take her.
I’ve wanted worse things.
I’ve never wanted anything this badly.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, and she lifts her arse to help me. I yank them down quickly, eager to see her, to feel her. I dump them on the floor with her top and spread her legs wider. She’s bare and beautiful.
“Fuck, Tai,” I groan and drop my mouth to her pussy.
I drag my tongue through her folds, tasting her for the first time. She gasps, her thighs tightening. I grip her hips and pull her closer, needing more. Every sound she makes vibrates through me. I flick my tongue over her clit, then suck it into my mouth.
Tai’s fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. I don’t care. The pain keeps me grounded while her taste unravels me. I slide two fingers inside her, twisting them inside her.
“Vad—” My name breaks on her lips.
I lift my head just enough to look at her. Her chest rises and falls fast, her skin flushed. I want to see her come apart. I want to be the one who does it.
I work my fingers faster, my mouth back on her clit. She’s close. I can feel it in the way her body tightens, the way her breath hitches. I keep going until her thighs shake and her fingers twist in my hair, pulling me closer as she cries out.
Her release hits hard. She clenches around my fingers, her body trembling. I don’t stop until she pushes my head away, her breath coming in short gasps.
I pull my fingers out and lick them clean, my eyes locked on hers. She watches me do it, her chest still heaving, her skin slick with sweat. I want to taste every inch of her.
I step back just enough to free my cock. It’s hard, aching, and I stroke it once. Her eyes drop. She licks her lips, and the sight nearly undoes me.
Her gaze locks on my cock and sends a jolt straight through me. I grip her hips and drag her forward until her slick heat presses against me. She wraps her legs around my waist without a word. I thrust inside her in one hard stroke, and she cries out, her nails digging into my back.
I set a relentless pace, each movement claiming more of her. Her pussy clamps around me. I groan into her neck. She meets every thrust, her breath hot against my ear. I reach between us and rub her clit in tight circles until she shatters again, her body pulsing and her voice breaking on my name.
“Tai,” I groan. “You’re so tight. Perfect. Mine.”
She gasps at the last word.
“Mine,” I say again, pounding into her, my fingers digging into her hips, probably bruising her.
She doesn’t complain. She tightens her grip around me with her legs.
I thrust harder, claiming every inch of her.
Her cunt yields and tightens around me. Pleasure builds at the base of my spine and demands release.
I bury my face in her hair and drive into her with everything I have left.
She meets each movement, her legs locked tight, her nails scoring my shoulders.
“Say it,” I demand. “Tell me who you belong to.”
Her breath catches against my ear. “Yours,” she gasps.
The word cracks something open in my fucking soul. I want to hear it again. I want her to mean it.
“Louder.”
“Yours, Vadim. I belong to you.”
The confession breaks the last thread of control I have.
I drive into her harder, chasing the release building low and vicious.
She clenches around me, and I feel her coming again.
Her body goes taut, her nails carve deeper into my back like she’s trying to hold onto something solid while the ground disappears beneath her.
“That’s it,” I growl against her throat. “Come again. Show me.”
She shatters with a cry that she muffles against my shoulder, teeth pressing into my skin hard enough to leave a mark.
My hand clamps around her throat, holding her through her orgasm, which drags me over the edge with her.
I come hard. Burying myself as deep as I can go, holding her against me while I drain myself inside her.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Her legs stay locked around my waist, her breath hot and uneven against my throat. I keep one hand braced on the counter beside her hip, the other still gripping her throat like letting go might undo something I don’t want undone.
I pull back enough to look at her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.
“Mine,” I rasp. “This makes you mine. You can never walk away now, Tai. Do you hear me?”
“Vadim…”
“I said, do you hear me?”
Fear fills her eyes for a split second, but she shoves it aside. “I hear you.”
I withdraw and stash my dick, bending to pick up her pyjamas. I help her back into them with a smirk. “You’re going to soak them with my cum.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“You just let me fuck you.”
“No. We fucked each other,” she states, and I’m pretty sure I tumble arse over dick for her.
“We need to talk,” I say, going serious.
She slows down her movements and avoids my gaze. “Okay. That’s never good, especially after fucking a woman on your kitchen counter.”
“It’s about a man named Ruslan Tarasov.”
She looks up and frowns. “Who?”
I move to the cupboard where Ivan keeps the premium vodka in stock for Baron and pull out a bottle of Beluga Noble and two glasses. I pour out a shot in each and hand one to her before answering. “Ruslan Tarasov. He finances the Melnikovs.”
She tugs the pyjama top down and stares at the glass, taking it after a beat. “What does that mean? I don’t speak Bratva.”
“It means the money Gregor loaned you came from him. Gregor collected the debt, and once it was paid, Gregor decided he wanted a piece for himself before he handed it over to Tarasov. That’s why he kept increasing your interest retroactively.”
Her face loses the warmth I put there, and she gulps back a mouthful of vodka.
“Gregor’s death left the debt unpaid. Anton’s death removed the man responsible for recovering it.”
“I borrowed three thousand pounds with five hundred pounds interest. I paid it all back,” she says, panic hitting her insides.
She goes very still. I reach for her, but she pushes my hand away and moves to the other side of the kitchen. I leave her to process.
“I don’t understand what this means. It’s not my fault Gregor never paid the loan. Besides, how do you know he didn’t? He might’ve.”
“The way it works is, the loan shark keeps hold of the funds until they can hand over the entire amount to their investor. Handing back dribs and drabs every week creates work no one wants.”
“And you know this how?” she croaks.
“Industry standards.”
“Jesus,” she mutters, rubbing her hand over her face. “Am I in deeper shit than I was yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck. When did you find out about this man?”
“About five minutes before you came down.”
“So after you asked me to marry you?”
“Didn’t ask,” I remind her.
She gives me a look filled with exhausted disbelief. “Thank you for clarifying the least important part of that sentence.”
“You brought it up.”
She inhales deeply. “Who is this man? Is he dangerous?”
“Very. Men don’t finance low-level Bratva organisation unless they are powerful enough to control them.”
“But he’s not Bratva?” she asks, confused.
“No. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Or maybe he is the next pakhan. Who knows?”
“What will he want from me?”
“The money first. More than the original amount, because Gregor’s death created disruption. Then he’ll want to know whether you can be useful.”
Her fingers tighten around the glass. “Useful how?”
“I’m not giving you a list.”
“Because you don’t know or because you think I’ll panic?”
“Both.”
She drains the vodka and sets the glass down too hard. “Then give me the passport.”
“No.”
The warmth in her expression disappears completely. “You don’t get to make that decision.”
“Actually, I do. I decline to do business with you.”
“Then give me back my four thousand pounds, and I’ll find someone else who will do business with me.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” I cross my arms and wait for her to hit the roof.