Chapter Seven
Isabella’s POV
As much as he wasn’t an open book, it wasn’t hard to see that Mikhail was, indeed, surprised.
Even as I melted into the crowd and sat by Emilia to talk about the most casual, non-wedding-related things, in my head I could still see the slight shock on his face when I didn’t flinch throughout the vow exchange.
I don’t know what he had expected, but it clearly wasn’t how I acted.
But keeping my calm wasn’t something I had to think hard about.
It was just the only way to go. He, including half of the attendees at the wedding reception, knew there was nothing I wanted less, so throwing tantrums like a child was needless to show him that.
It was what they were expecting- and I’d never been the type to do what every other person did.
I knew myself enough to know I was more of a ‘path less-traveled’ type. My calm went beyond that, anyway.
“Seems someone’s looking for you,” Emilia revealed, gesturing towards the man I’d seen with Mikhail more often than not. “Which is surprising. No one shines brighter than you at this gathering.”
“Oh, please,” I dismissed, chuckling as he spotted us. “He’s really coming here.”
His large arms bulged beneath his black suit, making his head look a bit smaller than his tall body.
“Yeah,” she answered. “For you. He’s Mikhail’s right-hand man.”
“Right. I should have figured,” I muttered. “Seems looks are one of the criteria for working with the brothers, since they are all uncharacteristically good-looking for criminals.”
“Are you saying you think Mikhail is good-looking?” Emilia teased, her voice just above a whisper as she smiled.
“Oh, please,” I answered, half-rolling my eyes before looking up to settle them on Mr. Right-hand man.
“I think you say that when you agree with something,” she pointed out, laughing lightly.
“Time for the bride to leave?” she asked him.
He nodded in the affirmative before answering, “Yes, Mrs. Lobanov.” Then he turned towards me. “Boss asked me to escort you to the penthouse, ma’am.”
“I’ll be seeing you around, Mrs. Lobanov,” Emilia uttered, a wide smile on her face as I stood.
“You’ll be fine. Better than you think,” she whispered against the side of my face as she embraced me.
Of course, I will.
I let the reality of being married wash over me as we made our way to the tall building. To Mikhail’s penthouse.
“Wait, what’s your name?” I asked him.
“Yuri, ma’am,” he answered. “Yuri Antonov.”
“I would tell you my name, but I know you’ve heard it several times in the past few hours,” I remarked. “And you can drop the ma’am. No insult intended, but you’re clearly way older than I am. You weren’t ma’am-ing me just yesterday.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am. Age isn’t the primary differentiator,” he answered, leading the way towards what I assumed was the elevator door.
“Then what is?”
I was right. It was the elevator. I couldn’t say I was surprised, considering the height of the building and how far the ceiling of the room I was held in was from the floor. Stairs would clearly be energy-draining.
“It’s authority. Power. Hierarchy,” he replied, punching a button on the elevator wall as the door closed.
“Hm,” I muttered. “When you’re not speaking in formal words, it seems you’re insightful. We could be friends.”
His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. Or maybe smirk. Who knows, with a smirking devil like Mikhail being his boss?
We rode up in silence until the elevator beeped and the door opened, revealing an interior that looked sleeker than that of millionaire CEO's.
I stopped a few feet away from the elevator door to take in my surroundings.
The hardwood floor contrasted sharply against the beige walls, and four large flowerpots lined the wall of the not-so-narrow entryway.
The sight of Yuri, who was waiting for me at the door ahead, made me continue moving.
He opened the door, and I was greeted with the sight of an insanely large living room.
Pendant lights glowed softly from the high ceiling, illuminating the black couches and sofas around the glass table on a dark blue fur center rug.
Long drapes covered the entirety of the opposite wall—I wouldn’t be surprised if there are floor-to-ceiling windows.
The space was fluid, with the open-plan kitchen only partially enclosed from the dining room by the wall of the small bar.
Everything was gleaming; of course, he had people clean it before his bride made her debut entry.
“Your bedroom is the second door down here,” Yuri mentioned, turning towards the dimly lit hallway. “Boss will join you soon.”
“Bet he will,” I mumbled, going further into the sitting room.
“I’ll get going now, ma’am.”
“Right. Say hi to my husband,” I requested, moving towards the dark drapes.
Man, that word sounds foreign.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The low clicking sound signaled his exit as I pulled a small portion of the drapes to the side.
If the situation were any different, I would have screamed in amazement and maybe ecstasy at the sight of the windows, which were, indeed, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that stood several feet taller than I.
The view of the not-so-distant city was not just panoramic, it was almost dizzying.
Letting go of the drapes, I found my way to the hallway. My hands moved over the doorknob of the first door, and it didn’t budge.
Probably a private office or artillery room. Whatever.
I went further until I was standing in front of the only door on the opposite wall. It was quite surprising that the hallway stopped just a few feet down- there were just two doors along it.
The second door wasn’t locked. Of course, Yuri said it was the ‘bedroom.’ I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me, folding my arms over my chest as I looked around.
From the king-sized bed sitting powerfully against the opposite wall, to the dresser, to the mahogany nightstands on either side of it, it was exactly the space I’d have imagined Mikhail resting his head in.
It had a dark and almost empty aura, despite the aesthetic finish.
I went over to the dresser on the far right, my eyes taking in the myriad of bottles and tubes of female lotions, sunscreens, and serums that decorated the polished wood surface.
My phone, which I’d left on the bed in my room, was on the dresser table.
Frowning at my reflection in the large, round mirror, I left the dresser and walked past the bed to the first door on the left.
The walk-in closet gave me the confirmation I was looking for.
Different outfits and pieces of clothing filled the other half of the space, from underwear to dinner dresses.
We’re staying together here. In this room.
As I stepped out of the closet, I chuckled at how this only made things easier for me. I pulled the drapes to the side, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows.
My being calm wasn’t just because it made sense.
It, in itself, was a strategy. A strategy for the revenge war that Mikhail unknowingly set off when he decided to marry me.
Giovanni’s death wouldn’t just be washed away by the tide of time as another ordinary happening, I had sworn that at his graveside.
I would find out all about his death, which I was sure Mikhail was responsible for. Then I would gather as many implicating things about him and his damn Bratva—and bring about his downfall. But, Mikhail was a mafia boss for a reason. He wasn’t stupid. I couldn’t just jump into the plan.
I had to make him trust me. I would be the cool, typical wife for whom he’d let down his guard. I would find out his weaknesses before ruining him with them. I would get close to him so he wouldn’t even suspect when I dig the dagger in his side until after he's bleeding out.
And that starts with making the wedding night a normal, happy affair.
The sky had taken on a darker hue as I left the window.
Time to explore my closet.
**********
I stood up from the edge of the bed and moved towards the dresser, slightly leaning against it as I heard the click of a distant door.
I released my hair from the chignon, letting it fall around me.
The pink lipstick I wore for the wedding had given way to a dark red that matched the lace lingerie I wore.
I waited for him like a queen awaited her king.
I suppressed my need to swallow in apprehension as the knob of the door turned.
Mikhail walked in, and I casually placed my hands on the dresser beside my body.
If he was surprised at the wedding, he looked stunned now.
Without blinking, his eyes moved from my face to my chest and then down my legs. When they came back to meet my eyes, he was stalking towards me.
“Thought I’d save you the stress of setting the mood,” I remarked, my eyes not leaving his.
“What the hell are you thinking?” he asked, his low tone giving away how affected he was.
His question didn’t surprise me. Given the situation, seduction was the last thing to be expected of me. Tears, fear, pleas, or even reluctance would have been more typical.
When he was finally right in front of me, I uttered in a soft voice, “If I’m yours, then prove it to me.”
His arms came around my body and pulled me against him before I had the chance to gauge his expression.
His lips closed over mine hungrily, and it was all I could do not to melt against his hard body.
He tugged at my lower lip as he pulled back a fraction to shrug off his suit jacket.
His hands came to my butt as he lifted me, and my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. I could no longer resist his tongue, so I parted my lips-but not without fighting for domination as the kiss deepened.
I registered him moving towards the bed, and I found myself working mentally to quench the anticipation of giving myself to him on the bed. I couldn’t afford to lose control. This wasn’t about feelings or desire; it was pure strategy.
My back landed on the mattress, right in the middle of the massive bed.
He left the bed, his eyes on me as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the side in a flash before working on his belt and pulling his trousers down.
He climbed on the bed again, his expression glowing with a predator’s focus as he came between my legs.
He leaned over me, his lips finding mine again as he kissed me like it was a need.
His warm fingers left goosebumps in their wake as they pulled the hem of my lingerie up.
“I’ve not done this before. You might want to know,” I stated just as he tossed the lingerie to the floor.
He blinked at me in what looked like amazement before his lips latched onto the skin of my neck, his hands grabbing my hips a bit harder, bordering on pain.
I let out an involuntary moan as he applied fierce suction to my neck and his hands gripped my breasts through my lace bra.
I forced my lips to remain closed together as he teased my nipples, his grip almost rough.
His hand moved beneath me to undo the hook of my bra, and it joined the rest of the clothes on the floor before I could blink. My panties were next.
But as he hovered over me, I grabbed his hard length through the material of his boxers.
I felt him jerk in my hand, and I shot him a victorious smile, which he challenged by taking hold of my wrist. He rubbed his other hand over my pussy, making me suck in a breath.
He smirked. He removed my hand and took his boxers off.
I couldn’t help but wonder if his thick, hard length would fit.
He crawled closer and lined himself at my entrance, but instead of his dick, his fingers rubbed over my clit. I couldn’t hold back another moan as two of his fingers entered my pussy, moving in and out impatiently with his heated gaze on my face.
“Fucking tight,” he uttered, his other hand grabbing his dick.
There was something about the way his chest heaved, like my pleasure gave him pleasure, that made me want to keep my eyes on him.
But looking up at him became an impossible chore as my pussy started throbbing like a time bomb.
My insides went on a charged sprint, chasing at a pleasure that made me shudder without meaning to.
I tried to hold back, but a shaky, noisy breath left my lips as I reached the apex of pleasure.
His fingers kept moving in and out, making sounds as wetness pooled around my pussy and I came down from my high.
When he finally slipped his glistening fingers out of me, he licked them, somehow making my pussy start to throb again.
“Mine,” he growled as he powered into me.
“You wanted my body, Mikhail?” I gasped. “Then remember how willingly I gave it. It makes it easier to take everything else from you.”
Rather than responding, he gripped my hips and pulled me closer to him, helping him reach tantalizing depths.
His movements were fast yet deep, and the way his eyes darkened in a drug-like type of high made me think of only one thing: pleasure.
My damn brain handed control over to my body as each thrust sent me to a higher level of pleasure.
Fuck, I want him.
His movements became less precise as I felt the bubble of ecstasy swelling in me again.
His breath came out in huffs as he moved even faster.
My hips bucked off the bed as his fingers circled my clit.
My whole body quaked, and I let out a long moan as the bubble burst, sweet, unadulterated satisfaction washing over me.
Mikhail’s low groan filled the room as I felt him jerk inside me, spurting hotly into me.
Not until he slid out of me and his face was out of my line of sight did my brain come back to me.
But it was too late to dislike how he pulled my body against his as his back touched the bed, our legs and labored breaths tangling as he pulled the silk covers over our bodies.
“I told you—you’re mine. And I never lose what’s mine,” he murmured, his chest vibrating beneath my cheek.
“Not if I burn you first,” I mumbled in defiance, not moving my lips.
If he heard me, he made no indication of it.