18. Vladimir
Vladimir
The reception is in full swing—laughter, music, the occasional clink of fine crystal echoing through the grand hall. A room full of criminals dressed as kings and queens, pretending for a single night that their hands aren’t stained with blood.
And yet, none of that matters to me.
Not when I catch sight of her.
Luna.
She’s across the room, seated elegantly, half-listening to something Amani says, though I can tell her focus is elsewhere. She’s hyper-aware of me.
Just as I am of her.
The soft satin of her gown clings to her like a second skin, every curve sculpted by sleek fabric and dangerous intent. The lace sleeves are delicate, deceiving—just like her. She moves like temptation personified, and I can’t look away.
Her dark curls are pinned in a loose updo, but a few rebellious strands have escaped, framing her face in a way that makes my chest tighten. They taunt me—just like she does. And those eyes... molten, sharp, locked on mine like she’s daring me to be the first to look away.
I don’t.
But it’s the dress that nearly breaks me. That open back? Bare golden skin, untouched and begging for my mark.
I trace the line of her spine with my eyes, and my fingers twitch with the urge to follow that same path with my mouth. To kiss. To bite. To worship.
She looks like a dream spun in satin and lace—but I know better. Luna is no dream.
She’s a storm.
A seduction.
And I am a man on the edge of unraveling.
I clench my jaw, and every muscle in my body is taut with restraint.
Mine.
For a brief moment, I forget about business, alliances, and power plays.
Until my father walks up and drags me back into the world I was raised in.
Ivan Petrov moves like a man who still owns the empire he built, even though he handed it to me years ago. Broad-shouldered, ice-cold, and every bit as formidable as he was in his prime. His sharp blue eyes scan the room, taking in every face, every detail—always calculating.
He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, nodding approvingly. “A grand wedding, son. You’ve done well.”
I smirk. “Of course I have. Did you expect anything less?”
He chuckles, but there’s something deeper in his gaze—something knowing. “I remember when I first saw your mother. One look and that was it for me. I knew she was mine. The only woman I’d ever belong to.”
My grip tightens around my glass as I glance back at Luna.
The possessiveness in his voice is too familiar.
“Do you think she’ll be the same for you?” he asks, voice low enough that only I can hear.
I don’t hesitate. “She already is.”
The words leave my mouth before I even think about them. And the raw truth of them settles in my chest like a brand.
He hums in approval, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “Good. Then don’t fuck it up.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Is that fatherly wisdom?”
“It’s experience,” he replies with a smirk. Then, his gaze shifts across the room, locking onto Elizabeth Imala.
Ah. Interesting.
My amusement grows as I watch his demeanor shift ever so slightly.
He exhales, straightening his jacket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I still have it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “With Luna’s mother?”
He merely grins before disappearing into the crowd.
Unbelievable.
Before I can take another sip of my drink?—
"That was some kiss, brat. I thought you were going to eat the poor woman alive."
And here we go.
The thing about siblings is that no matter how often you put them in their place, they constantly crawl back like cockroaches.
And Dimitri? That bastard is king of them.
I shoot him a look that would make lesser men crumble. Of course, he’s unfazed, grinning like the arrogant prick he is.
Maybe I should ask my new wife if Konstantin can borrow her tranquilizer gun and put Dimitri on his ass.
It would solve a lot of my problems.
“Dima, I don’t pay you to talk. Go find someone else to annoy.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t expect me to pass up a moment like that,” he says, grinning like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. “It was... passionate. That’s what everyone’s calling it.”
I ignore him, turning my attention back to my drink.
Konstantin, standing on my other side, is far less amused. “He’s right. You didn’t hold back.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Should I have given my wife a polite peck on the cheek instead?”
Dimitri snorts. “No, but damn, brat. You kissed her like you were staking a claim.”
I don’t answer.
Because I was.
Isabella approaches before I can tell them both to shut the hell up.
“Vladimir. Dimitri. Konstantin.” She nods in greeting, her tone carrying that air of polite indifference she’s perfected over the years. “You gentlemen look dashing in your tuxedos.”
I barely get a chance to respond before Dimitri, the human embodiment of zero impulse control, opens his mouth.
"Isa, if you want to fuck, all you have to do is ask. No need to butter me up," he quips, smirking like the shameless bastard he is.
Isabella doesn’t even blink.
“Dimitri, not only am I twice your age, but you’re sporting the wrong equipment for my taste.” She tilts her head as if considering. “What’s the saying? Oh yes—sit on it and rotate.”
I nearly choke on my drink.
Konstantin snorts.
Dimitri, to his credit, only raises his glass in mock salute. “Touché, Isa. Always a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” she says smoothly before turning to me. “Congratulations, Vladimir. On the marriage and…” her lips curl slightly, “I hope we can let what happened in the past stay there, no?”
I offer a slow smirk. “Thank you, Isabella.”
She walks off, and Dimitri watches her go, shaking his head.
“How are you still alive?” Konstantin asks him.
Dimitri grins. “Charm.”
Konstantin scoffs. “Charm’s not bulletproof, mal’chik.”
“You can’t rely on that forever,” I add, shaking my head.
Dimitri winks. “I don’t need forever. Just long enough to enjoy the ride.”
The moment is interrupted when Salvatore Leone strides over to us.
The Don of the Chicago Italian Mafia.
We do business together in NYC and Chicago, but his roots are pure Sicilian.
Dressed in an impeccable all-black three-piece suit, his sharp green eyes scan the room with practiced ease. Tall as me, broad-shouldered, dark curls—calculated elegance in every step.
“Vladimir,” he greets, his voice rich and smooth. “Congratulations, old friend. It’s about time someone tied you down.”
I shake his hand firmly. “Salvatore. Good of you to come.”
He smirks, his gaze flicking to the crowd. “Couldn’t miss it. Besides, it’s not every day the great Vladimir Petrov calls me to cash in his favor. I had to see the woman who brought my ruthless friend to his knees.”
I chuckle. “Speaking of settling down, when are you next, Sal?”
He waves me off. “I’ve got time. Haven’t found the right woman yet.”
But even as he says it, his gaze flickers.
Lands on Angel, now dancing with Aria.
Interesting.
“Sure, Sal,” I say, masking my amusement. “Take your time. You’re only what—thirty-six?”
He chuckles. “Thirty-six and thriving, my friend. Don’t act like we’re not the same age.”
Konstantin leans in, his tone dry. “Should I warn Angel about our dear Sicilian guest?”
Looks like I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“No need,” I reply with a smirk. “She can handle herself. Besides, Salvatore might be the one who needs warning.”
Salvatore narrows his eyes slightly, but there’s a flicker of curiosity there. He knows we’re onto him.
“What are you two whispering about?” he asks smoothly.
“Nothing,” I say innocently.
He laughs, the sound deep and genuine, though his attention shifts to the dance floor again.
I follow his gaze momentarily before mine instinctively returns to her.
My wife.
She’s still talking to Amani, her posture relaxed, but I know she can feel me watching her.
She lifts her glass, barely hiding the smirk that tugs at the corners of her lips.
The DJ’s voice cuts through the steady hum of conversation, commanding the room’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance!”
A hush falls over the reception hall, all eyes turning to us.
Luna now stands at the edge of the dance floor, poised, elegant, and commanding without even trying.
And tonight? She owns me, too.
Konstantin murmurs beside me, voice low with amusement. “Looks like your moment’s here, Pakhan.”
Dimitri leans in with a smirk because he can never shut up. “Try not to step on her dress, old man.”
I cut him a glare, adjusting my cufflinks with deliberate ease. “Careful, Dima. Accidents happen all the time.”
Dimitri only grins wider. “And yet, I survive them all.”
Konstantin shakes his head. “One day, Dimitri. One day.”
I leave them to their banter, stepping onto the dance floor as the opening notes of Take Me to Church by Hozier—an instrumental version, dark and reverent—begin to play.
Luna’s eyes lock onto mine as I reach for her, the weight of this moment thick between us.
I extend my hand. “Shall we?”
She hesitates for only a fraction of a second before placing her hand in mine: cool fingers, but firm.
I guide her to the center of the dance floor, my palm finding its place at the small of her back, just above the bare skin of her dress. My thumb brushes against her soft flesh, a whisper of contact.
I feel her shiver.
Good.
“You don’t seem like the dancing type,” she murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “Unless it involves someone grinding on you in a club with sticky floors and bad lighting.”
I smirk, pulling her closer. “That’s fair.”
She hums. “So what’s this, then? Trying something new?”
“For you?” I murmur, leaning in just enough to graze her ear. “I’d try ballet in a tutu if that’s what it took.”
She snorts, the sound soft and unexpected. “Now there’s a mental image.”
I chuckle, fingers tightening slightly at her waist as we move to the rhythm. “Do I need to pay for this dance, by the way? Is there a private dancer fee I should know about?”
She tilts her head, lips twitching. “Usually, yes. But unfortunately for you…”
She lifts her hand, showing off the glint of her wedding band between her fingers. “I’m married now. ”
My grin deepens. “Damn. The married ones are always the most expensive.”
She shrugs, perfectly smug. “I don’t make the rules.”
I spin her gently, letting my eyes drag along her frame as she twirls back into me. “You’re trouble.”
“Accurate.”
Her body melts against mine as the music swells. Whatever space there was between us disappears entirely. Her curves mold to my front like she was made to fit me.
“I hope you know this dress is grounds for arrest,” I mutter against her temple.
“Don’t worry,” she says, voice low and lethal. “I’m armed.”
We move together, falling into an effortless rhythm.
Luna is graceful and fluid, but I can feel the tension woven into her movements.
She’s guarded, even now, even in this moment when we are meant to be something softer.
I press my hand firmly against her back. “Relax. I won’t let you fall.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine, sharp. “I don’t fall.”
I grin. “Noted.”
The melody wraps around us, a song drenched in sin and devotion. I pull her even closer, my lips brushing just beneath her ear.
She smells like heaven and danger—vanilla and lavender, a scent I could drown in.
I lower my voice, my breath fanning against her skin.
“Just give in, Luna.”
Her fingers tighten slightly where they rest against my shoulder.
“Give in to my insanity and be mine as I am yours now.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, molten and unreadable, but there’s something there.
Something unspoken.
The final haunting notes of the song fade into silence, the room erupting in applause.
But I don’t hear them.
Because I’m already taking her hand, lifting it to my lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her knuckles.
She watches me, her expression unreadable, as the applause swells around us.
The DJ announces the next song, inviting the guests to join the dance floor, but I only half-listen.
I guide her back toward our table, but my mind is still caught on the feel of her under my hand, the way her skin felt against mine.
Dimitri leans in, voice dripping with amusement.
“Well, that was intense. I wonder how it will be later when you try to consummate this marriage.”
“Shut up, Dima,” I mutter, though I can’t entirely hide the smirk tugging at my lips.
The dance floor fills with guests, but my focus never strays.
Luna sits beside me silently.
She lifts her champagne glass, taking a slow sip, her nails tapping lightly against the crystal.
There’s still tension around her, but it’s not the same.
It’s something new.