7. Via
VIA
I can’t believe this is what my life has turned into.
The skin around my eyes is swollen and pink, and my lips are raw from where I’ve spent the last three hours chewing on them.
The dress I have on is completely ruined, stained with black soot from the explosives and splattered with another man's blood.
I look like a survivor of a plane crash who somehow landed in a boutique.
A heavy knock on the door makes me jump, my heart immediately leaping into my throat.
"The Pakhan wants you in his study." Dmitri’s muffled voice through the thick wood carries no room for negotiation. "Now, Viallentinka."
I drag a hand down my face, letting out a slow, shaky breath. As if I have a choice. What’s he going to do if I say no? Send in a stupid Mafia SWAT team? Oh, wait, he already did that when he kidnapped me from my own wedding.
I open the door, keeping my chin lifted as I face Dmitri.
He looks at my stained dress, his expression completely blank, before gesturing down the dimly lit hallway.
I follow him in silence, my bare feet padding softly against the cold stone floor.
The smell of smoke is still heavy and it almost chokes me.
Dmitri stops in front of a pair of double mahogany doors at the end of the hall. He doesn't knock. He just pushes one side open and steps aside, letting me pass.
The study is dark, illuminated only by the amber glow of a dying fire and a single desk lamp. The air in here is thick, smelling heavily of expensive single-malt scotch, old leather, and the unmistakable tang of fresh blood.
Ilya is sitting behind a massive desk. His hair is damp, clinging to his forehead, and his white button-down shirt is completely unbuttoned, hanging open to reveal a thick white bandage wrapped tightly around his ribs.
A dark red stain is already blooming through the gauze on his left side.
He looks like a demon who just crawled out of a war zone. He also looks totally mouthwatering.
Which is just unnecessary info!
He doesn't look up when I enter. He’s staring down at a glass of dark amber liquid, his large fingers slowly spinning the crystal.
I take three steps into the room, my nose wrinkling at the scent of the blood. "Did you call me to watch you bleed to death on your rug or something?”
His eyes slowly rise to meet mine. The sheer intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch in my throat. He sets the glass down, the heavy crystal making a dull clunk against the mahogany.
"Sit." He gestures to the leather armchair across from him.
I cross my arms, staying exactly where I am near the door. "I’ve spent the last four hours in a closet, Ilya. My legs work just fine. Tell me what you want so I can go back to my windowless prison."
He slides a thick, heavy sheet of cream-colored paper across the desk, along with a sleek black fountain pen. The gold nib of the pen glints under the lamp.
"Sign this."
I take a slow step forward, my eyes scanning the elegant, typed print at the top of the page. My throat goes dry. The words Certificate of Marriage stand out in bold, black lettering. My name is already typed at the bottom, right next to his.
I look from the paper to his face, a cold, hysterical laugh bubbling up in my chest. "Is this a joke? You blew up my wedding, murdered my groom, dragged me to your fortress, and now you want me to sign a piece of paper that says I’m marrying you? I already told you, I’m not a possession!”
He leans forward, his chest expanding as he takes a slow, shallow breath.
The movement makes him flinch, his jaw clenching as the bandage on his ribs tightens.
"Your father sent thirty men tonight, Via. By morning, he’ll have fifty more at the border of my territory.
Dmitri and I killed twenty-two of them. The rest are currently being hunted down in the woods. "
My stomach does a nauseating flip. Thirty men.
All dead because of me. Ilya picks up his scotch glass, taking a slow sip before setting it down.
"Petr is old, but he’s stubborn. He will keep sending men.
He will keep throwing lives into the fire until he is either dead or bankrupt.
And eventually, one of his bullets will find its mark. Or one of mine will find him."
I grip the back of the leather chair, my knuckles turning white. "Y-You're threatening to kill my father?”
"I am telling you a fact." His voice is entirely devoid of emotion. "He cannot win this war, Via. He doesn't have the numbers, and he doesn't have the reach. The only way this stops, the only way your father stays alive, is if we legalize this."
"Legalize a kidnapping?" I shake my head, my hair tumbling over my shoulders. "Do you think the courts are going to look at this and say, 'Oh, well, they have a certificate, so the human trafficking is totally fine'?"
"In my world, the government doesn't exist." He taps his finger against the paper.
"An alliance solidified by marriage is sacred.
Once the signatures are registered with the council, your father has no legal right to claim you.
If he attacks me after this, the other families will turn on him.
He will be wiped out within forty-eight hours. "
He’s trapping me. He’s using my father’s survival as the bait, and he knows I have no choice but to bite.
I look at the fountain pen. It looks so small, but it feels heavier than any weapon in his basement. "You’re just trading one cage for another. Mikhail was going to lock me in a white picket fence, and you’re going to lock me in a concrete bunker."
"Mikhail was going to break you." Ilya stands up, his massive frame towering over the desk. He winces, his hand pressing against his bandaged ribs as he walks slowly around the mahogany. "I don't want to break you, Via. Not when I could use you instead. And right now, I need your name."
I snatch the pen off the desk, my fingers trembling so hard I almost drop it.
I look down at the typed line for my signature.
My mother died on a marble floor because of this world.
My father spent twenty years building walls to keep me from it.
And now, with a single stroke of black ink, I’m jumping straight into the fire.
"Fine," I whisper, pressing the gold nib to the paper.
My signature is shaky, a ragged line of ink that looks nothing like the neat cursive I practiced in school.
I toss the pen back onto the desk, my chest heaving.
"But don't expect me to be a dutiful little housewife, Ilya. I will make your life a living hell. I’ll be the worst wife you’ve ever had. "
He stops inches from me. The scent of him fills my senses, making my head spin.
"I don't want a dutiful wife, little bird."
His hand shoots out, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of my head. He yanks my head back, forcing my mouth up to meet his.
He doesn't ask for permission. He takes, his mouth devouring mine with a raw, desperate hunger that knocks the breath straight out of my lungs. I let out a muffled whimper against his lips, my hands flying up to push against his chest, but his body is an immovable wall.
He presses me back against the edge of the desk. The mahogany bites into my lower back, but he doesn't care. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into my mouth, marking me, consuming me, leaving me no room to breathe.
My body, the traitorous, stupid thing, instantly responds.
A hot, electric shock waves through my gut. My knees go weak, my fingers clutching at the damp cotton of his open shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. I hate it. I hate how my heart is hammering, not from fear, but from a desperate, wild need.
He pulls back a fraction, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged gasps. His eyes are black, completely blown out, staring down at my swollen lips. "You talk too much, Via."
Before I can snap back, he grabs the bodice of my white lace dress. With a single, powerful jerk, he rips the fabric down the front.
The sound of tearing silk is loud in the quiet room.
The cool air hits my bare skin, making my nipples immediately harden into tight peaks.
I let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp, my hands flying up to cover myself, but he catches my wrists.
He pins them to the mahogany desk on either side of my head, his grip like steel cuffs.
"Look at you," he rasps, his gaze sliding down my body.
He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive. There’s no tenderness in his eyes, no soft, romantic longing. It’s pure, predatory possession.
"You're beautiful when you're angry," he murmurs, his mouth dropping to my collarbone. He bites down on the sensitive skin near my neck, his teeth grazing the flesh just hard enough to make me arch off the desk with a sob.
"Ilya... please..." I don't even know what I’m begging for anymore. To stop. To continue.
He releases my wrists, but before I can move, he hooks his hands under my thighs and hoists me onto the edge of the desk.
He slides his body between my legs, his hips pressing hard against mine.
Even through his trousers, I can feel the thick, rigid length of his arousal, pressing directly into the center of my heat.
The white lace of my skirt is bunched up around my waist, a ruined heap of silk. He doesn't waste time with the stockings. He drags his large, rough palm up my inner thigh, his hand warm against my skin.
I close my eyes, my head tossing back against the desk as his fingers find the edge of my silk panties. He rips them away, the fabric tearing easily.
"Look at me, Via," he growls, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my chest.
I open my eyes, my vision blurry with tears. He’s staring down at me, his hand sliding between my legs. When his fingers touch my wetness, a long, ragged shiver runs through my entire body. I’m soaking wet, completely ready for him despite the terror, despite the blood on his shirt.
"You’re so tight," he murmurs, sliding two fingers inside me.
I let out a loud, breathless cry, my fingers clawing at the mahogany desk behind me. He moves his fingers, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves and putting just enough pressure on it to make my hips tilt upward, seeking more.
"You hate me," he whispers, his thumb tracing my bottom lip until the skin is raw. "But your body knows who you belong to."
"Shut up," I gasp, my breath coming in short, panting hitches. "Just... shut up."
He lets out a dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against my bare breasts as he leans down to take one hardened nipple into his mouth. He sucks on it, his tongue swirling around the peak, while his fingers continue to drive me to the edge.
The pleasure is too much. It’s a sharp, burning wire that twists in my belly, pulling tighter and tighter until I’m whimpering, my head thrashing against the wood.
"Ilya... I'm going to..."
"I know," he growls.
He pulls his fingers out, and for a second, the sudden emptiness makes me want to scream. But then he unbuckles his belt. He slides his trousers down, his eyes never leaving mine as he positions himself at my entrance.
He’s massive. Thick, dark, and terrifyingly hot.
"This is going to hurt a little, little bird," he whispers, his hand coming up to cup my face, his thumb rubbing my cheekbone. "But you’re mine now. Every part of you."
Before I can process the warning, he drives himself inside me in a single, deep thrust.
The pain is sharp, a sudden, burning stretch that makes me scream against his mouth as he seals his lips over mine.
I can feel the barrier of my virginity tearing, the warm, wet rush of blood mixing with my arousal.
I claw at his back, my nails digging into his skin, trying to push him out, but he stays still, buried deep inside me.
He groans, a low, guttural sound of pure agony and pleasure. He stays frozen, his forehead resting against mine, his chest heaving against my bare breasts.
"Via..." He breathes my name like it’s a confession. "You're so goddamn small."
"Don't... don't move," I sob, my eyes tightly shut as my body slowly adjusts to the thick fullness of him.
He waits. He’s surprisingly patient, his hands soothing the trembling in my thighs, his thumb tracing my jawline until my breathing starts to slow.
And then, he begins to move.
The pace is slow at first, a heavy, grinding rhythm that makes me gasp with every thrust. But with every slide of his body, the pain starts to recede, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache that builds in my core.
He increases the speed, his thrusts becoming hard, deep, and relentless. The desk creaks under our weight, the gold pen rolling off the mahogany and hitting the floor, but neither of us notices.
I’m lost in the sensation. I’m lost in him.
He’s a monster, a cold, brutal killer who just threatened my father, but right now, he is the only thing that’s keeping me anchored to the earth. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my cries echoing in the quiet study.
He’s marking me. He’s taking every single part of me, my body, my breath, my pride, and turning them into ash.
"Ilya!" I cry out as the tension in my belly suddenly snaps.
My body goes rigid, the waves of my climax washing over me in a violent, shaking rush. I squeeze around him, my internal muscles contracting in tight, desperate pulses.
The feeling of my release is the trigger.
With a loud, animalistic roar, Ilya drives himself deep inside me one last time, his body shaking as he releases his seed inside my womb.
He collapses against me, his heavy head burying into the crook of my neck, his ragged breaths hot against my collarbone.
We lie there for what feels like hours, the only sound the crackle of the fire and our synchronized breathing.
Slowly, the fog of pleasure starts to clear, leaving behind a cold, heavy reality.
I look past his shoulder, my eyes landing on the cream-colored paper on the desk. My signature is still there, fresh black ink next to his.
I’m not just a captive anymore. I’m not a princess in a gilded cage.
I look at the blood on my thighs, the torn lace of my dress, and the heavy hand resting on my hip.
I am Viallentinka Kovalevskii. And I have officially walked into hell.