Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

NIKOLAI DRAGUNOV

I gestured to a hallway leading off the main living area. "There are three bedrooms. The one on the left is yours. You'll find everything you need. Clothes, toiletries, whatever. I had them brought in this afternoon."

"This afternoon?" She laughed, a sharp, broken sound. "You were that certain I'd come here?"

Fuck yeah.

"Yes."

I stared closely at her. The arrogance of it must have made her want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

Good, Malyshka.

Irina Volkov. Seeing her in person — she was even more beautiful than I'd anticipated. Her eyes were aquamarine fire, warm and wild all at once, the kind of gaze that made a man catch his breath without meaning to. That blue dress clung to her like it had been sewn onto her body, and every inch of her was exactly what I'd imagined.

She thought she'd escaped. Thought she was free.

Not anymore.

I wanted her here for myself. Wanted to see exactly how well she could run when there was nowhere left to go. Dmitri would arrive soon, and he'd see for himself what I'd finally done.

Irina Volkov was mine. Mine since she'd walked into my trap. Mine to punish, mine to keep — for however long I decided.

She'd taken my money. Played me like I was just another mark. And now she'd answer for it.

"Get some rest," I said, I said, letting my voice soften just slightly. "We'll talk more in the morning. Right now, you're in shock. You need time to process."

"Don't tell me what I need."

"Fine." I moved back to the windows, dismissing her. "But the bedroom door doesn't lock from the inside. Just so we're clear."

I heard the sharp intake of breath before she schooled her expression back to steel.

She wanted to fight. Wanted to rage. Wanted to find something sharp and drive it straight through me until she could walk out of here with her head high.

But she was exhausted — and smart enough to know it. Whether she was going to admit it or not, I was right about Sergei. If she ran now, with no money, no plan, she'd be dead within days. 

The wolves circling her weren't half as patient as I was.

And no one touch what's mine.

Irina held my gaze for one long, defiant moment. Then she turned, walked down the hallway, found the bedroom, and pulled the door shut behind her.

Except the lock didn't work. Just like I'd said.

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I gave her a moment before I followed.

When I opened the door, she was sitting on the edge of the bed — that enormous bed with its silk sheets and down pillows, luxury mocking her in every direction — and she was finally letting herself cry.

Oh, Moya devochka. 

She'd been so careful. So clever. She'd survived her good for nothing father's abuse, Sergei's threats, two years of living like a ghost.

And now she was trapped in a gilded cage— by me. The one person who'd outplayed her at her own game.

I watched her for a moment longer than I should have. Then I spoke, quiet and unhurried:

"Goodnight, Irina. Sleep well. Tomorrow, we begin again."

She didn't answer. Wouldn't answer.

She has no idea what tomorrow would bring.

But she would learn soon enough that the life she'd built — Irina Volkov, con artist, survivor, ghost — was over.

And whatever came next would be entirely in my hands.

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I pulled out my phone as I moved away from her room and dialed Dmitri, He picked on the third ring. 

"Kolya." His voice was its usual unhurried growl.

"How's it going?" I asked, heading toward my study. "Did they talk? Anything on who sent them?"

Three warehouses burned to ash. Fifteen of my men killed. Someone had sold us out, and I intended to know exactly who before the night was over.

Two of my enforcers crossed the corridor ahead of me. They stopped and dipped their heads respectfully. I held up a hand.

 “Hold on, Dmitri.” 

I looked at the two men. “Watch the woman in the east room. You don't need to stand at her door — but she doesn't leave this house. Understood?”

“Yes, Boss.” They chorused and disappeared.

 I brought the phone back to my ear. “Dmitri.”

“Did you have that girl kidnap, Kolya? You actually brought her to your home?” There was something close to disbelief in his voice — which, from Dmitri, was practically a standing ovation. "She’s in your house? Like right now?"

“Yes. She is.” I smiled. “And I didn’t kidnap her. She came willingly. I didn’t have to do much.”

“Wait—She—I know you must have talked her into something..." A pause. "…I thought she was smarter than that."

“So, you finally admit she’s smart.” 

"Nikolai, what I mean," he said flatly, "is that if this were just a scam, she should have taken your money and disappeared. The fact that she followed you home tells me something went wrong on her end." Another pause, longer this time. A grunt in the background — someone conscious again and regretting it. "One of them is awake," Dmitri added.

"I'm coming to the dungeon. I'll handle the interrogation myself."

"As for the girl," he pressed, "what exactly is your plan, Nikolai? She can't live in your house forever."

"Hmm....She can until I decide otherwise." I turned back through the corridor, adjusting my cufflinks. "My intention is to make her understand exactly what it costs to take something from me."

"You gave her that money willingly. Last I checked, you were practically celebrating. So happy about this."

"Things changed." She changed them. "She's in my territory now, Dmitri. That's all that matters."

A beat of silence. Then — "The devil is coming down to hell, gentlemen." His voice dropped away from the phone as he announced it to the room. "Brace yourselves."

I ended the call.

Good mood. Excellent, in fact.

Time to let the beast out.