The mansion is bigger than my entire apartment building.
Dimitri's hand is on the small of my back as he guides me through marble hallways that echo with our footsteps. Not gentle. Possessive. Like he's already decided I belong here. The air inside smells of sandalwood and expensive leather—the same scent that clings to his skin.
"Your room is upstairs," he says. Not "the guest room." Not "a room." Your room. Like this is permanent.
"I thought this was temporary," I say, my voice small against the high ceilings. "Six months."
"It is." He stops at a grand staircase and looks down at me with those dark, unreadable eyes. "But while you're here, you live by my rules."
"What rules?"
His smile is slow. Dangerous. "Rule one: In public, you're my wife. You smile when I touch you. You lean into me. You act like you can't wait to get me alone." His thumb brushes my lower lip, his touch heavy and warm. "Think you can manage that, maya milaya?"
I should pull away. I should tell him to go to hell. But my pulse is racing and I can't move. "And in private?" My voice comes out breathier than I want.
"In private..." He leans closer. His breath is hot against my ear, sending a traitorous shiver down my spine. "You do exactly what I tell you."
He leads me into a suite that is a gilded cage. It is massive, dominated by a four-poster bed draped in charcoal silk. To the left, double doors reveal a walk-in closet filled with designer labels I've only seen in magazines.
"Everything in here is your size," Dimitri says, leaning against the doorframe. "I had my people pull your records. Height, weight, measurements. I don't like surprises."
The realization that he's been studying me—down to the inch—makes my skin prickle. "You've been planning this. This wasn't just a sudden decision after my father died."
Dimitri doesn't deny it. He moves toward me, his stride predatory. He doesn't stop until I'm backed up against the edge of the mattress. "Rule two: You wear what I provide. Tomorrow night, we attend the Volkov Foundation Gala. You will wear the emerald silk on the end rack. It matches your eyes when you're angry."
His hand comes up, his knuckles dragging slowly down the line of my collarbone. "Rule three: You do not argue with me in front of my men. If you have something to say, you say it here, behind closed doors. But out there? You are mine. You are loyal. You are devoted."
"You can't buy devotion, Dimitri."
"I didn't buy it. I'm earning it by keeping you out of a shallow grave." He leans in, his face inches from mine. "I want the other Pakhans to look at me and wonder how the hell I tamed you."
"You'll be wondering for a long time," I snap.
Dimitri's eyes drop to my lips, and the silence in the room becomes heavy enough to breathe. The tension is a physical weight, pulling us closer until I can feel the heat radiating off his body. He wants to kiss me. I can see the hunger in the way his jaw tightens.
But he pulls back. "Dinner will be sent up. Eat. Rest. Tomorrow, you become a Volkov. Try to act like you're worth the three million I paid for you."
He turns on his heel and heads for the door.
"Dimitri?" I call out. He pauses, hand on the handle. "What happens if I break a rule?"
He glances over his shoulder, a dark, wicked glint in his eyes. "Then we'll have to discuss your punishment. And I promise you, I'm very creative when it comes to discipline."
The door clicks shut, and the lock engages with a heavy thud. I sink onto the bed, my hands shaking. I'm safe from the debt, but I've just traded a death sentence for a man who wants to own my very soul.
---
The restaurant is a sea of black suits and diamonds. Every head turns when we enter.
The emerald silk dress is cut so low in the back it's scandalous, and with every step I take, the high slit reveals the lace of my stockings. Dimitri's hand never leaves me. It's on my waist, then the small of my back, then sliding up to rest possessively on the bare skin of my shoulder.
"Smile," he murmurs against my hair. "You're supposed to be madly in love with me, remember?"
"Dimitri! I heard rumors," a man with a scarred face says, intercepting us. His eyes rake over me, lingering on my chest. "Is this the lucky girl?"
"This is Maya. My wife," Dimitri says. His voice is pleasant, but there's a lethal edge to it.
The man reaches for my hand. "A pleasure. Dimitri has always had excellent taste in... assets."
Before he can touch me, Dimitri's grip on my waist tightens, pulling me back half an inch. "She's not an asset, Ivan. She's a Volkov. And I'd suggest you remember the difference before you lose the hand you're reaching with."
Ivan pales and retreats. Dimitri leads me away, his fingers digging into my hip.
"You were going to break his hand," I whisper.
"He looked at you like you were for sale," Dimitri mutters. "You aren't. You're mine. I don't share what's mine."
We are stopped by a younger man with a cruel smile—Alexei. He doesn't look at Dimitri; he looks straight at me with a challenge. "Dimitri! Congratulations. I didn't know the Volkovs liked to pick up strays from the gutter."
Dimitri's body goes rigid. I can feel the violence radiating off him. "Careful, Alexei," Dimitri says, his voice a low, lethal purr. "The last man who insulted my wife is still looking for his tongue."
Dimitri turns to me, his eyes dark with a mixture of rage and something far more primal. He leans down, his mouth brushing my ear in front of everyone. "He shouldn't have said that. Now I have to show them exactly how much you belong to me."