The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the mansion like a cannon blast.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands tucked between my knees to hide their trembling. Yuri had locked me in. No phone, no television, just the suffocating silence of the master suite and the knowledge that Dimitri Volkov was coming for me.
His footsteps on the stairs weren't hurried. They were heavy, deliberate, and rhythmic-the sound of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.
The door didn't just open; it hit the wall with a violence that made the crystal lamps on the nightstand rattle. Dimitri stood in the threshold, still in his charcoal suit, but the tie was gone and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked raw. He looked lethal. And when his eyes met mine, they weren't the eyes of the man who had carried me to bed. They were shards of frozen flint.
"Out," he barked over his shoulder.
I heard Yuri's footsteps retreat. The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was ten times more terrifying than the noise.
"I gave you one rule, Maya," he said, his voice a low, vibrating growl that crawled up my spine. "One. Simple. Rule."
"I had a right to know," I said, forcing my voice not to crack. I stood up, trying to reclaim some shred of dignity, even as my heart tried to kick its way out of my chest. "You lied to me, Dimitri. You made me believe I was just paying off a gambling debt. You didn't tell me my father was a thief. You didn't tell me I was bait for the Italians."
He moved so fast I didn't have time to blink. One second he was by the door; the next, he was in my space, his hand slamming into the wall beside my head. I gasped, backed up against the cold plaster, trapped between the wall and the wall of his chest.
"I didn't lie. I protected you from a truth that would have destroyed your memory of the only man you ever loved," he hissed, leaning down until our noses were almost touching. I could smell the cold winter air on his coat and the faint, bitter scent of gunpowder. "Your father was a dead man the second he put his hand in my pocket. I saved you from the same fate. I gave you my name. I gave you my house. And in return, I asked for your obedience."
"I am not a dog, Dimitri! I am not something you can just put in a kennel and expect to sit and stay!"
I pushed against his chest, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He didn't budge. Instead, his other hand came up, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His touch wasn't gentle tonight. It was possessive. It was a claim.
"You are mine," he rasped, his eyes dropping to my lips before snapping back to mine. "By blood, by contract, and by the fact that I am the only thing standing between you and a shallow grave in a New Jersey wasteland. Do you have any idea what happens if the Italians get you? Do you think they will give you silk sheets and a marble table?"
"Then tell me the truth!" I shouted, tears finally blurring my vision. "Don't treat me like a doll. If I'm going to die for this family, at least let me know why!"
His grip on my chin tightened for a heartbeat, then softened just a fraction. His thumb brushed over my lower lip, a gesture that was half-threat, half-caress. The air between us was thick with a sudden, agonizing heat. The anger was still there, but it was shifting into something darker, something that made the hair on my arms stand up.
"You aren't going to die," he murmured, his voice dropping into that dangerous, intimate register. "I will burn this city to ash before I let a single soul lay a hand on you. But you will learn, Maya. You will learn that in this house, my word is law. You went into my office. You touched things that don't belong to you."
He stepped even closer, his body flushing against mine from chest to knee. I could feel the hard line of his jaw and the erratic thrum of his pulse against my own.
"How should I punish you, *maya milaya*?" he whispered against my ear, his breath hot and causing a shiver to race down my thighs. "Should I lock you in this room for a week? Should I take away the few freedoms I've allowed you? Or should I remind you exactly who you belong to until you forget your own name?"
I should have been repulsed. I should have been terrified. But as his hand slid down from my chin to the nape of my neck, my fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. I hated him for the secrets. I hated him for the cage. But God help me, the way he looked at me-like I was the only thing in the world worth conquering-made my knees weak.
"I'm not apologizing," I whispered, my breath hitching as his lips grazed the sensitive skin just below my ear.
"I don't want an apology," he growled, his hand tightening in my hair, tilting my head back to expose my throat. "I want your surrender. I want you to understand that every time you defy me, there is a price to pay."
He didn't kiss me. Not yet. He just held me there, pinned against the wall, making me feel every inch of his dominance. He was waiting for me to break. He was waiting for me to realize that no matter how much I fought, the gravity of Dimitri Volkov would always pull me back down.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I opened my eyes. The ice in his was melting into a dark, predatory fire.
"Say it," he urged, his voice a low vibration against my skin. "Tell me who you belong to."
The silence stretched, charged with enough electricity to light up all of Brooklyn. My pride was screaming at me to spit in his face. But my body was singing a different tune, a song of heat and submission that I didn't want to admit I recognized.
"You," I breathed, the word barely a sound.
"Louder."
"I belong to you, Dimitri."
He let out a sharp, jagged breath and crashed his mouth against mine. It wasn't a kiss of love; it was a collision. It tasted of salt, anger, and a desperation that terrified me. In that moment, I realized the truth. Dimitri Volkov didn't just want a wife. He wanted to consume me. And as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, I realized the scariest part of all.
I was going to let him.