Betrayed Honor: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Ivanov Crime Family Book 3)

by Zoe Blake

  I turned my back on the guests to face the wall. Gripping the cold metal flask, I tipped the contents into my mouth. I smashed my lips together and tried to contain the cough forcing its way out of my lungs. I was unsuccessful.

  A hard slap on my back from Adam forced a second harsh cough. “Easy, sweet stuff.”

  I gave him a weak smile as I wiped a small drop of liquid off my chin with the back of my hand.

  He twisted his shoulders and also took a long draft from the flask. He winked and said, “That’s good whiskey.”

  Whiskey. So that’s what was currently burning my insides like molten metal on water. My experience with alcohol was limited to lukewarm beer passed around behind the stands after a football game at school and the occasional sip of champagne at a family party.

  I nodded and rasped past the pain in my throat, “Yep, good whiskey.”

  He motioned with his head. “This party is lame. Let’s find someplace quiet and have some fun.”

  I hesitated. Neither my brothers nor Mikhail would like me wandering off alone with someone, even if it was a guest from my party. Gregor had lectured me before the event began that, as usual, there would be business associates of the family here and I should behave accordingly. My family often entertained for business reasons. My birthday was just an excuse. The rules for when they entertained had been drummed into me since I could walk.

  No talking to anyone unless they introduced me to them.

  No listening in on conversations that were none of my concern.

  No leaving the primary event space alone or with anyone, not even to my bedroom, without telling my brothers or a security staff member.

  Never answer any questions from anyone, no matter how innocent they may sound.

  To say my family was overprotective was an understatement. Something about their import-export business had always meant security guards with guns patrolling around the house. Since they had been a fixture in my life since I was a little girl, I just got used to them. Although I think the reason had more to do with my family’s ancestry. Once a Russian, always a Russian, no matter if I was actually born in America. A Russian never quite lost their distrust of those around them, or the government. It was ingrained deep within our DNA.

  Adam grabbed my hand as he put his other hand over his heart. “Come on, sweet stuff. Don’t break my heart. Let’s go.”

  Allowing myself to be pulled away, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder but didn’t see anyone observing us.

  I should have known better.

  Even when he wasn’t in the room, Mikhail was always watching.

  He was so intense and brooding. I couldn’t help but think, or perhaps it was just wishful hoping, that we had a connection, that we were kindred spirits.

  I, too, stayed to the outer edges of those around me, quietly watching but rarely speaking. Except with Mikhail, it was a dedication to his job as our protector that kept him in the role of silent observer. For me, it was shyness and being the invisible little sister of the Ivanov brothers.

  I had none of the arrogance or swagger of my brothers. Everything came so easily for them. They walked into a room and commanded the attention of everyone in it just by the power of their presence. It wasn’t the same for me. Half the time people forgot I was even there. I wasn’t really known for being me. I was Gregor and Damien’s baby sister; that was my entire identity.

  There was something dangerously comforting about allowing someone else to define you. I didn’t really have to be my own person. There was no pressure to distinguish myself as intelligent or talented or skilled in something useful. What would be the point? No matter what I did, I would always be defined foremost as the baby sister of the Ivanov brothers.

  Mikhail had been my one and only crush since he first started working for my brothers two years ago. All the boys at school were silly and immature compared to Mikhail. None could come close to his intense presence. He was the quintessential strong and silent type, like Edward from Twilight without the weird sparkly vampire vibe.

  So, like a silly schoolgirl, I had admired him from afar, knowing it would never come to anything. For starters, he was close to five years older than me. He probably only dated sophisticated women. Women who were old enough to drink and had their own apartments. I was a nobody to him, just part of his work, a warm body they expected him to protect.

  Except now, for the first time, that overwhelming, super intense gaze was directed entirely at me. After getting used to being overlooked as the Ivanovs invisible baby sister, I suddenly felt so very much seen. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable. What if he guessed I had a crush on him? I would literally die. I needed to get out of this room and away from him.

  I took a few steps back till the sharp edge of the desk pressed against my thighs. I licked my dry lips and tried to swallow past the choking fear that was threatening to close my throat. “I know I broke the rule about wandering off.”

  His dark eyes turned cold and hard. His words seethed through clenched teeth, causing a small tic to twitch high on his right cheek. “You’re goddamn right you broke the rule about wandering off.”

  I started. Mikhail had never cursed at me before. In fact, he had never even raised his voice to me. Usually he barely spoke to me, and even then, it was only the simplest of polite niceties, good morning and good evening, that sort of thing. If I didn’t occasionally catch his blue gaze watching me, I’d have guessed he didn’t know I was alive.

  Resisting the urge to stamp my foot, I crossed my arms over my chest and fired back defensively, “There’s no need to yell at me.”

  Mikhail stormed toward me.

  With a cry, I scurried around the desk, tripping over the thick rubber roles of my Doc Martens as they caught on the plush fibers of the black and royal blue Persian carpet beneath my feet. Despite there now being a large, solid oak desk between us, I still didn’t feel safe. It was hard processing that thought.

  I’d never felt unsafe around Mikhail before, quite the opposite in fact, but something had changed. I couldn’t explain it. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. The air crackled with tension. My pulse raced, and my hands shook as adrenaline pumped through my veins, as if my body also sensed the change in the room's atmosphere, the shift in our dynamic, the danger.

  Part of the problem was he was just so big. Everything about him was outsized, from his imposing height to the thick muscles in his arms. He was like a warm-blooded statue of a Roman god. On top of him towering over my much smaller frame, he also had the authority advantage that automatically came with being older.

  Inhaling deeply through his nose, he cupped his right fist with his left palm and slowly and methodically cracked his knuckles. His handsome face was all hard lines and edges, from his razor-sharp cheekbones to his narrowed eyes.

  The tense silence in the room stretched.

  All that I could hear was the unrelenting tick, tick, tick of a brass clock tucked between some old leather volumes on a shelf behind me.

  Tick tick tick.

  It matched the rapid beating of my heart.

  Tick tick tick.

  Or the ticking of a time bomb.

  Tick tick tick.

  Turning my head slightly, my gaze shot to the locked door several feet away. The heavy metal bolt was out of my reach. Why couldn’t I be tall like my brothers? Still, maybe if I banged on the door someone would hear me.

  Mikhail’s eyes followed my gaze. “You’ll never make it.”

  “You can’t just keep me prisoner in here.”

  “Watch me.”

  “This is insane. The guests will notice I’m gone.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  The cruel truth of his words pierced my heart. He was right. Both Gregor and Damien seemed preoccupied with their own problems tonight. My mother was too busy playing hostess. Samara was with her boyfriend, and Yelena was probably still dancing. I had already been gone over a half an hour, and no one had come looking for me.r />
  No one except Mikhail.

  Mikhail circled toward me. Alarmed, I moved as well, trying to keep the desk between us. Our cat-and-mouse game ended with him standing between me and the door. My boots crunched on the broken glass from the window as an icy breeze against my bare legs sent a chill up my back. I could just catch the dark earthy scent of tobacco smoke drifting into the room from outside.

  It must have been from Gregor’s cigar. I could yell for help through the opening in the jagged glass, but then Gregor would know I had broken his rule about wandering off during a party, and that I had let someone into his private study who then broke his window. Oh, and bonus, that I had been drinking. Even though it was just a sip of whiskey, I’d be grounded till I was twenty-one, if not longer.

  I lowered my head. My only option was to try to reason with Mikhail. “I know you’re mad at me for drinking when I’m only eighteen but– “

  Mikhail placed his hands on the polished surface of the desk and leaned in. Over the last two years, I had only ever seen him in a suit or dressed head to toe all in black with a black long-sleeved thermal shirt and black cargo pants. This was the first time I was seeing him without a suit jacket and with his dress shirt sleeves rolled up. His arms were covered in brightly colored tattoos.

  They were in the traditional Russian Khokhloma style, which made sense. One of the few things I knew about Mikhail was that he was an orphan from Siberia. Khokhloma was a very distinctive folk art style from that area of Russia. On his right forearm in brilliant oranges, reds, and blacks was a large bear standing on its hind legs surrounded by intricate swirls and various flowers. On his left was a rising Phoenix in the same bold color scheme.

  It looked scary and sexy as hell at the same time. They made the little heart tattoo I had gotten on a whim on my hip last summer with Yelena and Samara seem like a silly tiny pink smudge.

  The corner of his upper lip rose in a snarl. “I’m way beyond mad, kroshka.”

  Kroshka?

  I had to have heard him wrong. There was absolutely no way the stoic-barely-knows-I’m-alive Mikhail Volkov just called me his little poppet, a common endearment for a man’s girlfriend in Russia. I didn’t think I’d ever been alone with him for this long, and it was obviously messing with my head. While no one was missing me now, eventually they would bring out the birthday cake and notice I was gone.

  I had to get out of this room. Especially before I blurted out something stupid like I think you’re hot.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Hopefully, I would leave this room and Mikhail would go back to not knowing I was alive and forget all about this. I’d just have to come up with some excuse for the window. That was easy enough.

  “I promise I’ll tell my mom and Gregor all about this — after the party. I’ll take my punishment later.”

  He stood up to his full height. “Oh, I think you’ll take your punishment now.”

  My eyes widened. How dare he think he could punish me as if I were nothing more than a misbehaving child? In a rash move, I stepped out from behind the safety of the desk to confront him. “You’re not one of my brothers, or my boyfriend. You don’t have any authority over me.”

  “The hell I don’t,” he ground out.

  “Poshel na khuy, Mikhail!”

  I knew I was in trouble the moment I said it.

  Chapter 3

  Mikhail

  Fuck you? There was no way I’d heard her correctly.

  The last thing I needed in this moment was a reminder I wasn’t her boyfriend and had no authority over her.

  Never mind the almost five-year difference in our ages. I could never be more than her brothers’ employee to her. This wasn’t about money. I had plenty of that. Her brothers paid well and often cut me in on some of their more lucrative deals. I had tens of millions of dollars stashed away in banks around the world.

  This was something way more important than money. It was about family, about having a name, a reputation, a history. I had none of that. I was an unwanted bastard left on the cold cement steps of an orphanage deep in Siberia. A nobody, and there was no way they would allow Nadia Ekaterina of the powerful Ivanov mafia family to date, let alone marry, a nobody.

  But that didn’t mean I was okay with my sweet innocent Nadia saying fuck you to me.

  My eyes narrowed. I exhaled a harsh breath then ground out, “What the hell did you just say to me?”

  Her cheeks flushed a deep red. She avoided my gaze and whispered, “You heard me.”

  I lunged.

  A short scream burst from her lips as she turned to run, but she never stood a chance.

  I snaked an arm around her waist and yanked her against me, pulling her close, the front of her body flush against mine. The thin fabric of her floral babydoll dress was fisted in my hand at her lower back, forcing the already short hem up even further. With my other hand, I reached around and palmed her ass. I jerked her hips forward, letting her feel the hard ridge of my cock.

  As I leaned my head down, my lips almost brushing hers, I asked, “Was that an invitation?”

  I watched as her gaze shifted to my mouth. She had the most beautiful light blue, almond-shaped eyes. They were the color of the sky after a snowstorm, blue with just hints of grey.

  She licked her lips. “Mikhail, I—”

  I claimed her mouth. She tasted like cherry lip gloss and whiskey. My tongue swooped in, giving hers no quarter. She hesitantly flicked the tip of her tongue against mine. The innocence of her response was almost my undoing. Groaning, I pressed further. Grinding my mouth against hers till I tasted the copper tang of blood. It only spurred me on.

  Two years of pent-up desire snarled to life and snapped its leash. I was a man possessed. Too long, I had been a shadow in her life, always clinging to the edges, but never allowing myself the light of her gaze or smile. Forcing myself to survive on the slightest accidental brush of her hand or the sound of her laughter or the scent of her perfume as she passed. Knowing it was wrong to even think of her, dream of her. She was too naïve, too good, for the touch of my unclean hands. I knew I would only corrupt her. I never counted on a primal rage overtaking all rational thought at the idea of another man touching her. I guess I vainly hoped she would always remain sweet and innocent, sheltered in the secure fortress I had built around her.

  Tonight, she'd broken her family’s rules for the first time. I glimpsed a future of her as an adult, free to do as she pleased, no longer under my protection, and every fiber of my being howled in protest.

  I was risking the fires of hell but didn’t give a damn. If she was fated to lose her innocence, to be tainted by the evils of the world around her, then I would be the demon to do it.

  She was mine, and that was final.

  Surging forward, I slammed her against the bookshelf. The impact caused several figurines and a few books to crash to the floor. I moved my hand from her ass to caress the soft skin of her thigh before cupping her left leg under the knee and lifting it high to cradle my side. I shifted my stance and ground my hips against her core. Her softness barely eased the hard pulsing ache as my cock lengthened.

  With my free hand, I palmed her right breast through her dress, but it was not enough. With a growl, I tore at the neckline, rending the fabric down the front till it slipped off her shoulder. Her skin was so pale, it was luminous. She wore only a simple, pastel yellow cotton bra, the sight of which nearly drove me mad, more so than the most expensive piece of lace lingerie from Paris could have done. Slipping my fingers beneath the strap, I wrenched it down. The movement left faint ruddy scratch marks on the curve of her shoulder and the top of her breast. I leaned down and latched onto one perfect rosy nipple like a man starved. I scraped the delicate flesh with my teeth as I pulled her deeper into my mouth. Unable to resist, I bit down, not hard, but hard enough.

  Nadia cried out and tried to pull away. “Mikhail, wait—”

  I was too lost in a fog of lust and rage to hear her cries.

/>   I fisted the fabric of her dress and pulled it off her right shoulder. Clawing at her bra, I ripped it down. I didn’t relent till I exposed both of her beautiful breasts. I cradled them both in my palms. It was shocking to see the difference between her creamy unflawed skin and my tanned and fight-scarred hands, the very embodiment of pure innocence versus impure sinfulness.

  I pushed my face between her breasts and inhaled the sweet, delicate scent of her perfume, knowing the scruff of my five o’clock shadow would scrape her skin. The tip of my tongue flicked out to lick her skin. I needed to know if she tasted as sweet as I imagined she would. I pulled her other nipple into my mouth and ruthlessly teased it with the sharp edge of my teeth.

  Her fingernails dug into my shoulders as she pleaded, “Please, Mikhail, not so hard.”

  Moving both my hands to her small waist, I kicked her legs open wider till she was unbalanced. Her only recourse was to cling to my arms. I then licked the smooth column of her neck. I could taste the rapid beat of her heart on my tongue. With the tip, I traced the delicate shell of her ear. I lifted the hem of what was left of her dress. The back of my knuckles caressed the warm cotton of her panties.

  I traced the seam of her pussy through the fabric with the tip of my finger. “Are you wet for me, kroshka?”

  Her head shifted from side to side. Her eyes were squeezed shut. “Please, I don’t… I can’t….” she whispered, her voice trailing off on a breathy moan.

  I slipped my hand inside her panties, palming her. My middle finger pushed between her nether lips, seeking her wet heat. Thrusting inside, I reveled in the way her body tightened around me. My head fell back as a surge of almost painful desire spiked down my spine straight to my shaft. I thought of that same tight hole clenching around my cock. I thrust a second finger in.

  Nadia rose on her toes as her pretty pink mouth opened on a gasp. “Ow! It’s… it’s….”

  My lips kissed the corner of her mouth. “Shhh, baby. Be a good girl and open for me.”

  I kissed her again, matching the thrust of my tongue with the thrust of my fingers. She was slick and ready for me, but still too tight to take all nine inches of my thick shaft.