AT FIRST GLANCE, TIMOFEI Vetrov is scary. I mean, he’s scary hot, but I know who he is, who his father is, and what he does for a living. His occupation is the same as every other man in my life, except he’s Russian and that is unfamiliar. If he were a member of my father’s group, if he were Irish, then I would have a better grip on him.
Plus, all the stuff my dad said before I walked down the aisle has me on edge as well. Then Timofei looks at me, and I swear I melt. When he tells me that he’s taking me to France, France, for two weeks on our honeymoon, I turn into a complete puddle at his feet.
Except, when he said he wanted to know my opinion, he wanted to know if I really wanted to go to the reception, it makes me think that he’s not as scary as I originally thought. Not to mention, the kiss he gave me at our engagement party, I want more of that—more of him.
The limousine stops in front of Gotham Hall, and my mouth automatically gapes open. Camilla was a bitch from hell, but this is absolutely gorgeous. It’s all lit up in blue lights, and they shine behind the Corinthian columns of the building.
“Devyn?” Timofei’s voice calls.
I turn to face him. He’s already out of the car and holding his hand out for me, a small smirk on his lips.
I place my hand in his and, as ladylike as possible, scoot out of the car. A photographer meets us and snaps photographs as I take a step. “Oh, my veil, it’s too long. Timofei, can you take the comb out?” I ask.
Timofei looks at me, staring at me in what I can only describe as surprise before he literally shakes his body once and walks around behind me. A few seconds later, the weight of my cathedral length veil is lifted from my head, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Turning to the side, I watch as he balls up the veil before tossing it into the back of the car. Balls up my veil. Balls it, as if it’s a fifteen-dollar tank top.
“Did you… did you roll my veil into a ball?” I breathe.
He shrugs and grins at me. “And?”
“My sister is going to go ballistic when she finds out. Do you know how long she looked for the perfect veil,” I hiss before I slap my hand over my mouth.
Timofei throws back his head, and a booming laugh escapes his throat. I do nothing but watch him for a beat before he tips his chin and presses his lips against my forehead.
“She can try to bring it up with me, but she won’t get too far, since I paid for it,” he chuckles.
“You what?” I gasp.
“Your father paid for the rehearsal dinner, devochka. My father was obligated to pay for the wedding; but the last wedding he was in charge of was a clusterfuck, so I wouldn’t let him do shit. I paid for it all,” he shrugs as he places his palm against my lower back and pushes me toward the front entrance of the hall.
“That’s, that’s—” I stutter.
“What I did, and it’s nothing. My bride deserves the best.”
I don’t get a chance to say anything in response as we walk into the reception room. I’m rendered completely speechless. It’s so absolutely stunning.
The light peach and white flowers fill every possible space. Silvery fabric drapes along every single wall in panels. The lighting is blue, to match the same as the outside of the building, and there’s a huge monogram light on the dancefloor with our names—Timofei V Devyn.
“Timofei,” I whisper, turning to face him with tears welling up in my eyes.
I picked colors, I picked my dress, and I picked the cake, but I didn’t know how it would all go together, or what this venue even looked like.
It’s all too much and too grand for the likes of me.
Timofei cups my cheek and his thumb wipes my first tear away. “You are Devyn Vetrova now. You are the wife of a Brigadier; the daughter-in-law of the most powerful Pakhan in the United States. This is not too grand for you. This is not enough, in my opinion.”
I hadn’t realized that I’d spoken the words aloud. I press my lips together and give him a jerk of my head, the only nod I have inside of me right now. He doesn’t seem offended. Instead, he smiles and lowers his face before his lips press against mine in a gentle kiss.
“Let’s enjoy this evening for a few hours. You do all the things you’ve been dreaming of; then we’ll go to our suite at the Mandarin Oriental, and I can do all the things I’ve been dreaming of doing since I tasted you at our engagement.”
I press my thighs together at his words and stare at him with wide eyes. “I’m not a virgin,” I practically yell. He jerks his head back before he grins. “I’m not a slut, either. It was once, with one guy,” I ramble until he presses his finger against my lips.
“I really do not want details right now. Maybe not ever, devochka,” he grins. “But that does make me feel less stressed. I didn’t want to hurt you tonight,” he murmurs.
I feel as though a giant weight has been lifted from me. First the veil, and now this. Before I can utter another word, the room begins to fill with guests.
Timofei leans down, removing his hand from my cheek and his finger from my lips to wrap it around my waist and press his mouth against mine. “Smile, my beautiful bride,” he whispers before his mouth presses against mine in a chaste kiss. He then straights and stands to my side as people begin to surround us with well wishes.
Timofei and I feed each other a piece of cake, and I’m grateful that he doesn’t smash it all over my face. I don’t smash it against his, either, and am rewarded with a kiss when everybody starts to clap.
His tongue tastes my lips, and he lets out a low groan that sends a shiver up my spine. He’s been at my side the entire evening, one hand always on me somewhere. Flat against my back, holding my hand, around my waist—somewhere.
I hear a commotion, and I look to the bar and notice that three of my six brothers are completely wasted and yelling, as is their usual. Timofei grunts, and I glance up at him to see that he’s focused on my brothers, as well.
“They’re loud,” I murmur.
Timofei dips his head and looks down at me, a grin tipping his lips. “They are, but look around, devochka. Everybody is happy.”
I do as he’s suggested and look around the room while the caterers cut the cake and begin to serve it to our guests. The room is obviously divided, Russian’s on one side and Irish on the other, but they all have one thing in common. Every single person is smiling. I turn my head to Timofei and look up at his smiling face. “They are,” I murmur.
He dips his face and brushes his lips across mine. “Ready to leave?”
“You’re not going without letting us dance with your bride, are you?” Maxim asks as he and his wife, Haleigh, walk up to us. He’s the closest thing I have to an older brother.
“Come, Timofei, we’ll dance,” Haleigh says, her voice still as soft and gentle as it’s always been.
I take her hand with a shake of my head as Maxim leads my new bride out onto the middle of the dancefloor. I gather Haleigh in my arms, her curvy body more plentiful then when I met her, as she’s had children.
Haleigh was a professional ballerina. She still teaches dance, but she’s long since retired from the stage and no longer has to maintain a waif thin frame. I’ve always thought her extremely beautiful, no matter what her body has looked like. She’s just special from the inside out.
“Your bride is very beautiful. You’re a lucky man,” she states as we sway to the music.
“But?”
Haleigh clears her throat and shakes her head slightly as she arches her neck to look up at me. “I have been in her shoes, Timofei. It was not easy going from my parents’ home, from my life, to something completely new and so very different. It was not easy being thrust into a marriage. She is very young. Please, do not have unrealistic expectations for her.”
I grin as I give her waist a gentle squeeze. “Devyn is in good hands. She’s young, but she was raised in the life. She’ll adjust.”
“Shall we switch?” Maxim asks. Haleigh opens her mouth, but he takes her hand and leads her away.
I gather Devyn in my arms and look into her light blue eyes. I expect to see a hint of fear at dancing with a man as intimidating as Maxim, but she just smiles up at me.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
Devyn nods as her body sways with mine. When the song ends, I decide it is time to leave. Not wanting to make a grand exit, I press my hand to her back and gently apply pressure as I begin to walk us toward the exit.
“You’re leaving?” my father slurs as he steps in front of me.
“Yes, we are,” I grind out, trying to stay calm, not wishing to show my true disgust of this man.
My fucking father. He’s completely lost sight of reality since my mother was brutally murdered a few years ago. This marriage between Devyn and me is supposed to bridge together two organizations. It’s supposed to mend the wrongdoings of the Irish against my family, while strengthening both the Bratva and the Irish at the same time.
A member of Patrick O’Neil’s crew went rogue and wanted to overthrow Patrick. He started targeting the Bratva, high ranking officers and their families. All in an attempt for us, to go to war with each other, while he swooped in and completely took over. It didn’t work, but he did have my mother killed, and almost my sister. If we hadn’t found them in time, Oksana would have been next.
My father should be happy. His contract and association with the Irish is complete, and yet, he’s not. His instability in his decision making has come into question on more than one occasion. I swore to Ziven, my Pakhan, to Yakov, another New York Pakhan, and to Kirill, the California Pakhan, that I would take care of him.
I had hoped by the time I said I do, he would have calmed down, but he hasn’t. Our insider, Konstantin, says that he’s still trying to plot against my sister’s husband, Mika. All in an effort to take him down for marrying her against his orders. He’s also begun to make plans to take over Yakov’s section of New York.
“I cannot believe you would walk out before the party has ended,” he sneers.
I feel Devyn tremble slightly next to me, and I snap my brows together before looking down at her. She’s focused on my father, and she looks pale. It makes me wonder what the fuck he’s done to her. If he’s done anything, I’ll take pure fucking delight in killing him when it’s time.
Shifting my focus back to my father, I smirk. “It’s my wedding, my bride, and I fucking paid for it. I’ll do whatever the fuck I please,” I snort as I walk past him, clipping his shoulder when I do. He stumbles back slightly.
“Remember who your Pakhan is,” he cries out.
I ignore him and continue on to the ugly as fuck Mercedes limo that waits for us. I usher my bride inside and slam the door behind me once I’ve settled in next to her.
“Is everything okay?” she murmurs.
I clear the irritation from my features as I turn to face her. The driver takes us to the Mandarin Oriental, where I’ve booked the penthouse suite for tonight. I instructed her father to have her luggage delivered to the hotel this morning, so hopefully he’s taken care of that already.
“My father, did he do something to you?”.
Her gaze looks out to the window before she speaks. “He said some things, he didn’t do anything.”
“He’ll never touch you.”
Devyn nods, and with shaky fingers grips my hand in hers. The bold move surprises me, and I look down at her. “He’s a little frightening,” she laughs softly before she continues. “Thank you so much for the beautiful reception. It was more than I could have ever imagined,” she whispers.
Her voice goes straight to my dick, making me painfully hard as it presses against the zipper of my pants. I thread my fingers with hers and gently squeeze, my eyes never leaving hers. “For you, devochka, only for you.”
“What does it mean?” she asks, cocking her head to the side, her big light eyes so fucking curious.
Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek and smirk. “Devochka moya,” I murmur, lowering my head so that my lips press against hers. I hear her breath hitch, and I can’t help but feel satisfied that I affect her so. “My little girl,” I mutter before I press my lips to hers, harder than I have before, my fingers pressing against the tender skin of her cheek as my tongue fills her sweet mouth.
The driver clears his throat as we pull up to the hotel, and I half curse, half praise the fact that the hotel is only a few blocks away from the venue. I can’t wait to get my new wife upstairs. I can’t wait to strip her naked and make her mine—claiming her completely.
Once we’re out of the vehicle, I wrap my hand around hers and tug her inside of the Mandarin Hotel. I checked in before the ceremony, so I have my key in hand as I guide us toward the elevators.
I ignore the whispers of the other guests, assuredly curious as we walk through the lobby in obvious wedding attire. We step into the elevator, and I tug her against my chest as my hands grasp onto her hips.
“Do you see me as that, a little girl?” she asks, her eyes cast down toward my chest.
I ignore her question, not wishing to discuss anything personal in a fucking hotel elevator car. When it dings open, I release her and step to the side before I walk out of the car. I hold my hand against the door and wait for her.
She slowly turns around and avoids my face as she steps out, her gaze trained on her feet. I don’t touch her. I’m afraid that once I start, I won’t be able to stop. I fear I’ll end up fucking her against the wall in the hallway, and I don’t want that for our first time together as husband and wife.
Opening the door, I hold it until she walks past me. Then I step inside after her and let it slam closed. Her back is to me, and I watch as she walks over to a window. The city lights twinkle and cast a soft glow in the dark room.
I don’t turn the lights on, my eyes transfixed on her dark hair, the smooth creamy skin of her bare back, and the hips and ass that I know are exactly to my liking, since I saw the perfect outline of her body just a few months ago. She’s mine. All mine. I shouldn’t like the sound of owning her as much as I do, but she now belongs to me. That thought alone turns me way the fuck on.
“Originally, I thought you were a pretty girl when you were fifteen. I’m twenty-seven, devochka. I was twenty-four and a man when I signed that contract to you. I felt like a pervert for agreeing to marry a girl, which is exactly what you were. I’ve wrestled with this for a long time,” I admit freely. I close the distance between us, until my chest is pressed against her back.
Lowering my head, I press my lips to the side of her lean neck. “You are young, but I do not see you like a little girl. When I call you devochka, know that it is meant as an endearment. You are mine, Devyn, devochka moya,” I rasp.
She turns around and finally looks into my eyes. “I am yours now, Timofei. Forgive me,” she breathes.
“There is nothing to forgive, my wife.”
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I pick her up. Devyn’s hands fly to my shoulders as she grips me tightly, her eyes widening as I walk us toward the bedroom.
I do not wish to discuss anything else this evening. I have one desire, and one only—to be deep inside of my wife, claiming her, marking her, and making her scream in pleasure.