Dark Prince: An Age Gap, Forced Marriage Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
Chapter 5

“Holy shit.”

The words, inelegant though they may be, tumble out of my mouth as I take in the sight of my new home.

It’s late in the morning when I replace myself standing before Luk’s house, the sunlight casting a warm glow over its impressive façade. The mansion, nestled in the heart of Chicago’s Gold Coast, exudes old-world charm and grandeur. It’s a stunning piece of architecture, with intricate stone carvings adorning its exterior and large, arched windows that offer glimpses of the opulence within.

The building stands tall and imposing, a testament to its owner’s power and wealth. Ivy creeps up its sides, softening the stone’s stern lines, while manicured gardens add a touch of color and life to the stately home.

As I approach the door, my mind flashes back to earlier this morning. I had woken up in the plush, king-sized bed of our downtown hotel room, feeling a chill from the empty space beside me where I had expected to replace Luk. Instead, he was gone.

On the pillow, I found a note written in his neat, precise handwriting. It explained that he had to attend to family business matters but urged me to take my time and call the driver when I was ready to come home. The word home echoes in my mind, a concept that feels both foreign and daunting.

I stand before the grand entrance, unable to shake the surreal feeling that envelops me. This new life as Luk’s wife stretches out before me, filled with uncertainties and new responsibilities.

Last night was a blend of passion and a connection that I had never experienced before. Yet, despite the intensity of our encounter, I can’t help but feel unprepared for the role I’m about to step into. Being a wife—especially in Luk’s world—comes with its own set of rules and expectations, ones that I’m not yet sure I understand or am ready to fulfill. Though I grew up around the Irish mob, I was largely shielded from its darker parts.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside.

The entry hall unfolds before me in a display of grandeur and elegance. It reminds me of an English country manor, with its high, ornate ceilings and a sweeping staircase that curves gracefully toward the upper floors. The floor is a polished marble, reflecting the soft light filtering in through tall, arched windows. Rich tapestries and portraits adorn the walls, each telling a story of heritage and legacy.

Staff moves quietly and efficiently through the hall, their presence a subtle reminder of the life I’ve stepped into. The wealth I grew up in was clearly not as great as Luk’s. The staff pauses as they notice me, offering greetings with a respectful deference.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ivanova,” a middle-aged butler says, his posture rigid. “We hope you replace everything to your liking.”

“Thank you,” I reply, still adjusting to being addressed with such formality and with my new surname.

“Is there anything you require, ma’am?” asks a young maid with a friendly smile.

“Just replaceing my way around for now, thank you,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

As I move through the hall, I realize that I’m quite hungry. My stomach reminds me that I’d skipped breakfast in the rush of the morning. Guided by the smell of fresh coffee and baked bread, I make my way to the kitchen.

The kitchen is a warm, inviting space, contrasting with the formality of the rest of the house. It’s large and well-equipped, with a homey feel that immediately puts me at ease. The smell of food and the sound of sizzling from the stove creates a comforting ambiance, a reminder of the simple pleasures of home.

There’s a bustling team of cooks, each busy with their tasks. I notice that the kitchen is stocked with everything I could possibly need.

I step into the large, walk-in pantry and begin to reach for some ingredients. Immediately, one of the cooks, a pretty young woman with a bright, engaging smile, steps forward. She looks to be a few years younger than me, with curly auburn hair tied back in a neat bun and sparkling green eyes that radiate warmth and friendliness.

“Oh, please allow me, Mrs. Ivanova,” she says, her tone both gentle and insistent. “I’ll prepare something for you.”

Accustomed to doing things for myself, I hesitate. “It’s really okay, I can make something,” I say, not wanting to impose.

Her amusement at my response is evident. “I insist, Mrs. Ivanova. It’s my job, after all. And besides,” she adds with a playful glint in her eye, “Mr. Ivanov would be quite incensed at the idea of his new wife having to make her own food on her first day here.”

Her words bring a smile to my face, and I replace myself relenting. “All right if you insist. Thank you.”

As she busies herself with preparing something for me, we make our introductions. “I’m Maura, by the way. But I guess you already know that.”

“I’m Lily,” she replies with a friendly nod. “Welcome to the Ivanov home, your home. If you need anything, just let me know.”

As Lily skillfully prepares a simple yet appetizing salad, our conversation flows easily. I watch as she deftly slices and dices the vegetables, admiring her evident skills in the kitchen.

“I’ve never really been one to be waited on,” I share, watching her work. “This is all quite new to me.”

Lily looks up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Really? I heard you were like royalty in your own family.”

I chuckle lightly, shaking my head. ‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ I tell her. The truth is more complicated; Sharon’s version of a gilded cage was one where I was left to fend for myself within the confines of our home. But I keep these details to myself, not wanting to delve too deeply into my past with someone I just met.

Lily’s expression shifts to one of mild embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so familiar.”

I offer her a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s nice to have a casual conversation.”

She nods, a relieved smile on her face, and then presents the salad to me. “Here you go. I hope you like it.”

“It looks wonderful; thank you, Lily,” I say, genuinely grateful for her kindness and company.

While eating, I continue chatting with Lily. “I’ve only been here for a short while, but everyone’s been so nice,” I tell her, genuinely surprised by the hospitality I’ve encountered since I arrived. “It’s very different from what I expected.”

Lily laughs, a warm, infectious sound. “The Ivanovs definitely run a tight ship, but they’re far from tyrants. They treat their staff well, and in return, we’re all fiercely loyal to them. It’s more like a big, somewhat unconventional family.”

Her words are reassuring, painting a picture of a household that’s in stark contrast to the harsh, unforgiving world I’ve always associated with the Bratva. “That’s really good to hear,” I reply, feeling a bit more at ease. “I guess I had a certain image in my mind of what life here would be like.”

Lily nods understandingly. “It’s natural to have preconceptions, especially with all the stories out there about the Ivanovs. But you’ll replace that there’s more to this place than meets the eye.”

She checks her watch, her eyes flashing.

“Shoot. I should get going. I have lots of food prep for tonight. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Ivanova. Welcome home,” Lily says, her tone warm and welcoming. And please, let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“I will. And thanks, Lily.”

With a smile, she turns her attention back to her duties.

As I savor the salad, the side door to the kitchen opens, and a woman enters. She’s young, with long, black hair that cascades down her back and eyes that are a striking shade of blue. Her features resemble Luk’s, and I remember seeing her briefly at the wedding.

The woman looks over the kitchen with an inquisitive gaze before her eyes land on me. “Why are you eating in the kitchen like a cook on a break? Don’t tell me you’re too shy for the dining room?” she says. Like her brother, there’s a faint hint of a Russian accent in her speech.

I can’t help but smile at her frankness. “I just arrived and found myself here. It’s quite comfortable, actually.”

Elena snorts lightly, her amusement evident. “Well, perhaps I should introduce myself properly. I’m Elena Ivanova, Luk’s sister.”

“I’m Maura,” I reply, extending my hand. As we shake hands, I can’t help but take note of Elena’s presence. Despite her almost otherworldly beauty, she carries herself with a strength and confidence that’s immediately apparent. It’s no doubt a side effect of growing up with three brothers in a world as complex and demanding as the Bratva.

Elena’s curiosity seems piqued as she asks, “So, what do you think of the place so far?”

I pause for a moment, looking around the kitchen before answering. “It’s impressive, definitely. And a little overwhelming, to be honest.”

Elena laughs at my response, a sound that’s both carefree and infectious. She reaches toward my salad, her fingers aiming for a cherry tomato. In a playful reflex, I quickly poke the tomato with my fork and pop it into my mouth just as Elena is about to grab it.

Her eyes widen in mock surprise before she bursts into laughter. “You’re quick! I like that.”

Elena’s delight is clear, and I can’t help but join in the laughter. There’s an ease to her demeanor that makes the interaction feel light and comfortable.

Without missing a beat, Elena announces, “Well, you better hurry up with that salad. I’ve been appointed as your official tour guide so it would seem. There’s a lot more to see.”

Her offer surprises me, but the prospect of exploring the mansion with someone as down-to-earth as Elena is appealing. Finishing the last of my salad, I stand up, ready to follow her. “Lead the way, then,” I say with a smile.

Elena guides me through the expansive three-story mansion, which is nothing short of a labyrinth of luxury. Every room she shows me is beautifully and tastefully decorated with plush furnishings. The walls are decorated with tasteful art, and floor-to-ceiling windows bathe everything in natural light. The formal dining room is grand, with a long table made of rich, dark wood that could easily seat twenty people. An ornate chandelier hangs overhead.

As we move through the house, I replace myself increasingly drawn to Elena’s confidence and brazenness. Her candidness is refreshing, and her familiarity with the mansion makes the tour not just informative but genuinely enjoyable.

“My brother sends his apologies for not being able to greet you himself,” she says, our footsteps echoing through the vast halls. “It’s just that with the business last night, the assassin… well, there’s much work to be done.”

The attempt on my life last night flashes through my mind—the gun pointed at me, the man’s face twisted in anger, the way Luk intervened, protecting me with a savage ferocity that was unexpected. I had only survived the attack because of Luk.

“I understand.”

She nods. “He’ll get to the bottom of it; correction, we’ll get to the bottom of it. No one makes a move on an Ivanov like that without paying a steep price.”

“Have you learned anything so far?”

“Unfortunately, no. The assassin… let’s just say he’s not going to be telling his life story anytime soon.”

I understand her implication. A chill runs through me at the knowledge that he’s dead.

“Please know you’re safe here,” she quickly adds. “This place isn’t just for show; it’s built like a fortress.”

“That’s good to know.”

Finally, Elena leads me to a room she calls “your personal bedroom.” It’s as beautifully decorated as the other rooms, with a large, comfortable-looking bed draped in fine linens at its center. The room features a cozy sitting area with a fireplace and some doors open to a balcony from which I can view the landscaped grounds.

“You and Luk will share the master bedroom, of course. But this is your own space should you need or want it.”

“It’s lovely.”

Eventually, she announces, “Now, it’s time to show you the best part.” She leads me through a set of French doors on the first level, and we step into a stunning English garden. It’s a picturesque oasis with raised flowerbeds and neatly trimmed hedges. Stone pathways meander through it, leading to various secluded niches with stone benches. A small fountain is the centerpiece of the garden, the gentle trickling of the water adding to the serene atmosphere.

As we walk through the garden, Elena points out various features with pride and affection. “That rose bush over there,” she gestures, “is older than I am. It’s always the first one to bloom.”

Just then, one of the doors across the garden swings open, and three men step out. I recognize two of them from the wedding.

“Are those your brothers?” I ask, nodding in their direction.

Elena follows my gaze and nods. “Yes, that’s Lev and Yuri. And the guy who looks like he’s stepped out of a mafia movie poster? That’s Grigori, Luk’s right-hand man. He’s an arms dealer, enforcer, and childhood friend. He’s basically a jack-of-all-trades in our world.”

There’s a certain admiration in her voice as she talks about Grigori, her gaze lingering on him a moment longer than her brothers. I sense there’s more she wants to say about Grigori, but I decide not to pry.

Elena continues. “Don’t let their tough exteriors fool you. They’re big softies at heart. Well, except when they have to be tough, which is…actually, quite often.”

The way she casually navigates the complexities of her family’s dynamics is both disarming and endearing. I can’t help but chuckle at her description.

“They seem formidable, for sure,” I comment, watching the brothers and Grigori confer with their heads together.

Elena shrugs, a playful smirk on her lips. “Formidable, charming, occasionally terrifying—that’s the typical description of the men in the Ivanov Bratva. But to me, they’re family. Around here, that’s what really matters.”

Elena turns back to me. “They probably came out here to talk about business matters. We can just ignore them.”

Despite her nonchalant attitude, I can’t help but feel wary around these men, who seem somewhat intimidating even at a distance.

I watch them for a moment longer. They interact with an ease and familiarity that speaks of a long and shared history. Yet, beneath the casual demeanor, I sense an undercurrent of something more sinister—undoubtedly related to the life they lead as members of a crime dynasty.

This garden may be a peaceful retreat, but I know that beyond its borders, there is a dangerous and frightening world.