Seduction: A Dark Bratva Fake Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)
Seduction: Chapter 22

I have no choice but to go with him. Her father has mostly played nice at this point, but he no longer will if we don’t obey him.

I’m torn between allegiance to my family, to the oath of loyalty I’ve sworn and why I’m here. . . and protecting Vera.

I can’t let her get hurt, no matter what.

“One drink, sir, please. Understand we mean no disrespect, but you’ve asked me to protect Vera, and she’s asked to go home. Surely, you understand after the hard work she’s done this week.”

Ivanov nods, his gaze hazy. He’s already stone-cold drunk.

That will make my job much easier.

I’ve been in touch with Aleks at home who’s given me the specs and location of all of his guards. If we get him alone in his room, and I can isolate Vera. . .

I can keep her safe. I know I can. But if I kill her father. . . what will it do to her?

Her father prattles on and on, name-dropping people he knows. Vera is tight-lipped and distant but plays the part with her responses. He’s given us no choice. A confrontation with him will not end well. We’ll have to comply so we don’t give him a reason to pull rank.

I can send her home. . . ahead of me. I’m not just a close-range assassin but a skilled sniper. I could kill her father, and she never has to know it’s me.

And then say goodbye to the only woman I’ve ever loved.

Khristos.

I carry the heavy bottle of vodka he gave me as a gift as we exit the elevator on the top floor, where he’s rented his suite. Vera looks at me, her eyes wide and afraid. I’m not sure why. I give her the smallest of smiles behind her father’s back.

I love you.

I’d given up hope in happy endings and “one true love.”

With Vera, though, I thought I found it. If we weren’t who we are. . . if our families weren’t sworn enemies. . .

“And a local artist here in Moscow was kind enough to give us his latest highly acclaimed painting.” When neither of us responds, her father adds, “It’s valued at over three million dollars.”

“Wow,” Vera says, her brows rising. “And he just gave it to you?”

Even now, it surprises me how innocent she is. One does not “give” a priceless piece of art to a powerful pakhan out of the goodness of one’s heart.

“Yes,” her father says, his lips curving upward in a way that makes my skin crawl. “People always give me what I want, Vera.”

“Mmm,” she says drily, albeit politely. “I remember.”

A small cavalcade of guards stands outside his room, flanking either side of the door. They are familiar to me, as they accompanied him to dinner when we first met.

“Has she arrived?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the men replies.

Vera and I share a look.

Has who arrived?

“I told you I had a surprise for you, Markov,” Petr says, turning to me with bleary eyes and a smile. “I wouldn’t just give you a bottle of vodka, now, would I? Come. Your aunt awaits us.”

He opens the door.