Seduction: A Dark Bratva Fake Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)
Seduction: Chapter 5

I take in every detail as we enter the campus.

I’ve begun to realize that my initial strategy—remaining the aloof bodyguard and replaceing my way into her family’s trust—won’t work now because of Vera’s lie. I’ll have to pivot.

Maybe… just maybe it isn’t a curse from the gods to have us share a room. Maybe I don’t have to be stoic and detached. As I watch her with the American pretty boy, her eyes all wide and her cheeks flushed, I have a realization: Vera Ivanova is starving for attention.

Hidden from the world, sheltered, she’s thrown herself into her studies and made something of herself. I hardly know her, and even I’m damn proud.

But she craves more than recognition.

I’ve taken note.

“The accommodations are better than you’d replace in a typical college dorm,” Irina explains, “but we’re utilitarian with the space we use and the way we’ve set things up here.” She moves in a little closer to Vera. “I did make a call, and you will have the one room with a private bath. Perhaps Markov can join us for more of the social events we’ll have.”

Vera blanches but quickly covers it up and nods. “Thank you.”

Yes. If there’s anything I’ve learned as an assassin, it’s to stay calm under pressure. Prepare for a change of plans. Be ruthless in the execution of Plan B.

“Here,” Irina says, handing Vera a set of keys and gesturing to a set of buildings nestled into the campus but slightly offset. “Please get some rest and get settled in. You’ll replace a map of the campus and an itinerary in your room. We’ll meet at the dining area for dinner in three hours.”

She flashes me a smile, and she’s gone. The American has already found his room.

Vera stares at the door as if it’s a snake coiled in wait, ready to snap. Why the sudden panic? She made her choice.

I remember my plan and place the bags down. She opens the door with shaking hands and groans when she pushes it open.

It’s a typical Russian bedroom you’d replace on a college campus. The modest-sized double bed is the focal point of the otherwise utilitarian room and is made up with four pillows and a lightweight, traditionally patterned duvet. A built-in closet gives us minimal room for storage, but it will do, and there’s a small desk with a hard-backed chair. Everything is modern, pragmatic, and compact.

“There isn’t even so much as a couch for me to sleep on,” she groans. “How is this possibly going to work? I can’t tell her I lied now; I’ll lose total credibility, and we just got here.”

I know the feeling.

After bringing in the luggage, I lock the door behind her. I check all locks on the doors and windows. There’s no deadbolt, only one shitty lock that wobbles. A teen with a screwdriver could open the damn thing.

I’ll take care of that.

I nod at the bed and gesture for her to give me her phone.

I tap the app.

You’ll take the bed. I will sleep on the floor.

Her eyes widen as she reads the message. I watch as her lower lip juts out, and she frowns, typing out another message.

No way.

It’s time to put my plan into action.

I type another message on the phone. I saw how she responded to the American. I listened to what he said to her.

You are the one who’s worked hard to get here. I’m only here to protect you. It’s important you sleep well. You will take the bed.

I hand her the phone and walk away. That conversation is over.

I hear her sigh as I head to check out the rest of the room. Fortunately, the locks are the only part of the room that is unsafe. I gesture to the dresser’s four drawers and pull out the bottom one, where I’ll store my few clothes and weapons. I open my backpack and quickly arrange everything I’ve brought, then tap the rest of the drawers and point to her.

Yours.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice a bit softer this time. Maybe she’s touched by my display. Maybe she’s honored I’m taking her job here seriously. In any event, she’s ignorant to the fact that I’m here to bring justice to my family through the death of her father, and we’re going to keep it that way.

I check my phones while she uses the bathroom. Then I look out the window, not far from the streets of Moscow, where I was orphaned. I remember who I was. I remember who I am now. The Romanov family took me in when I had no one. When I had nothing.

Vera Ivanova is the daughter of my enemy.

A plan begins to grow in my mind, taking on a life of its own. I suspect I know exactly how to work this angle…

“I’m tired, Markov,” Vera says. I look over my shoulder to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. She’s taken off her shoes and changed, now wearing a pair of sweats and a tiny tee.

I didn’t know sweats and a tee could be so damn sexy. I intentionally let my gaze roam a little longer than’s respectable. Just enough to let her know I see her and fucking like what I see before I can reel myself in.

“Are you tired?” she asks, making a gesture for sleeping and patting the edge of the bed. “You’re a big guy, and I don’t move in my sleep. You can’t sleep on the floor. Rest here, and I’ll sleep on the edge of the bed.”

I shake my head as if I’m fighting it. Resisting. I will be in that bed tonight, and I will be up close and personal.

After we have a better lock in place.

“Alright, then,” she says on a yawn. “You do whatever it is bodyguards do, and I’m going to take a nap.”

I turn away from her as she lays down and opens up the book app on her phone, but not long after, I hear her phone plop to the bed with a little thump. She’s fast asleep.

I take the opportunity to check in back home.

The plan is for me to replace where the rest of the men of the Ivanov Bratva meet in Moscow. According to the brief texts I’ve received, they’re disorganized at best. We have a small window of time, but it’s enough for me to replace out what I need to about Petr Ivanov.

If anyone suspects who I am, they’ll conveniently disappear, like the real Markov. Many things could go wrong, but I’m prepared to pivot.

I end my conversation with Aleks and pull out the screen mirroring app.

The first thing I notice is that she hasn’t progressed much further in her book. For a woman as intelligent as she is, it’s a little interesting.

That’s when I notice the highlights.

Vera has highlighted certain sections of the book. Maybe she’s been rereading them?

Maybe I need to read them.

My eyes grow wide as I take in the highlighted portions of the book, and I feel my lips curl into a smile.

His warm hand rests on my upper thigh, a possessive touch. . .

“Beg to come, little girl. Don’t you ever come without Daddy’s permission.”

“Disobey Daddy again, and I’ll take you over my knee, young lady.”

Vera Ivanova’s a kinky little girl, and I aim to use that to my full advantage. I’m hard as hell just learning about what she likes, imagining what I could do to her. The fun we could have.

How much of what she reads is fiction, and how much would she actually like?

To follow through with this type of thing, I need to build trust with her.

Kolya taught us years ago that one of the ways to garner trust from an enemy was to use the slightest bit of truth to color a lie. Use your real first name. Speak something from the heart. Reveal a bit of your weakness and human nature is such that people will believe you are trustworthy. It will appear you’ve exposed your full hand when, in reality, you’ve only shown a few cards. Just a shadow of truth.

Slowly, I’ll reveal just enough for her to let her guard down.

I’m going to break this woman’s heart, but it’s the only way forward.

I will do whatever it takes to bring my family justice.

No matter the cost.