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So, I straightened up, pissed that the burn of heat between us had chilled, and I stalked away. Unlocking it quietly, I pulled open the door just as someone shoved it. When Vasov, her cunt of a father, almost toppled into me, I reached out to stop him and took advantage.
Within seconds, his arm was behind his back, and I jerked upward. Svetlana the Slut screamed as I dislocated her husband’s shoulder.
“You’ll lose your fucking hand if you touch my wife again,” I growled over his screams that had guards surging forward and guns being drawn.
My eyes darted over to my father, and while I had expected some anger, I wasn’t altogether surprised to see the excitement in his eyes.
He was a sick fucker too.
We both shared that trait.
He waved a hand at the guards to back off, but I saw Bratva hovering around, and knew they’d get trigger-happy if this shit wasn’t handled quickly.
His words were calm, too calm, when he questioned, “Vasov, is my son’s bride wearing bruises?”
The Pakhan was howling as he clutched his shoulder, telling me the pussy didn’t enter the field all that much anymore.
We were all foot soldiers, even if we had gone up the ranks and were riding it out at the top. We were used to pain, used to bleeding for the cause, but Vasov had grown soft.
And while it was only physically I was talking about, I figured that softness would have infiltrated every aspect of his life too.
That was the way of it.
It was like fucking blight. Once it hit one spot of a crop, it would fell an entire field.
I wondered if the blight spread past his family, deeper than poisoning just the man, but maybe his territory too. A chink had to exist in the Bratva’s armor if this was the making of the man they called Pakhan…
A flurry of Russian came from Svetlana, who darted forward to attack me. My mother, God love her, stuck out her foot so the bitch went flying.
I laughed, amused by the scene, and Da followed me. Ma shook her head, and Father Doyle, standing in the corner, sighed. “It’s a sinful day to be fighting, Eoghan.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Father,” I rumbled. “I’m sure the church needs a new stained-glass window or something.”
When his eyes gleamed, I knew I had holy forgiveness for my soul, but it didn’t stop me from adding to the tarnish on it by jerking Vasov’s arm higher, forcing his whimpers into a whole other octave, and stating, “I mean it, bitch. You touch her again, and I will slice off your hand and throw it to my dog. You fucking understand me?”
He didn’t reply, just cried out his agony. Svetlana, on the floor, called something to Inessa in Russian, and I wasn’t surprised when her voice, calm as anything, intoned, “Eoghan, that’s enough, don’t you think?”
I twisted to look at her over my shoulder, scowling at her calmness. “He hurt you.”
“And you’ve hurt him.” Her smile was soft. “Thank you.”
She meant that.
Those two words…they were genuine.
And again, that flame arced between us, and even as my dick grew hard, I released her cunt of a father to stride over to my new wife.
She knew I’d protect her now, knew I’d honor her, so there was no better time to sign her life into my keeping.
And mine into hers.
INESSA
I’d known,because I’d listened to the organizers plan the reception, but it was non-Russian to the core.
We didn’t have any of the usual traditions that were part and parcel of a celebration such as this one—there wasn’t even the traditional recanting of, “Gorko! Gorko! Gorko!”which was the declaration after the first toast for the couple to kiss, to chase away the bitterness of the alcohol used in the toast.
The only Russian aspect of the event was that there was free flowing vodka, and that was mostly because my father’s men, who were in attendance, might have started a riot if they hadn’t had the free bar to soothe the very anti-Russian celebration.
