I struggle to keep my cool. I don’t want her to think she’s nothing to me, but if she believes it, so will they.

And I fucking need to get her off their radar. It won’t be easy, considering the position I hold in the brotherhood, but if they think she’s only here because of the child, they won’t have any expectations of her and I can keep her safe from this life. Even if it’s only partially.

“I didn’t want to disrespect Kristina by forcing her to raise a child that isn’t hers, Igor,” I tell him. “She deserves better than that.”

He takes a swig of his drink, refusing to answer me, but both he and Sergei know my views on raising a bastard child. I lived it and would never, under no fucking circumstances, put my son or daughter through that fate.

“At least Kristina is Russian.” Sergei doesn’t hide the disregard from his voice. “This one looks American.”

“Don’t worry, Pakhan. My child will be brought up the Russian way.”

“That goes without saying.” He studies her crutch. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I broke my leg,” she says with a clear voice.

I tighten my hold on her hand so she’ll stop talking. She really doesn’t want to attract their attention—at all.

Sergei raises a brow. “So you do have a voice. We went out of our way to speak English for you, and you’re only now delighting us with your words.”

“Adrian said it’s better not to speak, but I dislike being talked about as if I’m not in the room.”

Fuck me.

The strength that’s always lurking inside her bursts out, and even though her fingers are trembling in mine, betraying her fear of the two Bratva leaders, she still holds her spine upright and stares at them head-on.

I really need to keep her contact with the brotherhood to a minimum. I’ve seen that look before, the determination and stubbornness in a world filled with men.

My mother had it as soon as she got rid of Aunt Annika and married my father.

There was greed, too.

But her ambition was snuffed out before she could do anything. Anyone who challenges the Pakhan is sentenced to death, no matter who they are.

“I see Adrian has a lot to teach you,” Sergei says in a grim tone. “She’s better when mute.”

Lia opens her mouth, probably throw a retort, but I squeeze her fingers until she winces.

“Will do, Pakhan.”

He nods me away, and I nudge her so she hobbles in front of me as we leave the office.

Time to teach my bride her first lesson.

27

Lia

Murderous doesn’t even begin to explain the atmosphere as soon as we leave the Pakhan’s office.

Adrian doesn’t say a word during the entire ride, but he doesn’t have to. Not that it’s surprising. He’s the type who lets his anger build, the type who’d hand out pain to prove a point.

The type who makes you fall into his proximity and forces you into marriage, then tells his bosses that you mean nothing.

I don’t know which part sliced me open the most. His coercion or how he talked about me in front of his higher-ups.

The silence in the car is suffocating, feeding off my boiling rage and Adrian’s simmering ire.

Kolya and Yan are also quiet, not daring to look behind them.

It feels like forever until Adrian’s second-in-command slows to a halt outside of a large metal gate that opens with a loud creak. Soon after, we’re going down a long, endless driveway and then stop in front of a mansion.

It’s grandiose, larger than life, dark and cold. Just like its owner.

So this is my new gilded cage.

I used to at least have some semblance of control in my apartment, but now, Adrian has stopped pretending or making an effort for my sake. His caring attitude and the soft ways he treated me were only a façade, a preparation phase so he could get me here.

In his monster cave.

Adrian steps out before the car properly stops. I flinch at the sound of the door slamming from his side, despite arming myself with anger all the way here, despite my new resolve to ruin his life as he destroyed mine.

When he opens my door and I attempt to grab my crutch, he pulls me out in one firm yank. I try resisting him, but he throws me over his shoulder like some Neanderthal and barges inside the house. My large veil falls down his back and skims the ground. Blood rushes to my head from the position and the humiliation of being seen this way by all of his damn guards who followed us from the church.

I don’t even get to focus on my surroundings as he eats the distance in large steps as if he’s on a mission.

Twisting, I bang on his back. “Let me go!”

He doesn’t respond, not when I dig my nails into his jacket, and not even when I bite and squirm. It’s like he doesn’t feel my hits, as if they’re the rebellion of a toddler.

“Let me down!” I scream.

His hand comes down hard on my ass and I yelp as the slap echoes in the air. But my muscles don’t lock up until his sharp words pierce through my chest. “You screwed yourself over tonight, Lia, so it’ll be wise to shut the fuck up. You don’t want to test me right now.”

I go limp in his hold, and it’s not only due to his threat.

If I want to come out of this marriage unscathed—or as unscathed as possible—I need to be smart when dealing with him and pick my battles.

Adrian’s anger doesn’t seem to lessen, even after I stop struggling. If anything, his strides widen as he carries me down the hall and kicks the door of a room open, then slams it.

He places me down on the bed, and if I’m not imagining things, I’d say he was gentle so as not to hurt my leg. But of course I’m imagining things. Adrian’s caring side is merely a damn illusion that he uses for his own favor as he pleases.

What’s the use of thinking about it, when he stained my entire life with today’s wedding and everything that followed?

The pregnancy is the only thing that I don’t mourn, because I felt—and continue to feel—an instant connection with my baby. However, Adrian is far from being the model father or husband. He’s just using the child and the marriage to crush me under his thumb.

He yanks his jacket free and throws it behind him, then unbuttons his shirt, revealing his taut, muscular chest and his rippling, cut abdomen.