Page 15 of Velvet Chains
Suka! What’s wrong with me?
My brow creases slightly at my own boldness.
Just then, Ekaterina Smirnov appears at Anastasia’s side, tossing her platinum hair over her shoulder.
“Oh, Victor,” she simpers, “I heard about last night. You’re lucky to be alive.” She leans in conspiratorially. “You know, if you had a wife from the right family, with the right connections, you’d have all the protection you need. My father has men everywhere. Just something to think about.”
I feel my jaw clench, anger simmering in my veins. How dare she suggest I can’t protect what’s mine?
Ekaterina’s smile turns sly. “I’m sure your father would be so proud of your choice.”
The implication is clear—she thinks I’ve betrayed the Bratva by marrying an outsider.
“Well, he is,” my father declares, his voice cutting through the tension. He approaches us slowly, a living legend, the old king of the Bratva. His stride is still powerful, commanding, even with the cane in his hand.
A train of followers trails behind him, a display of the Morozovs’ unwavering influence. Doc stands next to my father, his face etched with exhaustion. I pity the guy, having to deal with the demands and whims of the Morozov family day in and day out. It’s a thankless job, but someone’s got to do it.
As my father nears, Anastasia and Ekaterina fall silent, their barbed remarks dying on their lips. They know better than to spew their venom in front of him.
“Son,” my father says, pressing a silver coin into my palm, “a blessing for you and your bride. Wealth and prosperity.”
He turns to Laura, his eyes softening. “Welcome to the family, my dear. You’ve married a good man. The Bratva takes care of its own.”
An unfamiliar emotion stirs in my chest at his words. Gratitude? Affection? I push it aside.
“Thank you, Papa.” I lean close, wrapping him in a hug. “Get the surgery,” I mutter in his ear. “No more delays.”
He pats my back, saying nothing. I know he heard me.
Laura watches our exchange, her expression softening, a gentle smile gracing her lips. It’s a stark contrast to the wariness and uncertainty that clouded her features just moments ago.
“Let’s go,” I say, taking her hand in mine. My thumb brushes over the ring on her finger, my mother’s ring. It looks right on her, like it was always meant to be there.
She nods, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. The simple action sends a jolt of desire straight to my groin.
Now that she’s my wife, I realize the possibilities are endless. I can have her whenever, wherever I want. The thought is intoxicating.
Suddenly, a photographer appears, breaking the moment. “A family picture?” he suggests, gesturing for us to pose together.
Laura’s body stiffens, her discomfort palpable. The man standing next to her, grinning from ear to ear, seems oblivious to her unease. I narrow my eyes, a surge of possessiveness washing over me.
“Smile, please,” the photographer urges, focusing his lens on Laura.
She remains frozen, her smile strained and artificial. I can practically feel her desperation to escape, to melt away from this suffocating situation.
Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I turn to the man, my voice laced with barely concealed disdain. “Who the fuck are you?”
He blinks, taken aback by my bluntness, but quickly recovers. “I am Laura’s father.”
Chapter 7
Victor
THERE’S SOMETHING off about him.
“George Thompson, Laura’s father,” the man says, extending his hand with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
I ignore his outstretched hand, my gaze hard and unyielding. “Ah, yes, I know who you are,” I reply.
