Page 5 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

Azriel sat rigid in the back of the sleek black SUV, as far from Kostya as the limited space allowed. Her signature on those papers still burned in her mind, each letter a betrayal of everything she’d fought for—freedom, independence, a life without fear.

Gone. All gone because of Danny Hartford.

She stole a glance at her captor... her husband. The word felt like poison in her mind. Kostya Nikolai stared straight ahead, his profile sharp against the tinted window, seemingly unconcerned with her presence. The casual disregard somehow made everything worse.

Rage bubbled beneath her skin, a familiar companion after years of her father’s cruelty.

But beneath that anger lurked something else, a thought she couldn’t quite suppress: Was this actually an escape?

If Kostya truly despised Danny as much as he claimed, perhaps she’d inadvertently found shelter from her father’s reach.

The thought made her stomach twist. Trading one captor for another wasn’t freedom. Yet a small, traitorous voice whispered that any place without Danny Hartford might be better than the alternative.

“Your thoughts are very loud,” Kostya said suddenly, his deep voice breaking the silence without him bothering to look at her.

Azriel tensed. “I wasn’t aware you could read minds.”

“I don’t need to.” Now he turned, those dark brown eyes unsettlingly perceptive. “Your fingers have been tapping the same pattern for five minutes, and you’ve barely blinked. Internal conflict is written all over you.”

She immediately stilled her fingers, hating that he’d noticed. “Forgive me if being kidnapped and forced into marriage has me a bit distracted.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Not forgiven. But understood.”

The casual dismissal ignited her anger anew. “What exactly do you expect from me? Should I be grateful you’re not keeping me bound and gagged?”

“Gratitude would be excessive,” he replied coolly. “Basic cooperation will suffice.”

“And if I refuse to cooperate?”

His gaze hardened, all traces of amusement vanishing. “Then you’ll find my patience has very strict limitations.”

The threat hung between them as the vehicle turned, passing through ornate iron gates that swung open automatically. Azriel’s attention snapped to the window as the SUV traveled up a winding driveway flanked by meticulously landscaped grounds.

The mansion that came into view stole her breath. Three stories of imposing architecture, all gleaming windows and elegant stonework, sprawled before them. It wasn’t just a house; it was a statement of power, of wealth beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

“Welcome home,” Kostya said, watching her reaction carefully.

Home. The word felt hollow, mockingly false. “This is a prison with better decor.”

“A gilded cage is still a cage?” he asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his tone.

“Something like that.”

The SUV stopped at the front entrance, where two men in dark suits waited. Kostya exited first, then extended his hand to help her out. Azriel ignored it, climbing out unassisted despite the awkwardness of her restraints.

He didn’t comment on her refusal, simply nodding to one of the waiting men. “Viktor, inform the staff that Mrs. Nikolai has arrived.”

Mrs. Nikolai. The name scraped against her consciousness, a reminder of everything that had happened.

The interior of the mansion was even more impressive than its exterior. Soaring ceilings, marble floors, and artwork that belonged in museums rather than private homes. Wealth dripped from every surface, casual and overwhelming in its abundance.

Azriel felt suddenly small, out of place in her simple jeans and sweater. Her student apartment could fit in this entrance hall alone.

“What exactly do you do?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity despite herself.

Kostya glanced at her, amusement flickering across his features. “I have various business interests.”

“Business interests that involve kidnapping women?”

“Only exceptionally annoying ones,” he replied without missing a beat.

Azriel narrowed her eyes. “I meant, what kind of criminal are you?”

He studied her for a long moment, as if deciding how much to reveal. “The successful kind.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting for now.” He gestured toward a sweeping staircase. “Your room is upstairs. I assume you’d like to rest before dinner.”

Azriel didn’t move. “I want answers. You’ve trapped me in this marriage. You owe me that much.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “I owe you nothing.”

The cold certainty in his voice sent a chill down her spine, but Azriel refused to cower. She’d spent years learning to hide her fear from her father. This man, intimidating as he was, wouldn’t see her weakness either.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to figure it out for myself,” she challenged, lifting her chin. “How hard can it be to determine what kind of criminal operation allows a man to live like this? Drugs? Weapons? Human trafficking?”

His expression hardened with each suggestion, the temperature between them dropping several degrees. “Careful, Azriel. Curiosity has dangerous consequences in this house.”

“Threatening me already? That didn’t take long.” She stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated despite the alarm bells ringing in her mind. “What are you going to do? Kill me? Then you’d have nothing to hold over my father.”

A slow, cold smile spread across Kostya’s face. It transformed him, revealing something predatory beneath the handsome exterior. “Death isn’t the worst thing I could do to you.”

“I’ve lived with threats my entire life,” she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. “You’ll have to be more creative than my father if you want to frighten me.”

Something shifted in his gaze, a flicker of genuine surprise. Before he could respond, a woman in a crisp uniform appeared at the edge of the hall.

“Mr. Nikolai,” she said with practiced deference. “Dinner will be served in one hour.”

Kostya nodded, his expression returning to neutral so quickly that Azriel almost doubted what she’d seen. “Thank you, Elena. Please show Mrs. Nikolai to her room.”

Azriel bristled at being dismissed. “We’re not finished here.”

“For now, we are.” His tone left no room for argument. “I have business to attend to before dinner. Elena will help you settle in.”

“Business,” Azriel repeated mockingly. “How very legitimate-sounding.”

A spark of something like amusement flashed in his eyes. “Would you prefer I call it nefarious plotting?”

“I’d prefer honesty.”

“No,” he said simply. “You wouldn’t. Trust me on that.”

There was such certainty in his voice that Azriel faltered, momentarily unsure. Before she could formulate a response, Kostya turned to the waiting housekeeper.

“Mrs. Nikolai’s clothes and personal items will arrive tomorrow. Find her something suitable for dinner in the meantime.”

“Yes, Sir,” Elena responded with a small nod.

Kostya turned back to Azriel, studying her with those penetrating eyes. “One hour. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Is that another threat?”

“A fact,” he replied smoothly. “And a piece of advice you’d be wise to heed.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Azriel seething in the massive foyer.

Elena waited patiently, her expression carefully neutral. “This way, Mrs. Nikolai.”

“Don’t call me that,” Azriel snapped, then immediately regretted her harshness. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. But please, just Azriel is fine.”

The woman’s expression softened slightly. “As you wish, Miss Azriel. Please, follow me.”

They ascended the grand staircase in silence, Azriel’s mind racing with each step. The magnitude of her situation was only now fully dawning on her. Married to a dangerous criminal. Living in a mansion that screamed wealth and power. Cut off from everything and everyone she knew.

Panic threatened to overtake her, but she forced it down. Panicking wouldn’t help. She needed to stay calm, to think clearly.

“Here we are,” Elena said, opening a door at the end of a long hallway.

The bedroom was larger than Azriel’s entire apartment, with a massive four-poster bed, sitting area, and doors leading to what appeared to be a private bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it spoke of wealth without restraint.

“Your bathroom is through there,” Elena confirmed, gesturing to the door. “The closet is fully stocked with clothing that should fit you temporarily. Mr. Nikolai was quite specific about the sizes.”

A chill ran through Azriel at the reminder of how much research Kostya had done on her before the kidnapping.

“I’ll leave you to settle in,” Elena continued. “Someone will come to escort you to dinner in fifty minutes.”

“Thank you,” Azriel managed, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of her situation.

As soon as the door closed behind Elena, Azriel sank onto the edge of the bed, her composure crumbling. She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall. Crying wouldn’t help anything. She needed to think, to plan.

The bedroom door opened again without warning. Azriel scrambled to her feet, hastily wiping away any trace of tears.

Kostya stood in the doorway, watching her with an expression that was unreadable.

“What do you want now?” she demanded, hating the slight tremor in her voice.

He entered the room, his presence immediately making the spacious area feel smaller. “I forgot to mention something important.”

“Another threat?”

“A clarification,” he corrected, stopping a few feet away. “Your father will never set foot in this house. You have my word on that.”

The statement caught her completely off guard. “Why would you promise that?”

Kostya’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because it seems important to you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she insisted.

“I know enough,” he replied. “I know you tensed every time I mentioned him. I know you weren’t surprised when I said he’d sold you. And I know relief was your first reaction when you realized he couldn’t reach you here.”

His accuracy was unsettling. Azriel crossed her arms, creating a barrier between them. “Playing psychologist now?”

“Merely observant.” He took another step forward. “I may have forced you into this marriage, but I’m not completely without principles. You won’t be harmed while under my roof.”

“Unless I disobey,” she pointed out. “Right?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you always this argumentative?”

“Are you always this controlling?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “It’s a personality trait that’s served me well.”

“It must be exhausting,” she shot back, “needing to dictate everything around you.”

Something like genuine amusement flickered in his eyes. “It becomes second nature after a while.”

“Like being a criminal?”

“Precisely.” He studied her for a moment. “You’re not what I expected, Azriel Hartford.”

“Nikolai,” she corrected bitterly. “Isn’t that what you want me to call myself now?”

“Want and expectation are different things.” He tilted his head slightly. “I expected fear. Tears. Begging. Instead, I get defiance and sharp remarks.”

Azriel lifted her chin. “Disappointed?”

“Intrigued,” he countered, the word sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.

They stood in silence for a moment, tension crackling between them like static electricity. It wasn’t just anger or fear anymore, but something more complex that Azriel didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Your father said you were intelligent,” Kostya continued, his voice dropping lower. “He failed to mention your spirit.”

“My father knows nothing about me,” she replied coldly.

“That much is becoming clear.” He gestured around the room. “This will be your space. My bedroom is across the hall. We’ll maintain separate sleeping arrangements for now.”

Relief flooded through her, though she tried not to let it show. “For now?”

“This is still a marriage, Azriel. Even if unconventionally arranged.” His dark eyes held hers. “I won’t force you. But don’t mistake that for permanent disinterest.”

Heat rushed to her face. “You can’t seriously expect—”

“I expect nothing immediate,” he interrupted smoothly. “Despite what you might think, I’m not a monster in all respects.”

“Just the ones that matter,” she retorted.

That almost-smile appeared again. “We’ll see.”

He turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. “Dinner in forty-five minutes. Don’t be late.”

“Or what?”

Kostya looked back, his expression unreadable. “Let’s not find out.”

The implied threat hung in the air between them.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, the words coming out before she could stop them.

“No,” he agreed, studying her with those penetrating eyes. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

Before she could respond, he closed the door behind him. Azriel immediately crossed the room and turned the lock, needing the symbolic barrier between them.

She leaned against the door, heart pounding, thoughts swirling in chaotic patterns. This man, this criminal who’d forced her into marriage, wasn’t what she’d expected either. The cold cruelty was there, certainly, but so was something else; a complexity she hadn’t anticipated.

The locked door wouldn’t keep him out if he truly wanted to enter; they both knew that. But the small act of defiance helped ground her.

Azriel pushed away from the door and began pacing the room, cataloging her options. Escape seemed impossible for now. The mansion was likely heavily guarded, and she had no idea where she was or how to get back to the city.

That left two choices: surrender to her fate or make Kostya Nikolai regret ever bringing her into his home.

The decision was easy. If he thought she would be a docile, obedient wife, he was sorely mistaken. She’d survived her father’s abuse for years, learned to fight back in her own ways. This was just another battle in a lifetime of warfare.

She walked to the window, gazing out at the manicured grounds stretching into the distance. Somewhere beyond those trees was her former life, the freedom she’d barely begun to taste.

“I’ll get back there,” she whispered to herself. “One way or another.”

But first, she had a dinner to attend. And a husband to confront.

Azriel turned from the window, a new determination hardening inside her. If Kostya Nikolai wanted a wife, she would give him one he’d never forget, and possibly come to regret.

The game had just begun.