Page 13 of Sold to the Bratva (Sinful Mafia Daddies #2)

ISAAC

A week slips by, and life slides into a strangely easy rhythm.

Being married to Katya feels at once effortless and wildly exciting.

I fall asleep with her in my arms and wake the same way, her limbs tangled with mine.

We don’t even talk about the pull that’s present every night we drift together like magnets, exploring one another’s bodies and learning what brings the most pleasure.

I’m already forgetting how it felt to sleep alone.

This morning is too quiet, however, and never a good sign. The stillness pricks at me in my world, calm feels like a setup, the distraction before the storm.

A quick knock, then the door opens. Mikhail steps in, expression grim yet steady. I motion to the chair across from me, but he stays on his feet.

“We still haven’t located the people behind the firearms drop.

I sigh deeply. Mikhail continues.

“Whoever they are, they’ve covered their tracks well. No chatter on the street, and none of our regulars have heard anything useful.”

“And the two we had in custody?” I ask, though I already know the answer. I need to hear him say it.

“They’re dead. Swallowed some kind of capsule they kept under their tongues. Ivan wasn’t able to get anything from either of them.”

I nod slowly, my jaw tight. “So,” I say, “the men we’re hunting are pros.”

“Smart ones,” Mikhail agrees. “But I’ve got people working on it. Someone will crack eventually. They always do.”

“I want updates as soon as you have them.”

“You’ll get them.” He pauses, then adds, “Also, the other thing you asked for is ready.”

I lift my eyes to him and meet his gaze. “Good.”

“She’s going to like it,” he says with a grin.

“I hope so.” I smile. “It cost a pretty penny.”

He finally sinks into the chair across from my desk. “This thing between you two is real, isn’t it?”

I arch a brow. “I wouldn’t have married her if it wasn’t,” I say, voice flat.

As quick and unexpected as this marriage was, I couldn’t have gone through with it if I didn’t see myself with her long-term. Katya has teeth and fire, a backbone stronger than most men I know, yet a softness that draws things out of me I never knew existed.

Mikhail studies me for a beat, then nods as though that settles something in his own mind.

He doesn’t press further, and I’m grateful.

There’s only so much I’m willing to share about Katya, even with the people I trust. What I feel for her is too new, too raw, and too sacred to turn into casual conversation.

He rises from the chair without another word. Once he leaves, I let the silence stretch, fingers tapping absently against the armrest. I can’t wait any longer. Even though a mountain of work sits on my desk, I can’t stay put knowing she’s somewhere in this house. I need to be with her.

I take the long way through the corridor, slowing as I reach the side hallway leading to the garden.

Through the glass doors I spot her before she notices me.

She’s perched on the edge of a stone bench, one leg folded beneath her, the other stretched out lazily.

Her sketchbook balances on her knee, head tilted in concentration while her hand flies across the page.

A breeze lifts her hair from her shoulders, and the sunlight kisses her face, robbing me of breath.

I don’t move, not yet. I let myself watch her for another heartbeat, drinking her in.

She’s wearing a soft sleeveless top and jeans, nothing fancy, yet she looks more regal than any woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s completely absorbed in her work, the small smile tugging at her mouth telling me she’s in her element.

She’s not pretending here, not playing the perfect wife or polished heiress.

She’s just Katya. A woman who is wild, brilliant, and real. And she’s mine.

I clear my throat softly, not wanting to startle her. Her head lifts, eyes locking on mine. The smile she offers is small but unguarded, and warmth spreads through my chest.

“Got a second?” I ask, stepping out onto the stone path.

“For you?” she says, shutting her sketchbook. “Always.”

I cross to her and offer my hand. She slips hers into mine without hesitation and her fingers are warm and smudged with graphite. I don’t let go.

“I’ve got something to show you,” I tell her.

Her eyebrows lift. “Should I be nervous?”

“Maybe.”

She snorts softly, then stands, brushing invisible dust from her jeans.

“Is it another gun vault?” she teases. “A secret tunnel? One of those underground Bratva poker rooms?”

“No.But now I’m tempted to add a few.”

She laughs, and the sound spears straight through me. I force myself to think of the most boring, mundane details just to keep my excitement in check.

I lead her back into the house, my thumb tracing slow circles along the back of her hand as we walk. We reach the far hallway on the first floor, and I stop in front of a door that’s been locked since the day she moved in.

She narrows her eyes. “I thought this room was being remodeled,” she says.

“It was, and now it’s finished.” I can’t help but grin, my heart pounding in anticipation of her reaction.

I reach for the handle and open the door.

She steps inside and freezes.

Light pours through tall arched windows and spills across the newly laid wood floors.

One wall is lined with blank canvases beside an industrial shelf stocked with every supply I could find.

There’s acrylics, oils, charcoals, stacks of high-quality paper, and fresh brushes grouped by thickness.

A sleek drafting table anchors the far corner, while an easel waits beneath the window, a rolling cart brimming with pencils and tools at its side.

A plush, height-adjustable stool sits nearby.

Warm, natural overhead lighting replaces anything clinical, and discreet surround-sound speakers promise music while she works.

Katya doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. She just stands there, stunned.

I step closer and lower my voice. “I know you worried marriage might mean giving up some of the things you love. But I want you to have everything you need at your fingertips. You’re not here just to be my wife, Katya. You’re here to be you.”

She turns, eyes glassy. “You did all this for me?”

The genuine shock in her voice nearly undoes me. All I can do is nod.

“I don’t even know what to say,” she whispers.

“Then don’t say anything,” I offer.

And she doesn’t. The sketchbook thuds to the floor as she loops her arms around my neck, kissing me so fiercely it almost knocks me backward.

I catch her waist, steadying us both. What starts as a thank-you quickly morphs into something deeper, hotter.

Her lips part, and I accept the invitation, sliding my hand up her back as our bodies press flush.

She tastes like coffee and cinnamon, and something uniquely her. The kiss turns desperate, as though we’re saying everything words can’t. Her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer. My control slips, and I deepen the kiss, devouring her mouth as if I’ve been starving.

Katya moans softly against me, the sound arrowing straight to my cock. I spin us gently, pressing her back to the wall. My hands frame her face, and I break the kiss just long enough to meet her eyes.

“Do you like your surprise?” I murmur.

She lets out a breathless laugh. “I love it. Thank you.”

I lean in again, kissing her slower this time, deep and lingering, a promise. Her hands roam under my shirt, and I groan into her mouth, already burning for her. But I don’t rush. Not when she’s giving herself to me like this. Not when she deserves to be worshiped for who she is.

I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers. Our breaths mingle, ragged and shallow.

“I told you I’d give you everything you want,” I whisper.

She tilts her head up, brushing her lips against mine again. “Then stop talking and keep kissing me.”

I obey. I claim her mouth, swallowing every moan and gasp she offers. When I trail to her neck, I revel in the way she squirms, how her fingers tangle in my hair. She likes the way I suck and nip. I know it’ll leave a mark, but I don’t care. She’s mine, and everyone already knows it.

I still can’t stop. I push up her top, and she yanks it over her head, tossing it onto the drafting table.

Her hands urge me on while my mouth trails over her perfect, already-peaked breasts and lower along her stomach.

I set her firmly on her feet and drop to my knees.

I can’t get enough of her. When my fingers reach the button of her jeans, she stills me for just a moment.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, though the fire in her eyes says otherwise.

“Yes, I do.” I grin wickedly.

It’s true, though. I don’t think I could stop myself now even if I had ironclad willpower.

I need to taste her. Our lovemaking so far has been pretty basic, maybe a little vanilla, and I haven’t rushed her.

I want her comfortable with me. But I also want to show her everything she can have with me, everything I can give her, every way I can make her scream my name.

She steps out of her jeans and panties, then just stands there, completely bare, spine pressed to the wall, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her head lolls back as I lift one leg and hook it over my shoulder.

“Has anyone tasted you before?” I ask, possessiveness flaring.

“Yes,” she admits, her cheeks flushing. “But I’ve never wanted it this much.”

That’s all the encouragement I need. My lips find her slick heat, and my fingers part her, revealing every secret. The moment my tongue strokes her, she cries out, a delicious sound that makes my cock hard as steel.

“You like that?” I tease, my mouth just inches from her pussy.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Please don’t stop.”

I don’t. I savor her sweetness, running my tongue between her slick folds and circling her clit until her body trembles.

I have to brace her hips with my hands as she can’t stay upright without me.

She loses herself in wild abandon, the dirtiest words spilling from her beautiful mouth as she rides the crest of her pleasure.

I want it always to be this good for her, to have her lose herself so completely that all she can do is hold on for dear life.

I continue in my desire to have her finish in my mouth, dragging my tongue all around her clit and delving into her pussy. My tongue doesn’t relent until she shudders, tense then melting, completely sated. I rise to kiss her, ready to help her dress, but she stops me.

“And where do you think you’re going?” she asks, pushing me against the wall before dropping to her knees, a wicked grin curving her lips.

I smirk in response, as my rock-hard cock springs before her, brushing her soft cheek.

She spits onto it and grabs a handful of her own wetness from her orgasm, quickly lubricating my member with a mixture of her juices.

I lean back in pleasure as she eagerly bobs her head back and forth.

I soon finish all inside her mouth and over her body, taking in the beauty of my beautiful bride after all her hard work.