Page 4 of Sweet Deception (Savage Vow #2)

I knew Ignat wouldn’t dare move. Gleb’s men were everywhere, but I couldn’t let him go through with this.

When we reached the master bedroom, he set me down gently on the bed, but I grabbed onto his shirt, refusing to let go.

"You hate me... so why act like you care?" My voice was breathless, raw. "You vanished a day after our wedding without a word. You never even reached out. You didn’t care if I died of loneliness in this place. Yet here you are, acting like I belong to you." I lifted my chin.

His face remained frozen, unreadable. Then, in a voice colder than death, he said, "I still fucking hate you."

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, absorbing the pain of his words. Then I opened them, my voice sharp, "Then stop acting like you own me."

His eyes flashed. "No." His tone was razor-sharp. "No matter how I feel about you, you are my wife! You carry my last name! You are mine!" His fist clenched as he leaned down, his breath warm against my face. "No one touches you but me.”

A violent shudder ran through me at his words. I didn’t understand this man.

I had a million questions, but right now, I only cared about one thing.

"What do I need to do for you to let Ignat go?"

His expression darkened. "You don’t get to feel anything for another man."

"Not like that! He’s my tutor, I..."

“I don’t fucking care!” His voice boomed, his breathing sharp. “He touched what’s mine, and he will pay!”

In a swift, brutal motion, he ripped himself out of my grip. I wasn’t expecting it. One second he was there, the next, gone.

"Gleb!" I screamed after him, but he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

My pulse pounded in my ears. Was he really going to kill him?

Panic seized my body.

I dragged myself into the wheelchair, trembling, and raced down the hall after him.

I barely made it down the hallway before Gleb appeared again.

I froze.

His white dress shirt was drenched in blood.

“Please tell me you haven’t killed that innocent man?”

A strangled scream escaped my throat when I saw what he was holding.

Something heavy landed on my lap.

It was a severed hand.

My blood curdling scream ripped through the air.

"You butchered him!” blood soaked into my skirt. I shoved it off, my voice breaking into anguish sobs. “You’re a monster! You’re the fucking devil!”

Gleb didn’t flinch. He wiped his stained hands on a handkerchief, his movements slow, deliberate. “He touched you,” he said, as if that explained everything.

His gaze lifted to the doorway, where shadows shifted, his men, always watching. “And now they’ll all know. Cross me, and you lose more than your pride.”

I choked on my tears. “How will Ignat ever dance again?”

“He won’t.” Gleb tossed the bloodied cloth aside and leaned close, his voice a venomous whisper. “Let that be a lesson, to him, to you, to every bastard in this house. No one forgets what’s mine.” He straightened, brushing a speck of blood from his sleeve.

This was the third time I had seen him since our wedding and I had only known his cruelty in flashes, the cold dismissal on our wedding day, the murder of my chaperone, and now this: a man maimed because someone dared touch me.

He didn’t even listen to apologies.

"Enough stalling. Take me and get me pregnant already so I can finally be free of this hellhole," I spat, trembling with rage.

His icy gaze flickered.

He took a slow, deliberate step forward and bent down, his fingers lifting my chin.

I jerked away. "Don't touch me!"

"I will."

His hand returned to my chin, firmer this time. I slapped it away, but he caught my wrist effortlessly, tilting my face toward his.

"You want to learn how to dance?" His tone was laced with both menace and a mocking tenderness.. "I’ll teach you."

As if you know anything about dancing," I shot back, bitterness mingling with defiance.

His lips curled into a predatory smirk. "10 AM tomorrow. Be ready."

"I'll never learn from a psycho like you," I retorted.

"10 AM." He dismissed me with a cold finality, striding away.

I sat there, frozen. Blood soaked my skirt.

The severed hand was gone, but its weight lingered.

My chest heaved. I couldn’t breathe.

That was when I called him, my father. The only tether I had left. It rang once, twice, then his voice spilled through, warm and false. “My sweet girl, how’s Russia?”

“You’re why I can’t walk, aren’t you?” My voice cracked, sharp with betrayal.

“What? Anna, are you alright?”

“Stop lying!” I gripped the phone tighter. “You had Elisabetta poison me. Five years... why? What did you gain?” Silence stretched, heavy and damning.

“Answer me!” My chest burned, the memory of his kisses, his gifts, twisting into something vile. “I thought you loved me.”

The line went dead.

“Father?” I redialed. Blocked.

My breath hitched, a bitter laugh escaping. Cut off, like I was nothing. I should’ve run like Maria. Her letter flashed in my mind: “I have a boyfriend. I won’t waste my life for this family.” She’d escaped. I’d stayed. Loyal. Foolish.

Before the accident, I’d danced. Maria and I had a YouTube channel, hundreds of thousands watched us spin, leap, fly. I was better, and she hated it. My parents comforted her, but they pushed me, “You could be a star, Anna.” I’d dreamed of stages, spotlights, a life beyond their cartel.

Then the crash at fifteen, the doctor’s promise I’d walk again, the endless collapse. My father hadn’t just stolen my legs, he’d stolen that dream. I pressed my palms to my eyes, swallowing the sob.

No tears. Not for him.