Page 7 of Sweet Deception (Savage Vow #2)

ANNA

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With my dance tutor gone, the mansion felt emptier each day. Boredom gnawed at me. I was Gleb’s wife, not his captive, at least, that’s what I told myself. So I decided to leave.

I told Zoya I was going out, expecting resistance, her loyalty to Gleb was unshakable. She narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” she said at last. “But if you’re set on it, I won’t stop you. Just be careful.”

That was it. No warning, no mention of Gleb’s possible reaction. It unsettled me.

When she asked if I could drive, I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.” Gleb’s cars were sleek, ostentatious machines, the kind that turned heads. I didn’t want attention. I wandered the garage until I found an older, classic model, something understated.

I slid inside and drove off. Maria and I used to sneak off and practice driving outside our estate in Italy. The feel of the wheel in my hands was unfamiliar. I hadn’t driven since my accident in Italy, and never on Moscow’s streets.

I’d researched Moscow’s hotspots online, and one club stood out, buzzing with hype. Clubbing alone wasn’t ideal, I’d have called a friend in Italy, maybe one of Maria’s old crew but here, I was a stranger. No friends. No ties.

I was suffocating, and going out was the only way to change that.

At the bar, I ordered a drink and watched the DJ spin. Couples danced, their steps foreign compared to Italy’s rhythms, but entertaining. I giggled as a guy stumbled, his girlfriend lunging to catch him, both nearly toppling.

“You’re from the West?” a voice asked behind me.

I turned to see a tall, muscular man, burly and young. His Russian was too fast, his words lost on me.

“I don’t speak Russian,” I said.

“Ah,” he switched to English. “Where are you from?”

“Italy.”

“Wow. I’m Ivan.” He extended a hand.

“Anna.” I shook it, his grip warm and firm.

“My mother lives in the West,” he said, sliding onto the stool beside me.

We clicked fast. Ivan was easygoing, his laughter unguarded, puffing a cigarette now and then. I didn’t mind; Moscow’s chill demanded warmth. He offered to introduce me to his friends, and I agreed. We moved to a couch upstairs.

“Where are they?” I asked, settling in.

“Coming soon,” he said. I nodded, at ease.

He cracked a dark joke, and I laughed. It felt good to talk, like I existed beyond being ‘Gleb Romanov’s wife.’

As he shared quirks of Russian culture, two men approached.

They weren’t like Ivan. Their presence sent a chill through me, tattoos snaked up their arms, their eyes too sharp, too calculating.

“Friends?” I asked casually.

“Yeah,” Ivan said. He switched to Russian to introduce me. I didn’t understand their words, but I felt their scrutiny.

They tossed wraps of weed onto the table, lighting up. My stomach twisted, gang vibes radiated from them. Ivan had felt safe alone, but now, unease crept in. I needed out.

“Excuse me, I need the bathroom,” I said, standing abruptly, heart pounding.

“Okay, Anna,” Ivan replied easily. The others muttered in Russian. I hurried off, no clue where the restroom was.

Glancing back, I saw Ivan and the two men trailing me, ten feet behind. Were they following? Or just walking? My pulse quickened. I wove through the crowd, searching for an exit.

Hands grabbed my arms. I screamed, fearing Ivan’s crew had caught me, then froze.

Gleb.

His icy glare pinned me.

My jaw dropped, words stumbling out. “I... I just wanted fun. The house is suffocating.”

Without a word, he hoisted me over his shoulder. I felt small, helpless, as he carried me out to his car.

“Hey,” I said as he set me in the passenger seat. “Why’d you come for me?”

He ignored me, starting the engine. We drove home in silence. When we arrived, he rounded to my side as I stepped out. “Besides laughing with that guy, what else did you do?”

My face fell. “Which guy?”

“The one next to you at the club.”

He’d seen us? “Nothing. We just talked. He was funny, that’s all.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.” Truth.

“Did those other men touch you?”

“No,” I said sharply. “Why do you care? I thought you hated me.”

“Those are mafia men. You can’t wander anywhere ‘for fun.’” He dodged my question.

“So I rot at home, lonely and depressed?” My chest ached. “My husband, who’s supposed to be there, doesn’t give a damn.”

“Watch your tongue.” he warned.

“No. Stay out of my space. You can’t hate me and stalk me like I matter. Don’t say it’s because I’m your wife, that’s nonsense.” My voice rose, chest aching. I turned away, avoiding his piercing blue eyes.

“You’re bored? I’ll fix that.”

I snapped back, confused. “How?”

He shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Keep me company at night,” I said. His eyes flickered. “Not sex. Games, talking, anything.”

“You think I’d sit with you, playing games?” His tone dripped venom. “Die lonely for all I care.”

“Really?” His words sliced deep, my body trembling. How could he hate me this much?

My stomach clenched. “Then leave me alone. Until you’re ready to consummate this and let me go, stay away.”

“I can’t,” he said.

“Why?”

“Pick something else. No chance I’m cozying up to the daughter of my mother’s killer.”

“Even if my mother is guilty of your accusation, I’m innocent. Stop punishing me for her.”

“That’s why you’re still breathing,” he said coldly. “If I unleash my rage, you’d be dead from our wedding night.”

My chest tightened. “I just want out of this hell. You won’t touch me or free me. It’s unbearable.”

“Sex isn’t the issue,” he snapped. “I can’t stomach bedding a woman whose father’s defiled. The thought kills any desire, makes you repulsive.”

I slapped his chest, sobbing. “I’m a virgin, you idiot!”

His face stayed stone. He didn’t believe me. My father’s lies had poisoned everything.

“Excuse me,” I whispered, voice shaking, and brushed past him. Pain seared my chest, my breath ragged.

That night, I stayed in bed, appetite gone.

Zoya called me for dinner; I refused.

My father’s betrayal or Gleb’s hatred, which hurt more? I couldn’t tell.

Morning came with my phone’s relentless ringing. Gleb wasn’t there. We shared a room, despite his loathing yet I hadn’t seen him before sleep or now. Had he stayed away? Or slipped in and out unnoticed?

I answered. “This is Anna, yes?” a man asked.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Ivan’s brother. Why didn’t you tell him you’re Gleb Romanov’s wife at the club?”

“He didn’t ask. Why would I say that?”

“Are you happy with what your husband did to him?”

Ice spread through me. “What?” Had Gleb killed again because of me?

“Plead with him for us. He’s sworn enemies with our gang, we can’t afford this. Please!” Desperation laced his voice.

What had I done?

The door opened. Gleb stepped in, breathtaking yet dark, his expression hardening as he saw me on the phone.

“Okay, I will,” I said quickly, hanging up.

“Morning,” I said. “You didn’t sleep here, did you?”

“Who was that?” Gleb asked, his piercing blue eyes locked on me.

I hesitated. If he knew it was Ivan’s brother, he’d retaliate.

“My mother,” I lied, keeping my voice steady.

His gaze lingered, as if he sensed my deception. I swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

“Don’t answer strange numbers,” he said.

I frowned. “Why?”

He ignored me, moving toward the closet. I clenched my fists, frustration simmering.

“I’ve thought about your company,” he said suddenly.

My brows furrowed. “What?”

“You need company. I’ll get you a dog. Pick any breed.”

I laughed, bitter and humorless. “A dog? That’s your solution?”

He stepped closer, his expression dark. “You’re ungrateful.”

“I’m lonely, not a child needing a pet!”

His jaw tensed. “A dog will be loyal. Unlike people.”

My anger boiled over. “Why won’t you just talk to me? I’m your wife, yet you act like I don’t exist.”

I turned to leave, but his hand snaked out, catching my wrist in an iron grip.

“Let go!” I shoved him, my frustration exploding into physical defiance. He barely moved. I kneed his groin and swung wildly, my hands striking his chest, my body vibrating with rage.

He caught my wrists with ease, his grip bruising.

In an instant, he had me pinned to the bed. His weight pressed against me, his breath warm against my face.

“Let. Go.” I thrashed beneath him, but he was unmovable. I was trapped.

His grip tightened, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

“Stop fighting me.” he murmured.

The way he said it... it wasn’t a threat. It was something else.

My breathing hitched. His scent... cologne, smoke, and something purely him, filled my senses.

“Get off,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

He didn’t move.

His fingers traced my wrist, his thumb pressing against my pulse. I knew he could feel how fast it raced.

For a second, a spark lit in his gaze.