Page 16

I lean against the doorway of the living room, glancing at my watch for the third time in as many minutes.

Julie is late.

The maid had assured me she would be ready soon, but I know better than to put too much faith in assurances. Women had a habit of making a man wait, and Julie—despite her circumstances—was no exception.

The annual Bratva gathering was not an event to be late for. This wasn’t just a social affair; it was a demonstration of strength, power, and unity. Every man in that room would be watching me, analyzing my choices, my control. Tonight, for the first time, they would be watching her too.

I roll my shoulders, forcing away the impatience gnawing at me. I tell myself it’s the event I care about, the necessity of punctuality, the expectation of dominance.

That would be a lie. A part of me—one I refused to acknowledge—was more focused on seeing her than anything else.

The sharp click of a door opening pulls me from my thoughts.

Julie steps out, and I forget everything else. I straighten unconsciously, my eyes locking on to her before I can stop myself.

The black dress clings to her curves in all the right places, elegant and striking, yet daring enough to make a statement. It drapes over her frame with effortless grace, the material hugging her waist before flowing down, the slit along her thigh teasing just enough skin to make a man look twice.

Her hair cascades over her shoulders, soft and shining, a contrast to the defiant look in her eyes.

She’s stunning. For a rare moment, I have no words. I keep my expression composed, offering only a curt nod. “Not bad.”

Her brow furrows slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. I know that look. She’s irritated. She wanted a reaction, something more than indifference. Maybe she deserves it.

***

The gathering is a spectacle of power, the kind of event where alliances are forged and tested in the space between words. The air hums with low conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional sharp laughter of men who have never had to fear anyone but each other.

I move through it with practiced ease, exchanging handshakes, measured nods, and clipped words. Every greeting carries weight, every conversation is a negotiation. Even in a room full of supposed allies, there is no such thing as trust.

Julie stays close.

I don’t have to look to know she’s feeling the weight of the room. The Bratva elite watch her carefully, some with thinly veiled amusement, others with curiosity or skepticism. A Spade, here among us? I can almost hear their thoughts, the murmurs that no one dares to voice aloud.

She’s an outsider, and they don’t let her forget it. She doesn’t break.

Her shoulders are stiff, her back straight, and even though I can see the way her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, she holds herself well.

Better than I expected.

I steal glances when I can, telling myself it’s just to assess how she’s handling herself. That it’s nothing more than scrutiny, ensuring she doesn’t make a fool of me. That’s a lie.

I watch her. More than I should.

It’s in the way the candlelight catches the sleek black fabric of her dress, in the way her hair brushes against the delicate slope of her shoulder when she turns her head. There’s a quiet tension in her posture, a subtle defiance, as if she refuses to let herself be diminished, no matter how out of place she might feel.

She’s not immune to the scrutiny, though.

I catch the way her fingers brush the fabric of her dress, as if she’s resisting the urge to smooth it down. The way her gaze flickers to the side when someone holds it too long.

I lean in slightly, my voice low in her ear. “Relax.”

She stiffens at the proximity, but I see the flicker of relief in her eyes when I step closer, making my presence beside her more deliberate.

They can look. They can whisper. No one will dare touch what belongs to me.

I continue my rounds, speaking with the men who run this city from the shadows, but my thoughts keep circling back to her.

By the time I introduce her to my brother, Erik, I realize I’ve spent more time watching Julie than thinking about the business at hand.

Erik greets her with a polite nod, his tone measured. “So, you’re the infamous wife.”

Julie tenses slightly beside me, but to her credit, she doesn’t shrink away. Instead, she lifts her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “Infamous?”

Erik smirks, taking a slow sip from his glass. “The Spade daughter married into the Sharovs? People are talking.” He tilts his head, studying her. “You don’t look like the villain they make you out to be.”

Julie exhales sharply. “That’s because I’m not one.”

I smirk at that, amused by the defiance creeping into her voice. My brother chuckles too, giving me a knowing look.

“She’s got more bite than I expected,” Erik remarks. “That’ll make things interesting.”

I roll my shoulders. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Julie glares at me, but Erik just laughs, shaking his head. “You always had a habit of breaking things, Mikhail. This one, though? Looks like she’s not so easy to break.”

I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the words settle.

Julie folds her arms, her posture shifting subtly into one of challenge. “I’m not something that can be broken.”

Erik raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Bold of you to say when you’re standing between two men who have built their lives on breaking people.”

I glance at Julie, watching for her reaction. She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she meets Erik’s gaze with something close to defiance, though I can see the way she swallows before speaking. “That just means I’ll have to be smarter than both of you.”

Erik chuckles, shaking his head. “She’s got fire. I can see why you’re enjoying yourself.”

I smirk but say nothing. I am enjoying myself. More than I should be.

Julie shifts her attention back to Erik. “What about you? Are you enjoying this?”

Erik tilts his head slightly, considering. “Oh, I never expected my brother to get married, let alone to someone from the Spade family. This is better than any business deal I’ve seen.”

I scoff. “You just like the spectacle.”

“That, and I’m curious to see if you can handle this,” Erik replies, a smirk playing on his lips. He takes another sip of his drink before adding, “You were never the domestic type.”

Julie lets out a quiet snort at that, and I arch a brow at her. “Something funny?”

She presses her lips together, clearly fighting back a smile. “It’s just… I can’t imagine you being ‘domestic’ either.”

Erik laughs outright. “See? She’s catching on fast.”

I exhale through my nose, unamused. “Enough. You should know better than to bring my wife into this, given how you met your own.”

Erik grins. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave, since you insist on mentioning Chloe.”

“How is she, by the way?”

Erik waves a dismissive hand. “A handful, as always. “He gives Julie one last assessing look before setting his glass down and clapping me on the shoulder. “You’ve got your hands full too, Brother.”

With that, I watch as he steps away, disappearing into the crowd.

Julie exhales, shaking her head. “Your brother is… something.”

I sneer. “You just met him on a good day.”

Before either of us can say much else, my uncle Denis steps into the conversation with the same unwelcome presence he always carries—too casual, too arrogant, as if he owns the space he enters. His sharp gaze rakes over Julie before he even acknowledges me, his lips curling into something between amusement and disdain.

“Well, you’ve certainly made a choice that’ll keep tongues wagging,” he sneers, his voice dripping with derision. “Marrying a Spade… I suppose betraying blood runs in the family, doesn’t it?”

I don’t react immediately. Denis has always been one to provoke, throwing veiled insults like knives just to see how deep they cut. He thrives on tension, on pressing buttons to see which ones will break.

My grip on my glass tightens, but before I can open my mouth, Julie speaks.

“Interesting how the loudest critics are often the ones who’ve accomplished the least.”

A sharp silence falls between us.

I shift my gaze to her, surprised—and amused—to find her standing tall, completely unshaken by Denis’s presence. There’s no hesitation in her voice, no uncertainty in her posture.

Denis blinks, the smirk on his face faltering for just a fraction of a second before he lets out a low chuckle. “Well, well. The Spade girl has a tongue on her.”

Julie doesn’t flinch. “Yet, it seems to be sharper than yours.”

The amusement in Denis’s eyes turns cold.

I watch him closely, waiting to see how he’ll react. He isn’t a man who enjoys being outplayed, especially not in public. Julie just cut him down in front of the highest-ranking men in the Bratva.

Denis lets out another chuckle, slower this time, measured. “Bold words for someone who wouldn’t be standing here if not for the Sharovs keeping her on a leash.”

Julie’s expression doesn’t waver. “A leash only works if you allow it.”

The men around us go quiet, their interest in the exchange evident in the way they linger. This kind of tension is exactly what they live for—power plays, unspoken challenges, the constant game of dominance.

Denis shifts his weight slightly, tilting his head at me. “I hope you’re keeping this one in check, Mikhail. Wouldn’t want her getting the wrong idea about her place in all this.”

I smirk, taking a slow sip of my drink before answering. “Oh, I know exactly where she belongs—here, with me.”

Julie’s head turns slightly, eyes narrowing, but I don’t look at her.

Denis’s smug expression falters, and the hush that falls over the group is almost palpable. The weight of Julie’s words settles like a challenge in the air, daring him to say something—anything—to regain control of the conversation.

For the first time since this ridiculous wedding arrangement began, I feel something I hadn’t expected—pride.

Not in myself. Not in the way I’ve played my cards. In her.

Julie doesn’t shrink under Denis’s stare. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t fidget or try to take her words back. If anything, she looks almost bored, like dealing with him is just another inconvenience in a long list of things she has to tolerate.

Denis mutters something under his breath, but it’s lost in the low murmur of voices around us.

He knows he’s lost this one.

Without another word, he steps back, his lips pressed into a thin line as he disappears into the crowd.

I watch him go, but my focus shifts back almost immediately.

Julie.

She stands tall, her expression unreadable, but I catch the way her shoulders lift just slightly—like she’s bracing for something.

I tilt my head, watching her closely.

Then, slowly, my lips curve into a grin. Maybe there was more to her than I had anticipated.

I take a slow sip of my drink, letting my gaze drag over her. She stands there, still composed, though I don’t miss the way her breath is just the slightest bit uneven.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” I murmur, stepping closer.

Julie’s eyes flick up to mine, guarded but alert. “You didn’t expect me to just stand there and take it, did you?”

I smirk. “I half expected you to wilt. Maybe even run.”

She lifts her chin, her lips parting slightly as if she’s considering her next words carefully. “I’m not afraid of men who hide behind their words.”

My amusement deepens. “That so?”

She tilts her head, eyes searching mine. “Is that why you keep talking instead of doing something?”

The challenge in her voice sends a sharp jolt of desire straight through me.

Bold little thing.

I reach for her without warning, my fingers slipping under her chin, tilting her face up toward mine. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, soft, delicate.

“You want me to do something, Julie?” I murmur.

She swallows, her throat bobbing against my thumb. “I want you to stop acting like you can intimidate me.”

I chuckle, low and dark, because it’s amusing she thinks that’s what this is. Intimidation. As if I need to use fear when I can have her in so many other ways.

I lean in, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “I’m not trying to intimidate you, printsessa.”

She tenses at the closeness, but she doesn’t move.

I kiss her then.

Rough, claiming, a firm press of my mouth against hers.

Julie stiffens for a split second, and then something shifts. She melts into it.

Her hands move instinctively to my chest, fingers gripping the fabric of my jacket. The taste of her is addictive—soft, sweet, hesitant but not unwilling.

I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue tease against hers, coaxing, demanding. Her breath is shaky, her body pressing against mine despite herself. I feel it—the moment where resistance bleeds into surrender.

When I finally pull back, her lips are slightly swollen, her breathing uneven.

I smirk, pleased. Her fingers tremble where they still rest against my chest.

“I’m proud of you,” I murmur, brushing a thumb over her bottom lip.

Julie blinks, confused. “What?”

My gaze flickers over her, lingering on the way she’s still leaning into me, even if she doesn’t realize it. “You held your own tonight. You didn’t let Denis get to you.”

She studies me carefully, still catching her breath. “You enjoyed that?”

“I enjoy a sharp tongue,” I admit, dragging my fingers down her arm, reveling in the way her skin pebbles under my touch. “You have one.”

Her cheeks flush, and I can’t tell if it’s from the compliment or the heat still simmering between us.

Julie looks away, exhaling softly. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

I grin. “That’s the fun part, printsessa. Figuring it out.”

I kiss her again, this time slower, savoring the way she shivers beneath me.

She might not know what I want.