The gun is three inches from my face when I realize I'm about to die.
"Where's the money, Maya?"
Viktor Kozlov's breath reeks of vodka and cigarettes. His hand is steady even though he's drunk. That's what scares me most-he's done this before.
"I don't have it." My voice shakes. I hate that it shakes. "My father took it. I don't know where-"
"Your father is dead." Viktor's smile shows gold teeth. "Which means his debts are yours now."
Two million dollars.
My father gambled it away, drank the rest, and put a bullet in his own head rather than face the Bratva. Lucky him. He left me to clean up his mess.
"I'll get you the money," I say quickly. "Just give me time-"
"I gave you two weeks." Viktor cocks the gun. "Time's up, printsessa."
I close my eyes. This is it. Twenty-three years old and I'm going to die in a shitty apartment that smells like mold and-
The door explodes inward. Not opens. Explodes.
Wood splinters. Viktor spins, gun raised-
A hand catches his wrist mid-turn and twists. The snap of bone echoes through the apartment. Viktor screams. The gun clatters to the floor.
And then I see him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Expensive suit that probably costs more than this entire building. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a face that would be beautiful if it wasn't so cold. He holds Viktor's broken wrist casually, like he's shaking hands at a business meeting.
"You're on my territory, Kozlov." His voice is quiet. Controlled. Russian accent barely there. "Collecting debts that belong to me."
"Dimitri-" Viktor's face goes white. "I didn't know she was-"
"Now you know." Dimitri releases Viktor's wrist. "Leave."
Viktor stumbles backward, cradling his broken arm. He looks at me once-something like pity in his eyes-then runs.
The door hangs crooked on its hinges. Dimitri doesn't watch him go. He's looking at me.
"Maya Volkov." He says my name like he's tasting it. "Your father owed me three million before he owed Kozlov anything."
My stomach drops. Three million.
"I don't have that kind of money," I whisper.
"I know." He steps closer. I should back away. Should run. But my legs won't move. "Which is why you're going to work off the debt instead."
"Work off-" I shake my head. "I'm a bartender. It would take me twenty years to-"
"I don't need a bartender." His eyes drop to my mouth. Linger. "I need a wife."
The room tilts. "What?"
"Six months." He pulls something from his pocket-a contract, folded crisp and clean. "You marry me. Live in my house. Play the role of my devoted wife in public." His smile is sharp. "And in six months, your father's debt is cleared. You walk away free."
"That's insane."
"That's the deal." He holds out the contract. "Sign it, or I let Viktor finish what he started. Your choice, maya milaya."
My sweet one. The endearment sounds like a threat.
I take the contract. His smile is slow. Satisfied. "Good girl."
I ignore the way those two words make my stomach flip. "This doesn't mean anything," I say as I sign my name. "It's just business."
Dimitri takes the contract back. Folds it carefully. Tucks it into his jacket. Then he leans in close-so close his lips brush my ear. "Keep telling yourself that, wife."
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Welcome to Dimitri and Maya's story 🖤
This is a dark romance with a possessive Pakhan and a woman who doesn't know she's already his. Expect violence, obsession, and everything morally gray.