Sanctum: A Dark Bratva Arranged Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)

IT TAKES a few seconds for the truth to register before an icy mask of decision falls over Aleks’s face.

“Lock this room down. Now.”

It all happens so quickly. Guests are vetted and escorted out, staff is questioned. I sit, flanked on either side by two of the bodyguards who were stationed outside my room this morning.

I suddenly remember. “Aleks, earlier today you said you had a tray of food for me, and I told you we already had one?”

“Right. Who brought the tray in?”

“Aria.”

Aria says one of the staff members gave it to her and points out a pale, thin woman with blonde hair.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she says, her eyes wide at the look on Aleks’s face. “I was instructed to bring it up. That’s all I know. I came in late for a shift and one of the headwaiters said you asked for it to be sent up.”

The poor girl quakes under his furious look. “Which waiter?”

On and on the questioning goes until Aleks has interrogated everyone on staff. Mikhail oversees the questioning with concern, his brow knitted, but he mostly appears like he’s trying to prevent Aleks from singlehandedly murdering everyone.

“Aria could’ve eaten from that tray,” I say in a whisper. “She had the food in her hand but got distracted.”

The thought of Aria being poisoned…

Now Mikhail joins Aleks with the murderous looks.

“I want every one of the staff dismissed,” Aleks says to Mikhail. “Fired. No one but my wife stays here.”

My heart stalls at those words, two words that are foreign to my ears.

My wife.

Within an hour, his cat’s been sent to an emergency vet and declared poisoned but fine, and now there’s no one but the two of us left in the house. Not a single member of staff. Not one bodyguard.

I have no doubt Mikhail and his men are doing whatever Bratva men do about a potential threat against their loved ones.

Aleks sits brooding, a bottle of beer in front of him. His tie’s long gone, his hair a little tousled. He’s broody as fuck, and no help for it.

I try to think of him as my husband but somehow the vision of him in front of me and the words don’t quite jive together.

I nurse a glass of wine and try to make the dots connect.

“We were all adopted, you know,” he says thoughtfully, running his thumb along the rim of the beer bottle.

“Oh? I didn’t know. I mean, I know hardly anything about you.”

“Each of us, in turn, came from nothing. My uncle told me it was a favorite strategy of his father’s. My grandfather’s.”

I take another sip of wine, welcoming the slightly fruity tang and burn. “What strategy?”

“To start fresh. Start anew. He said whenever he took over a business, the first thing he did was fire everyone so he could handpick who worked for him. It was his method of ensuring loyalty.” He talks in a low, dangerous growl that makes me shiver. “Burn it all to the ground and start fresh.”

“An interesting strategy.”

Does that apply to me?

Oooooh.

“You told me to bring nothing with me,” I say in a little voice as it dawns on me. “You wanted to start fresh with me.”

He nods. “It’s how my father established his family. One by one, he chose us. He ensured our loyalty by providing for our needs, taking care of us, fathering us. By giving us a mother that took care of us.”

“I see.”

He takes another sip from the bottle. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down while he swallows.

“Did you fire everyone?”

“Yeah.”

I polish off the glass of wine and reach for the bottle. He watches me as if mesmerized but doesn’t stop me. I try to keep my tone upbeat to quell my rising nerves. “I’m amazed they left so readily, given your cheerful nature and infectious joy for life. You’re like sunshine in human form.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you baiting me?”

My hand shakes a little as I pour another glass. “Nah.”

Of course I’m baiting him. If I can get him focused on sparring with me, it takes his mind off things like murder, bloodshed, and the darker cravings that haunt him. I want to see the man he is beneath the scars and shadowed masks he wears.

And if I’m honest? I want to distract him from the inevitable next step we take alone as a married couple.

“Try again,” he says, turning to face me. He finishes the beer and tosses the bottle to the table. I jump at the clang of glass and expect it to shatter, but it only rolls away.

“Maybe it’s your magnetic appeal and charisma,” I say, taking another generous sip of wine. My thoughts get a little muddled and the view in front of me blurs a little, like the room’s been etched in oil pastels. “Your genteel nature and lighthearted sense of humor?”

“Getting there,” he says, and I swear his eyes on me feel like he’s mentally undressing me. “Khristos, Princess. You’re fucking gorgeous. How much wine have you had?”

I finish my glass and eye the bottle. “Not enough,” I whisper, my words slurred. I reach for the bottle.

“No, Harper.”

A chill skates down my back at the utter command in his tone. I pause, my hand on the bottle, and lift my eyes to his. “What?”

“No more wine.” Warmth spreads through me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “I want you to remember tonight in vivid detail.”

Oh, God.

I stand on shaky feet and take a few steps to the vacant, makeshift bar that flanks a wall, abandoned bottles still lined up like soldiers. I reach across and grab a little shot of whiskey. I don’t ever drink that much. I don’t even know how to. But I do know two things: I don’t want to remember this night, and I don’t want him to think he can boss me around.

I twist the top off a shot of something amber and don’t even read the label. I tip my head back and down it in one gulp, sputtering when I come up for air.

I squeal when the full length of his warm body presses me against the white table. How did he get there? I wasn’t even aware of him moving.

“Disobeying me already? We’ve barely taken vows.”

“I’m not. You told me no more wine.” I hold up the empty shot. “This isn’t wine.”

“So that’s how we’re going to play it,” he says in a lazy drawl as he arranges my hands flat across the top of the table.

“Play what?” My voice sounds too high, too loud.

“The way you earn your first spanking.”

My cheeks instantly color and my vision momentarily becomes clearer. “Aleks!”

His palm slams across my ass, but I hardly feel it. I’m surrounded by layers and layers of fabric. I can’t help it — I’m so tipsy and so wound up I snort.

“Are you mocking me, Princess?”

I am so mocking him, but I shake my head.

“Me? Never. Aleks!”

In one swift motion, I’m up in the air and over his shoulder, my legs scissoring and hands flailing in front of me.

“These layers of clothes need to go.”

I’m shaking and want to fight but have no choice.

I don’t care how he was this morning. I don’t care how my body responded. I don’t care that it’s our duty, that I have to bear his children, that we’re married now, and the expectations placed on us are as clear as road signs.

I’m scared.

By the time we get to our bedroom and he stands me in front of him, my cheeks are damp with tears. I taste the salt and will myself to stop, but I can’t. I swipe at them angrily. I feel like such a coward.

I barely register the size of the bed or vases of flowers, the muted neutral colors and simple design of the room, the scent of jasmine and rose and the pile of wrapped gifts and cards on a small table. It’s our wedding night, and the only thing that matters to me at this point is what we have to do next.

He unhurriedly undoes the pearl buttons at the back of my neck and kisses the bare skin revealed when each one falls open.

“Why are you crying?” he asks as he slips another button loose and kisses me again. “You’re crying, Harper.”

I shake my head. “I’m—I’m not,” I stutter, but it’s no use. I totally am.

When a few more buttons come undone, he slides a sleeve off my shoulder so one full side of me is bared to him.

“You are, and I want to know why. Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

He continues the deliberate disrobing until I’m wearing nothing but my white satin wedding bra and matching thong. He lays me back on the bed and sits on the edge beside me.

“N-no,” I say, my voice tremulous. “But I don’t know for sure. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know what you’re capable of.”

I tuck myself into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed and watch him. Earlier tonight, when he realized that there was an attempt at poisoning me, the look on his face terrified me. Now, though… now there’s a different sort of look that makes me more curious than anything.

“You’re brave, Harper. Resilient. This is unlike you.”

Goddamn, why is he so perceptive?

I swallow and lick my lips, looking away, but he doesn’t allow it. With his fingers on my chin, he brings my face back to his.

“Tell me,” he says, in the same voice he used tonight to clear the room, a tone that brooks no argument. I know then that there’s no hiding from Aleksandr Romanov. He sees right through me. With his fingers on my chin, he holds my gaze. “Who did this to you?”

A stranger in a crowded room.

Wrinkled sheets and muted screams.

Blood and pain and the knowledge I’d been used and discarded.

“Did — did what?” I whisper, hoping that if I stall, I don’t have to face this. Face him.

I’m lying on the bed, half naked. He’s fully clothed sitting next to me. I’m trying to hide the fact that I’m crying under a mask of bravado, and he’s trying to keep his temper reined in.Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

I’m tired of masks and lies and illusions.

So, so tired.

“You’re fucking terrified of being alone with me. Look at you. You’re practically curled into a fetal position, and I’ve barely touched you.”

A part of me wants him to touch me. Wants him to make me forget.

His brow furrowed he tries to guess. “Did your mother tell you to fear your wedding night? Are you afraid of what the first time will be like?”

I shake my head. It won’t be my first time.

“No,” I whisper.

What will he do when he finds out I’m not a virgin?

A muscle twitches in his jaw. He’s losing patience. “Someone hurt you.”

I lick my lips. “Yes.”

Leaning forward, he covers my hand with his big palm. “I’ll ask you one more time. Who did this to you? Why are you afraid of me?”

I stare at him. We’re married now. We share a name, and we’ll share children. I can’t tell him all of my secrets, not yet, but I’ll tell him the rest soon.

“I was at a party,” I say in a whisper. “Someone slipped something in my drink. I only remember bits and pieces.”

“You were assaulted,” he says in a voice I can’t quite decipher, but I’m reminded of a lion with velveted paws.

My mouth is dry, my voice hoarse. “Yes.”

He doesn’t speak for long minutes. Is he going to hurt me? I made a mistake telling him, I know I did. I know the consequences a mafia woman faces for losing her virginity. She’s damaged goods.

Miss High and Mighty.

Filthy piece of trash.

Fucking whore.

I’ve just revealed to Aleks that he was hoodwinked. He was tricked into marrying me, not knowing who I am or what I’ve done.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I thought I could hide it. I didn’t want to tell you. If my mother knew I told you⁠—”

He holds his hand up for me to stop. The words die on my lips.

“In your world, a woman’s virginity is her pride and joy. It isn’t the same for us. And even if it was an expectation in my family, I wouldn’t fault you for being assaulted. But I do have questions.” I’m shaking, unable to stop it. Wordlessly, he closes his hand around mine. The shaking stills. “Tell me. When your father found out, what was the blowback to your family for the justice he served? I need to know who our enemies are.”

I don’t quite understand the question at first. He thinks my father avenged me?

“Justice he served?”

Aleks’s lips are in a tight line. His eyes have gone black. “When he murdered the man who assaulted you, what happened?”

“He blamed me, Aleks. He never even looked for the man that assaulted me. We didn’t know who he was, and my father didn’t care.” I shake my head. “You don’t know how shallow my family can be. They didn’t care about me. They cared that one of their biggest bargaining chips was worthless.” I shrug. “My brother wanted to get rid of me. He made a deal with your brother, and here I am.”

You aren’t worthless.

It isn’t your fault.

Aleks looks momentarily shocked. It’s the first time I’ve seen a look like that on his face, but I’ve heard shock is one of the expressions nearly impossible to hide. “Even your brother didn’t seek justice?”

I shake my head. “No.”

His brows snap together and his voice is as low as the underbelly of a snake when he responds. “I’ll fucking kill them.”

I shiver because it isn’t a figure of speech. He will.

“Who?” I whisper.

“All of them. Your father should’ve known better. Your brother should’ve burned the world down to defend your honor. Your mother should’ve hired someone to find out who assaulted you and made it her life’s mission to make them pay.”

He really, really doesn’t know my family.

“You can’t make up fear like this,” he says in a lower voice, when the first thunderous rage begins to ebb away. “You’re afraid of me because you were assaulted.”

He pushes himself off the bed and stalks away, pacing beside the bed before he finally shakes his head. “What to do with your family and our enemy will wait for another day. Tonight is about us.” He gives me a curious look. “Do you want me to leave for a little while? Do you need some time?”

How much time would he give me? There are rules in our families.

Who is this and what has he done with the grumpy Russian? I swallow. Think. Do I want him to leave me?

I shake my head. I remember this morning. The hope that flickered like the catch of fire. “No. I’m…willing to try. If you’ll listen if I say stop.”

“Of course I will. I’m not a monster.”

I nod. For the first time in my adult life, I feel like the choice is mine. And that’s everything.

Bending forward, Aleks touches his lips to mine. The kiss is so gentle it’s almost chaste.

“Keep the rest on, Harper. I want you to control this.”

He says that, but he’s the one giving the commands. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. I can do it. I know I can.

I don’t want to be naked in front of him, though. I have the same fearful thoughts every day.

“Who else is in this house with us?” he asks.

I lick my lips. “No one.”

“That’s right. It’s just us. You, my wife. And me, your husband. I will not hurt you. And there’s no one telling us where and when to do anything. I married you and that’s all that matters right now.”

A small part of me wonders why I thought he hated me before. Are things different now that I’m his wife?

My hands come to rest on my thighs. I watch as Aleks stands up beside me and slowly strips out of his own clothing, his brow furrowed as if in concentration. I saw him this morning in hardly anything at all, and I haven’t been able to get the thought of his golden skin, his muscled abs and toned biceps, the perfect planes of his shoulders, out of my mind.

Soon, we’re sitting before each other dressed like we were in the early quiet of morning. This morning, there were only the two of us. The two of us and a long day ahead. He barely touched me. Now, it’s the same, only this time we have nowhere to go and not even the semblance of waiting until after the wedding to prevent us from doing anything.

Wordlessly, he leans toward me and kisses my bare shoulder. A shiver trickles down my spine, but I don’t move. Another kiss follows the first, as he makes his way down the length of my arm and back again.

A tremor runs through me.

For so long, I’ve felt like I was only an object to the people I knew, the people I loved. I didn’t feel I mattered to anyone beyond what I could do for them. Now, however… I shouldn’t let myself believe that I matter to him, but it’s hard to think otherwise when he’s looking at me that way.

Am I just romanticizing this? Romanticizing him? He chased me, forced me into the back of his car, and cuffed me.

But then we took vows. And maybe in this family…that means something’s changed.

“You’re beautiful,” he says in a low voice, as he makes his way to my other shoulder and kisses down the length of that arm, too. “Put your hands in your lap and don’t move them until I tell you.”

I couldn’t disobey a thing he said now if I tried. I’m putty in his hands, helpless to resist the pull of attraction between us. I’m floating somewhere in the atmosphere without the grounding force of gravity anymore.

So I do what he says. I lay my hands in my lap as he continues to worship me. A tentative kiss to the top of one breast. We’re like two long-lost lovers trying to remember the way toward each other.

“Lie down,” he whispers in my ear. “I want to taste you.”

With a shuddering breath, I obey. Wordlessly, he holds my wrists and pins them above my head. “Don’t move those hands.”

I keep them in place, but when he makes his way down the length of my body, I feel sick with nerves. When he kisses the vee at the top of my sex, my hips convulse but a sudden need to run flashes through me.

“No,” I whisper. “Don’t. Please, no.”

I’ve never had anyone do that for me before but it’s too intimate, too close, and we hardly know each other.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t…do that. I’m not ready. Please, Aleks. I’m not comfortable with any of this.” As soon as I say it, I regret it. What’s he going to do? He’s my husband, and by all of the rules in both of our worlds, I belong to him now.

He looks thoughtful for a moment. “If you let me try, it will help prepare you. It’ll make it easier.”

“There must be like…other things we can do?”

“Yes, but we do have to consummate this marriage. You know that, and so do I. It’s the rule for my family and for yours. We can wait, though.”

I nod and swallow. He stands and walks over to the dresser. For the first time, I see a small plate of chocolate-covered strawberries, and some champagne. He opens the bottle quietly, with none of the pomp and circumstance of a fizz and pop.

He pours champagne into a flute, and then pours one for himself. I let out a breath.

‘Hungry?’

I nod. I’m starving. I barely ate dinner.

‘Let’s start with these.’

He brings the tray of strawberries over, and I reach for one, but he gives me a playful slap of the hand.

‘Hey!’

‘You can have one,’ he says. “But only if I’m the one to feed it to you.’

Oh, boy. I have such strange, warring sensations inside me. A part of me wants him to touch me. I want to completely forget the assault that I experienced. I want to lose myself in pleasure, and I know it’s right there… right out of reach. If only…

And then a part of me wants to move over and go to sleep and pretend this never happened.

‘We have no choice, Harper. But we can make this fun.’

I know he’s right. We don’t. Our union was a solidification of two families, a calculated move.

He hands me the flute of champagne. I’ve already had so much wine, I start to feel a little uninhibited when I finish it.

I lean back in the bed, curious what he’ll do next. Even though he’s the one I’m watching and he’s the one supposedly in charge, I’m the one that’s said no. I feel empowered.

“Open.”

I hold his gaze while he pushes the chocolate-covered point of a strawberry past my lips. I bite, holding his gaze, and an explosion of flavors fills my mouth. I swallow and lick my lips. Mmm.

“Do you smoke?”

I shake my head, bemused.

I watch as he walks to a corner of the room and opens a desk drawer. Takes something out. Holds it between his fingers, puts it to his lips, and lights it.

The sweet smell of smoke fills the room.

Oh.

He opens a window and I openly stare at him. It’s strange, me wearing my underwear, him wearing his.

He’s so fucking hot. His legs are chiseled, his ass perfection. His back is stunning. He has tattoos in various places, loops and lines, words and swirls, but nothing I can really distinguish right now.

“Take it easy if you haven’t had it before. Do you smoke?”

I shake my head. I might not be a virgin, but I’m woefully inexperienced.

He puts the joint between my fingers. With a shaking hand, I bring it to my lips and take a tiny drag. I sputter a little, but he talks me through it. Soon, a deliciously floaty sensation comes over me.

A corner of his lips quirks up. ‘You’re gonna fall asleep for days after this.”

“Sounds delightful. Just make sure you shave me so I don’t become the female version of Rip van Winkle.”

Aleks’s eyes darken. “Shave you? I can arrange that.”

A giggle bubbles up. I take the joint back and take another drag.

“Easy,” he says. “Now, keep your hands in your lap.”

He lifts another one of the chocolate-covered strawberries and puts the smallest tip in my mouth. The flavor of creamy chocolate and tangy, cold fruit hits my tongue. I lick my lips. ‘Yum. ‘

I watch him polish off three. “Yum, but we need some real food. Let’s take a walk.”

“I’m high as a kite and almost naked.”

“Sounds perfect.”

It’s strange, walking down to the kitchen wearing next to nothing, but he makes it seem normal. A king in his domain, rummaging around the fridge and coming up with some cheese and crackers, cured meats and olives. We put together a makeshift charcuterie board, pair it with the champagne, and bring it all back to the bedroom. It’s delicious.

Emboldened with my stomach full, I ask him a question. “Why did you marry me?’ A handsome man like him could’ve gotten anybody, I would think. “Why me?”

He shrugs. “I’m not one for dating. I had a girlfriend a long, long time ago. And I lost her. I haven’t wanted to date anyone since then. But you know the rules. You know the expectations. So when Mikhail made a deal with your brother, I agreed.”

He had someone before me? She isn’t here anymore, but I’m still jealous.

I put a small wedge of Parmesan on a round wheat cracker and take a bite. ‘And what happens now that we’re married?’

‘There have been many who were bidding for power in The Cove in the wake of our enemy’s death. Now that we’re married, it gives us the first stronghold we need. Next step, children.’ My heart leaps.

‘And then world domination,’ I say with forced cheerfulness.

“Exactly. My mother likes to say that man should not be alone.”

‘Does she really quote the Bible to you? Does she know who you are?’

‘I think it’s because she knows who we are that she’s always quoting the Bible to us. Hoping to save our souls or something.’

That makes me laugh. I go to reach for another strawberry, remember his admonition, and very politely put my hand back in my lap.

‘Good girl,” he says approvingly.

I love it when he praises me. I love it when he looks at me like he’s starving and he wants to eat me up. I love a lot of things about the two of us and that’s probably dangerous as hell.

He’s sitting in a chair across from the bed, spread in that casual manly way with his knees parted and his elbows resting on his thighs. ‘I want to look at you. Stand in front of me, Harper.”