Silken Chains (Bond by Morozov Bratva Book 1) (Bond by Morozov Bratva Series)

“WELL SLAP me sideways,” I blurt out, my eyes darting between Victor and the entrance to this hidden passage to the unknown.

I’m trying not to let my jaw hit the floor because the wall, along with its parade of antiques and family history, just vanishes like a magic trick.

“You actually have a secret chamber down there?” My voice sounds as brave as a kitten in a dog park. I glance down at the passage that’s suddenly revealed, its tiles so intricately detailed and historic, they’d put the finest gallery to shame.

“Come with me,” Victor commands, his hand a steady presence on my back, guiding me forward as my body trembles with a cocktail of emotions. My mind’s racing with wild, not entirely appropriate fantasies about what might lie beneath us.

This can’t be real, can it? What if there’s a secret BDSM lair?

As we step down, Victor’s hand clasps mine, providing some warmth in the chilly air surrounding us like a cloak. Suddenly, a high-tech sensor goes off, and the door—excuse me, wall—seals us inside. The loud click makes me shiver, along with the cold draft coming from somewhere.

My eyes are wide, every sense on high alert. “Victor, you need to tell me where we’re going,” I demand.

Rooted to the spot, I make it clear—I’m not taking another step until he gives me an answer.

“My father built this chamber for my mother,” he reveals, his voice softening with nostalgia and sorrow. As he talks, he nudges me forward, guiding me down the steps with him.

“Your mother?” I blurt out, trying to connect the pieces. There was no older woman beside Andrey at the family dinner tonight.

Holy fuck, did his dad really lock his mom in a secret underground chamber?

Nervously, I nibble at my lip, eyeing him. My imagination kicks into overdrive, spinning out all kinds of dark scenarios.

He chuckles. “You’ve got it wrong,” he says, his gaze fixed ahead as we keep moving down. The dim light throws his face into shadow, showing a hint of something sad I hadn’t seen in him till now.

And now he can read minds. Great.

“She’s dead,” he states simply, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice that he quickly smothers.

I feel a twinge of unexpected empathy.

My curiosity about her death, appearance, it all bubbles up, but I push it down.

Not the right time, Laur.

“I’m sorry,” I offer softly, squeezing his hand in mine. “Lost my mom young too.”

We stare at each other for a moment, a glimpse of something on his face—a flicker of shared understanding, maybe—before he masks it with that familiar stoic veneer.

“It happens.” He shrugs, his voice flat as we make our way down the cold stairs. “People die.”

“Achoo!” The sneeze rips through the silence, bouncing off the walls.

Great, just what I need at this time. A bloody sneeze.

Embarrassed, I blush. Great timing, really, showing I’m not all tough.

His mouth quirks up on one side, and he drops his jacket on me. It’s warm. I try to keep my guard up, but it’s hard with his coat around me.

I push away the soft thoughts, trying to remember we’re in a mess, not a date.

“So, are you ever going to tell me where we’re heading?” I shoot him a side glance, trying to muster a bit more boldness in my voice.

Before Victor can respond, he comes to a stop. I quickly turn my attention forward. An archway looms into view, reminiscent of a Moroccan palace, its tiles a riotous explosion of bohemian hues.

I blink rapidly, my mind racing to process the visual feast before my eyes.

“Holy—” I manage to choke out. This isn’t just a chamber; it’s Aladdin’s cave on steroids.

I’m standing here, totally gobsmacked.

Jewelry—more jewelry than I’ve seen in my life—spills from every shelf. Sapphires, rubies, emeralds, diamonds gleaming like stars plucked from the sky. Even the watches look like they could fund a small country.

Victor could’ve told me we were crashing the treasure room of some ancient royalty, and I’d nod along. The place is dripping in so much bling it’s like Scrooge McDuck decided to diversify into jewelry.

My idea of wealth is a fully stamped coffee loyalty card. This? This is another universe.

I can’t help but think that my own jewelry collection is pretty much a set of pearls from Mom and… Oh yeah, a gold wedding band from my fake ex-husband.

“Hold on,” he commands, his voice a low growl that prickles my skin.

Frozen in place, I watch Victor stride off, swiftly punching in a sequence that hushes the shrill alarms. “They belonged to my mother,” he murmurs, a rare softness seeping into his tone. “Papa… He…” Victor begins, and right away, there’s a slight shift in him.

He rakes his fingers through his hair and surveys the room with a swift look, his gaze darting from corner to corner as if searching for something unseen. It feels like he’s about to share something he’s not used to discussing.

It pulls me in, even though every logical part of me screams to run from anything tied to the Morozov Bratva.

We lock eyes, and something shifts.

His gray eyes, normally hard and distant, warm up a bit. He steps in, not like he’s marching to battle, but like he wants to actually talk. Head tilted, he looks more human, less ice. Weird how there’s suddenly this vibe between us.

“Papa liked to shower her with gifts, but she hardly wore them,” he reveals, managing a brief, soft smile as he looks at the collection. For a moment, he appears more human, less the mafia jerk I was dragged here to marry.

“But… why? What…?”

He stops in front of me.

I have to tilt my head up just to meet his eyes. My lips are shivering, and it’s not from the cold or fear but from the undeniable, crazy desire zapping between us, strong enough to rival any fictional tale I’ve scoffed at before. Is this the universe’s way of saying “never say never?”

“Choose something for our wedding.” His words snap me back to reality, and he gives me this nod.

I shoot him a wide-eyed stare, totally blindsided by his offer.

“Anything?” I squeak out.

“Yes,”

Hold on, Luar.

This has got to be a trap. He’s probably got cameras ready to catch me pocketing a diamond the size of a golf ball.

My jaw clenches as I struggle to control my emotions. “I… I don’t want it,” I choke out.

But then my eyes are drawn to something, something that catches the light and glitters like shards of glass. My gaze locks onto the necklace hanging by the mirror—elegant curves and shimmering silver making everything around it pale in comparison. And there, dangling from a delicate chain is a teardrop-shaped diamond that seems to hold me captive. It’s not just the size or sparkle that captivates me, but the sheer effortless beauty of it all—simple yet mesmerizing.

“I don’t need any of this,” I say, firm despite the teardrop necklace catching my eye. I force my attention back to Victor, serious.

His eyebrows shoot up like he’s genuinely surprised. “Interesting. Why?”

He steps closer, his presence commanding. Instinctively, I take a half-step back, not ready to bridge the gap just yet.

“Most women would kill to have any piece of this beauty.”

“Well, I’m not most women,” I fire back, my hands finding their way to my hips in defiance.

“You’ll look bare without jewelry at our wedding,” he observes coolly. As if we’re debating if the Earth is round or flat instead of this forced marriage.

“Our… wedding?” A mocking laugh escapes me. “Bare or not, I didn’t choose this.”

When he doesn’t answer, irritation flares up inside me like a brushfire.

“You forced me into this marriage, remember?” My eyebrows knit together in a fierce glare.

“You signed the contract willingly,” he counters, picking up a large green emerald and brushing off the invisible dust before he puts it back into a glass casing.

“Oh, right, because threatening my best friend is just your twisted version of courtship,” I snap, my arms crossed tightly.

He moves in, and suddenly I’m hit with his scent—like danger had a one-night stand with a men’s cologne ad. It’s so overtly masculine that my ovaries are doing somersaults.

“Yes, I did,” he admits without a hint of regret. “And I’m not sorry.”

Right when I’m ready to explode, he drops this bombshell on me.

“I need you to marry me so Papa can get his surgery,” he admits, brushing away a strand of hair falling in my face with a surprising gentleness.

“Excuse me, what now?” The fight in me starts to fizzle out, confusion taking over.

He hesitates, a rare break in his usually unflappable demeanor. “The old man had a stroke,” he finally says, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. “Stubborn bastard won’t get the help he needs unless I’m tied down.”

I scoff, shaking my head.

It’s a twisted kind of logic that makes my head spin. From threatening my friend to a forced marriage with a somewhat noble intent, it’s a lot to process.

“But… why would someone like you not have options?” I push, my voice barely hiding the twinge of… is that jealousy? “Plenty of women would kill for your attention.”

Quietly, he moves toward the display case, his back to me, and I can’t help but watch the confident, assured way he holds himself.

“I don’t know about killing. But you’re right; there’s no shortage of women throwing themselves at me,” he says, turning back to me with the necklace in hand, his confidence as palpable as the chilled air between us. “But marrying any of them? Having little Victors running around? No, thank you. I’d rather jump out of a plane without a parachute.”

I can’t help but snort at the image of mini-Victors terrorizing the world. “So, what? You’re just going to use me as a baby-making machine to appease your father?”

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends shivers over my skin. “Tempting, but no. I have other plans for you, little firecracker.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens at his words. “Plans? What, like being your arm candy and smiling prettily for the cameras?”

He steps closer, his eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous. “Oh, you’ll be doing a lot more than just smiling, Laura. Trust me on that.”

I see the hunger in his eyes, the raw desire that threatens to consume us both. And despite every instinct telling me to run, to fight, I find myself leaning into his touch, craving more.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

“We need each other,” he says, closing the distance between us.

He gently turns me around to face the mirror. His broad frame overshadows mine, our eyes clashing in the mirror’s reflection.

The way he dubs me “little firecracker”—it’s a mix of annoyance and allure. When he lifts his hand, the barely-there brush of his knuckles at my neck ignites a rush between my legs.

Seeing our reflection together, his proximity isn’t just disarming—it’s charged. As he loops the necklace around me, his fingertips graze my skin, then looks straight into my eyes.

“You’re the perfect choice,” he murmurs as the clasp clicks shut.

I clamp down on my lip, looking at him. A tingling warmth spreads from my heart to my veins.

“And this,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as he secures the teardrop earrings, “is just for a year. Then you’re free—freedom and financial woes, all solved.”

And there it is, the crux of it all.

He’s standing there, telling me he’s as trapped by this situation as I am—we’re both prisoners of this forced marriage.

Victor looks from my eyes to the necklace and takes a deep breath.

“My mother’s favorite,” he says quietly, almost reverently. “She called it ‘tears of a princess.’”

I reach out, fingers grazing the diamond. It’s not screaming for attention, just elegantly lying there, shining against my skin. The light catches it just right, showing off its masterful cut—quiet but undeniable quality.

Now I’m wondering about Victor’s mother, the woman who wore this before me. A Pakhan’s wife—was she pushed into marriage like I am? What was she like? How did she end up… dead?

“You…” Victor pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “look beautiful.”

“Thanks…” I mutter, feeling a blush heat my cheeks, eyes darting away.

Victor takes a few steps back and heads toward a dark drawer on the other side of the room. I hear him open it, then close it. He turns back to face me, hesitates for a moment, then walks back to where I am. He’s standing close to me now, close enough for me to see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Without saying a word, he opens the box in his hands.

I hold my breath as I wait to see what’s inside… I mean, I know what’s inside.

Victor steps over, standing close to me, and there it is, the most stunning ring I’ve ever seen.

“Oh, my God.” My eyes widen, not just from the sheer beauty of it but from the realization of what this represents.

“This was hers, too,” he murmurs, his voice low.

I’m frozen, caught in the gravity of the moment, the ring sparkling as if it contains a piece of the night sky itself.

“Victor, I…” My voice trails off, words failing me.

Oh God, this is the biggest rock I’ve ever seen.

He steps closer, his hand reaching for mine. His touch is gentle, almost hesitant, as if he’s giving me the chance to pull away. But I don’t.

Instead, I let him take my hand and slide the ring on my finger. The pink diamond lights up the room, a dazzling display of wealth and power. But as it settles, the weight of it becomes apparent, both physically and metaphorically.

This ring, this moment, it’s not a promise of love or devotion. It’s a shackle, a gilded cage meant to bind me to him, to his world.

And as I stare at the glittering stone, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just made a deal with the devil himself. A deal that will cost me more than I ever could have imagined.

The ring fits perfectly, like it was made just for me. But perfection, I’m learning, comes at a price.

And I’m not sure I’m ready to pay it.