Savage Vow: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Ivanov Crime Family Book 1)

by Zoe Blake

  Her mouth broke free. She tilted her head back and away, trying to catch her breath. “Please, Gregor. Wait! I need to—”

  But I didn’t stop… I couldn’t.

  I dragged my teeth along her jaw; I swept my tongue down her throat, tasting her pulse. My hand skimmed her waist to cup her breast, my fingers seeking and finding the small pebble of her nipple. Rolling it between my finger and thumb, I pinched it hard.

  Samara’s hips rose up as she cried out. She pushed against my chest, once more straining to break free. I knew I was overwhelming her, probably scaring her more than that boy did an hour ago, but I was too far gone to care. Her innocence was like a drug.

  Moving my mouth across her cheek, I captured her delicate earlobe between my teeth and bit down as my hand moved from her breast over her belly to between her thighs. As my tongue traced the shell of her ear, I lifted the hem of her dress.

  Her small hands grasped my wrists. “Wait, Gregor. We can’t.”

  Her skin was a creamy ivory, pure and unblemished. Her hands looked like the tip of an angel’s wing resting against the savage darkness of my tattoos, which displayed countless symbols of violence and power. A stark allegory of the corrupting influence I was about to have on her perfect little suburban life.

  I shook her off and raised the hem. Pushed my fingers into the waistband of her panties.

  I could feel the soft down of her pussy against the back of my hand as I pushed her panties lower on her thighs.

  “Gregor! Stop!” Samara begged as she squirmed on my lap, which only inflamed me more.

  “Are you a virgin?” I asked against her neck.

  “What?” she gasped.

  “You heard me, Samara.”

  “You have no right to ask me that!”

  “I have the right of a husb— Just answer me,” I ground out.

  “No.”

  “No, you aren’t a virgin or no you won’t answer?”

  Her cheeks flamed as she averted her face. “You’re a bully and a brute and I hate you! Let me go!”

  She struggled in earnest as she tried to get off my lap. That would not happen, not before I had my answer.

  Grasping her by the hair, I wrenched her head back and took possession of her mouth, swallowing her screams. Ignoring her legs as they kicked, I pushed my hand between her legs. I ran two fingers along the seam of her pussy, pleased to feel the evidence of her arousal. With my middle finger, I teased her tight entrance, slipping in to the first knuckle. Her body clasped tightly around me. I groaned as I imagined the same sensation around my shaft.

  Freeing her lips, I growled against her mouth. “This may hurt, malyshka.”

  With no warning, I thrust my finger in deep, pushing hard till I felt the thin delicate membrane of her maidenhead. She was still intact.

  Fuck, she was tight.

  It was going to be a struggle to get my thick cock inside her.

  “You are lucky you are still innocent or I would have had to kill the man who had robbed me of what was rightfully mine.”

  I pulled my finger free and slipped it inside my mouth, tasting her.

  Her pretty lips opened on a shocked gasp, but she didn’t respond.

  Knowing I’d been rough with her, I pulled her panties up and her dress hem down as gently as I could.

  She lowered her head. I brushed her soft curls away from her face and forced her to meet my gaze.

  Her emerald eyes sparkled with gold flecks as tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She hopped off my lap and took several steps away from me. Swiping at her tears, she swore, “I hate you Gregor Ivanov, and I never want to see you ever again.”

  Rising, I adjusted my still painfully hard cock in my pants before closing my suit jacket. “Well, malyshka, that’s going to be difficult, seeing as how I’ll be your husband two weeks from now.”

  Chapter 4

  Samara

  “I won’t marry him! I won’t!”

  It was excruciating having to go through the rest of Nadia’s party as if my entire world hadn’t just been turned upside down. After my humiliating encounter with Gregor, I snuck into Nadia’s bedroom and borrowed a sweater to cover my torn dress. After brushing my hair and fixing my makeup, I returned to the party right as the accordion player started to play and everyone sang the song from the Cheburashka cartoon.

  As everyone was singing the chorus, it’s so sad that a birthday can only happen once a year, I caught Nadia’s eye. Surprisingly, she looked as miserable as I felt.

  The lights dimmed, and everyone turned to watch as her mother walked through the doorway holding a big cake decorated with eighteen candles.

  Nadia and I seized the moment.

  She clasped my hand. “I have to talk to you!”

  “Me too!”

  “Usual place?”

  As Russians it was in our blood not to trust electronics, so they had taught us even from an early age not to have important conversations on cell phones. Our houses were less than a block apart so since we were little girls, I used to sneak out of mine and meet her inside her playhouse, which was tucked away inside some trees in the back of her yard. The security guards always knew we were there, so we were never in any real danger.

  I nodded. “Two am?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll tell Yelena.” My other best friend.

  I moved away from Nadia just as her parents reached her with the cake and made my way across the room to Yelena. I bumped her with my shoulder and mouthed two am. She nodded.

  We both watched as Nadia pasted on a fake smile and dutifully blew out her candles. Everyone cheered and surrounded her. They all started pulling on her ears and shouting out each year till they got to eighteen. A silly Russian custom no one really knew the origin of.

  As I watched over the tops of their heads, there was no mistaking when Gregor joined the party. I shivered despite the warmth in the room.

  He was leaning against the doorway, looking like the devil himself.

  Keeping his dark gaze trained on me, he slowly raised a glass to his lips. I watched as he pulled an ice cube into his mouth and then crushed it between his sharp teeth.

  I swallowed.

  Pivoting away, my cheeks burned as I heard his laughter over the chatter of the crowd.

  “You can’t make me marry him!”

  We were back at my home, and I’d finally confronted my father about what Gregor had said. Part of me felt silly for even bringing it up. I mean, the idea was ludicrous. I was technically still in high school! Besides, this was the twenty-first century and America; they didn’t do arranged marriages anymore. The whole idea was archaic.

  My stomach twisted into a sick knot when my father told me it was true.

  “I won’t do it and that’s final,” I said.

  I stood in front of my father, hands curled into fists. The man had never made it a secret that I disappointed him. I was a girl, not the boy he desperately wanted. I knew I was guilty of ruining my parents’ marriage. After me, my mother wasn’t able to have any more children. I destroyed his chance at a legacy, and he never missed an opportunity to remind me of it. But even so, I thought the man at least cared a little for me. To give me away in marriage as if I were nothing more than a piece of property he was unloading was colder and more heartless than I ever gave him credit for. Apparently, he hated me far more than even I realized.

  My father turned to face me. He struck out, the flat of his hand catching me on the cheek so hard I staggered back. His hand was icy and wet from the chilled vodka bottle he had been holding, but the slap felt like fire on my skin.

  “You will do as you're told! You’re finally going to be good for something.”

  My eyes swam with tears as I fell back onto the sofa, nursing my bruised cheek.

  My mother raced into the study, her gaze shifting between the two of us as she exclaimed, “Boris, what have you done?”

  With my arms wrapped around my stomach, I rocked back and forth, s
taring at the carpet beneath my feet.

  Prussian Blue.

  Chrome Yellow Deep.

  Vandyke Brown.

  Gold Ochre.

  My mother sat next to me and awkwardly rubbed my back. It felt strange and unfamiliar, like she was going through the motions of being a caring mother, mimicking something she had seen in a Hallmark movie, probably.

  My father paced in front of us. The vodka in his hand sloshed over the side of the glass as he gestured wildly with his hands. “Don’t take that tone with me, Alena! You like this big house? A new car every other year? Your trips to Europe? Jewels? Well, those things cost money!”

  My mother swiped the air with her arm. The heavy gold bangles around her wrists clanged and rattled. “So? We have plenty of money for those things.”

  “Had. We had plenty of money. It’s all gone.” My father turned his back and returned to the sidebar to pour himself more vodka.

  “What do you mean, Boris? How could it be all gone?” my mother asked as she abandoned me and followed him across the room.

  My father shrugged. “Poor investments. Business deals fell through. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Nothing for me to worry about? You say that we are broke now!” My mother snatched the bottle from his hand and poured herself a drink. Picking up the glass, she took a long swallow. She must have been upset. My mother rarely drank vodka. She preferred wine or champagne.

  “We were broke. I have fixed it!”

  She gestured in my direction, her gold bangles clanging. “What? By selling our only daughter?”

  “You act like I have given her hand to some stranger in the street. Our family has known the Ivanovs for generations. She will be well provided for.”

  My mother frowned. “Yes, we have also known that the Ivanovs deal in—”

  My father cut her off with a harsh curse.

  They both looked at me.

  I wasn’t surprised. My entire life there was always some kind of secrecy around Nadia’s family and how they earned their money. Not even Nadia knows.

  I stood up. “Papa, this is wrong! You can’t just give me away in marriage as if I’m your property.”

  My father raised his arm and pointed at me. “It’s done, and you will obey me in this.”

  “I don’t understand any of this. Why does he even want to marry me? He barely even knows me.”

  “He’s marrying the Federov name, you stupid girl,” he responded viciously. “It has nothing to do with you. He wants the connections and reputation my family name provides. You are nothing to him but a means to an end.”.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. His words stung, but I refused to be cowed. “Well, I won’t marry him. And you can’t make me.”

  My father sighed. “You have no choice. I’ve already taken the money.”

  “Well, give it back!”

  My mother came to stand before me, wringing her hands. “What would be so bad about being Gregor Ivanov’s wife? He is rich. Handsome. You will have a pleasant home and good powerful sons.”

  I knew the moment my father threatened her with poverty, my mother would shift her loyalty to his side. I wished I could have said it surprised me.

  I was alone in this.

  What was wrong with Gregor? I couldn’t explain it.

  When I was a little girl, I used to have the biggest crush on him. I mean, it was to be expected. He was my best friend’s big and strong older brother, but even then there was something dark and scary about him. He terrified and intimidated me from the moment I met him.

  He had this way of sucking all the energy out of a room when he entered it, like a vampire seducing his victims with a charm that belied his cold, dead stare. Everything revolved around him. Someone like me wouldn’t stand a chance in his dark and twisted universe.

  I would lose all sense of self, all identity.

  Now that he was older and his own man, he was even more terrifying.

  The thought of being his wife made me quake.

  Sure, the man’s kisses could melt my bones, but I wasn’t delusional enough to think I would keep his interests for long. I was a teenager in his eyes. A little girl. His sister’s friend. He was probably used to sophisticated women. Women who knew how to kiss a man. My cheeks burned at the recollection that he could tell I must be a virgin by how badly I kissed.

  There was no way a man like Gregor would want to be saddled with a sheltered suburban girl like me. He would resent me for it from day one. We would have a miserable marriage and wind up hating one another.

  “What about college? Art school?” I asked, grasping at straws as my pleading gaze looked from my mother to my father.

  I loved to paint and had hoped to go to college to learn more about art technique and history. I knew I had talent. I just needed someone to believe in me. Someone who looked at my paintings and understood what I was trying to convey. I always hoped that perhaps if I became a celebrated artist, my parents would see that I had worth and a voice. Now I see what a stupid, immature fantasy it had been to think they would one day see me for who I was… and not their disappointment for who I wasn’t.

  My father shrugged and turned away, not wanting to meet my eye. “You could always do those hobbies later. If your husband permits it.”

  I was crestfallen. A hobby. That was how my father viewed my desire for a career in art. Nothing more than a distraction from my true purpose, which apparently was to marry and secure a dowry for him.

  “Papa, please.”

  He cleared his throat. “My mind is made up. You will do as you are told. You have no choice. Now go to bed.”

  I cast a pleading glance at my mother. She lowered her head. She wouldn’t go against her husband, not even for her own daughter, especially not if it meant losing her position in society or having to sacrifice her enormous home and jewels.

  It was final. They were going to force me to marry Gregor Ivanov the day after I graduated.

  “Nadia, are you up there?” I whispered.

  “I’m here!” she whispered back.

  Glancing around and seeing no one, although I knew we were probably under surveillance by the guards on her property, I grasped the first wooden slat nailed into the wide tree trunk and slowly climbed the makeshift ladder up to her treehouse. Then lowering my head, I stepped inside.

  Unlike most treehouses, her father had this one professionally built, so it was rather beautiful inside. Kind of like a one-room cottage nestled in a tree. As we got older, we moved all the toys and tea sets out and replaced them with thick rugs and lots of large cushions and glass-enclosed candles. We had lined the walls with shelves for Nadia’s favorite books, and there were cabinets for my painting supplies. The place now had an exotic yet cozy feel.

  Like me, Nadia had changed into yoga pants and a hoodie. Nadia was the baby of the family. She had two older brothers, Gregor and Damien. She looked nothing like either of them. Where they were tall, she was petite. Where they had dark hair and eyes, she had strawberry blonde hair and light blue eyes. They often teased her about being adopted. Both of her brothers were a lot older than her by at least eight years. She was kind of an oops baby. So the poor thing always felt a bit awkward and out of place among her own family. They were all so sophisticated and social where she was shy and preferred books to people. It killed her mother that Nadia would rather wear Doc Martens and a baby doll dress than Chanel.

  Nadia slumped back onto a pile of pillows. “This was the worst birthday ever!”

  I bit my lip. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind she had no idea about our families’ plans for Gregor and me. They never told her anything. And I had absolutely no idea how I was going to tell her.

  “I finally worked up the courage to talk to Mikhail,” she said as she stared at the ceiling of the playhouse, which was still plastered with little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars from when we were younger.

  “What did he say?”

  Nadia shrugged. “He told me I was a
silly little girl and that I should go back to my big party before I was missed.”

  “Oh, Nadia. I’m sorry, but you knew it was a long shot. He’s your family’s head of security. Your father and brothers would kill him if he was caught with you.”

  Before she could respond we heard rustling below us.

  “Nadia? Samara?”

  Crawling over to the open doorway, I poked my head out. Yelena was below. I waved her up.

  Once inside, Yelena pushed her long blonde hair away from her face and settled down on one pillow. Of course, she was still in her cute party outfit. Leave it to Yelena to climb a tree in a dress. She was the true fashionista out of our little group.

  “No offense, Nadia, but that party sucked,” she huffed. Then turning to me, she raised a suggestive eyebrow and asked, “And what were you and Peter up to for so long?”

  Peter was the least of my problems right now. “We broke up.”

  Nadia patted my shoulder as she made a sympathetic sound.

  Yelena shrugged. “Never liked him. Never trust a Gemini.”

  To Yelena, the Zodiac could make all of life’s decisions.

  I played with the strings on my hoodie. “Listen, I don’t even know how to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out.”

  Both girls sat up, alerted by my tone that something was wrong.

  My eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh my God, Samara, what’s wrong? Is it Peter?” Nadia asked.

  I shook my head.

  Yelena stroked my upper arm. “We’ve been besties since we could walk. You can tell us anything.”

  Picking at the pillow beneath me, I avoided their gazes. “Nadia, I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Samara, I could never be mad at you. Tell me, what’s wrong.”

  I took a deep breath and blurted it all out. How her brother caught Peter and me. What Gregor said about us marrying and how my parents confirmed it. The only part I left out was Gregor checking to see if I was still a virgin.