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

by Zoe Blake

  I almost gave up my search then and there, but I went to pick up the painting I had purchased sight unseen, the one which had led me to her. It knocked me back when I saw it. It now hung over my bed in my home in Washington D.C.

  I should have just let her go… let her live her life. Now it was too late.

  The only way to keep her safe from her father and the Novikoffs was to claim her as my own, as originally planned.

  Even if it meant she’d hate me for it.

  I may have been the devil, but at least I was the devil she knew.

  Chapter 20

  Samara

  I wrapped my arms tightly around my middle as my stomach growled again.

  Ruefully I thought of the breakfast tray Rose had brought it up to my bedroom.

  I, of course, had refused it out of spite.

  It was filled with healthy food and vegetables. Vegetables!

  Who the hell ate vegetables for breakfast?

  She told me Gregor had informed her I probably hadn’t eaten something fresh and green for weeks. The fact that was true did not give him the right to dictate what I ate. Although secretly it gave me a warm feeling to know he even cared enough to think about my meals. Since my mother essentially stopped raising me when I was twelve, I had forgotten what a home cooked meal even tasted like.

  Now on top of regretting not eating, I was pacing around the confines of my bedroom like a caged animal.

  Exhausted, I massaged my temples; I had barely slept. My mind raced from one fanciful thought to the next all night.

  I kept staring at the connecting door, knowing he was just on the other side. Was he in bed? Was he listening for my moments? Did the knob just turn? No? Was I disappointed or relieved? Did he sleep in pjs or naked? He probably slept naked, like a caveman. I could just imagine him stripping off his suit like he was shedding the trappings of society. He would be all tanned skin, tattoo ink, and muscle. I wondered what his tattoos looked like. The swallow on his hand was black. Would the rest be black as well or colorful? There were only a few indistinct lines on his neck, not enough to decipher an image. What kind of images would a man like Gregor have forever inked on his body? I doubt he favored cute hearts and cartoon characters like me.

  I had heard him rise several hours ago.

  Again, I waited, not knowing if I wanted him to knock on my door or not.

  He didn’t.

  It had been at least an hour since I sent Rose and her breakfast tray away.

  An hour of pacing and uncertainty while I hid away in my bedroom like a scolded child.

  What the hell was I supposed to do?

  I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to march down the hall and straight out the front door, but there was no freaking way that was going to happen. Gregor had made that fact crystal clear yesterday.

  This was ridiculous. With a huff, I pivoted and headed for the door stopping just as my hand closed over the doorknob. I released the cold knob as if it had burned me. Taking several steps backward, I fell back onto the bed.

  I was a coward.

  No two ways about it.

  I was that scared teenage girl refusing to leave the hotel room again. For months after leaving, nothing Yelena did could convince me to leave the safety of our rooms. I saw monsters in every shadow. Finally, she started picking cities with museum collections I couldn’t resist. Ironically, walking among the great paintings of long dead artists I admired became my entry back into the world of the living. It wasn’t long after that she got me to paint again. We had to pay more than one fine in multiple hotels for paint spills, but it was worth it.

  I was proud of how independent I had become over the last few years.

  Well, at least in principle. Sure, I ate most of my meals out of a cardboard container and didn’t own any furniture outside of a mattress and a second-hand vanity. And yes, I was still relying on Yelena’s racetrack scheme for most of my money since my plans to become an artist hadn’t quite panned out. Technically, perhaps I wasn’t as independent as I would like, but I was still somewhat self-sufficient and happy with my life.

  If I were completely honest, it was a little boring. Lately, it had become more and more difficult to even get motivated to paint. Once we settled down in Chicago, my life slipped into a rather predictable routine of gallery shifts, Chinese food, and staying up late watching noir films on Turner Classic Movies. It was static and a little lackluster, but I was fine with that.

  That the last two days had been the most excitement I’d felt in… well… ever… had nothing to do with Gregor.

  Absolutely not.

  He was a beast, and I hated him.

  He had ruined my life.

  He was still ruining my life.

  Yep, hated him.

  Hated how dangerously sexy he looked in a suit. There was just something hot-as-hell about a man covered in ink wearing an expensive bespoke suit with a probably hundred-thousand-dollar watch on his wrist. It was just so billionaire gangster.

  And I really hated that he appreciated art. It was obvious from the paintings displayed around his home. Posers, or those just investing for the tax breaks, tended to have tight, cohesive collections. Artists from the same time period or those who liked to work in the same color palette or medium.

  Gregor’s collection, while priceless, had no rhyme or reason. There was a small thread of Impressionism through most of the purchases, but on the whole, you could tell that most were acquired because he liked them. The sign of a true art lover. Damn him.

  All of these were just trifling things when I thought about what it was like to be under his control sexually. My cheeks burned from the memory of it all. Never in my life had I ached with the need to have a man be strong and masterful enough to dominate me. It was a heady, overwhelming experience to be told I was about to be whipped with a belt like an errant child and then fucked hard. I didn’t know whether to cry from the pain or relish in the all-consuming orgasm that came from completely surrendering my body into someone else’s hands.

  Never before had I given such control over to someone.

  Hell, technically I still hadn’t. Gregor just took it… as his right.

  It was like he knew I could never—would never—say yes. My pride would never allow such a thing. So he wrenched the decision from me by force of will.

  And the whole pleasure-pain kink? That was just the cherry on top.

  Fuck, it was hot watching him unbuckle his belt as he told me to beg him for mercy.

  I would never admit that to any living soul, including him, but damn.

  The longer I stayed here, the further down the rabbit hole I would fall, of that at least I was certain.

  I needed to get out of here and find Yelena. Although Gregor was keeping me in the dark, I had to believe that Damien wouldn’t actually harm her. She was his little sister’s best friend as much as I. Even though, like Gregor, there was a big age gap between us and Damien, he had still been around when we were just girls. He wouldn’t be so heartless as to have forgotten that, would he? I had to remember that Yelena was even more of a survivor than me. She was probably giving Damien a run for his money at this very moment. Hopefully, she was making him wish they had never found the two of us.

  Either way, I needed to find a way to escape, and that would not happen with me too scared to leave my room.

  Taking a deep breath, I rose. With a determined step, I crossed to the door. My fingers had just touched the smooth metal surface of the knob when the whole door rattled from the resounding pounding of someone’s fist.

  “Samara?”

  I jumped back, a hand to my heart.

  Gregor.

  “Samara, I know you are in there. Open the door.”

  I could practically hear his resigned sigh through the heavy wood.

  My foot slid back as I eased away from the door. Glancing over my shoulder, I checked to see if the connecting door was still closed. Of course, it didn’t have a lock. Maybe I could push somethi
ng in front of it?

  As if reading my thoughts, Gregor warned, “I’m knocking as a courtesy, Samara. We both know I have other means to enter your room.”

  Having no other choice, I reached for the knob again. As I turned it, the small lock popped out with an ominous click.

  The door swung open.

  He was dressed all in black. With a sardonic quirk of his lips, he crossed over the threshold.

  A vampire male ready to feed on my inner thoughts and desires.

  Blindly reaching my arm behind me, I stumbled backward as he prowled forward. My only hope was keeping my distance. Gregor had other plans.

  My hand closed around the edge of the bureau. As I shifted to move around it, Gregor sprang forward, pinning me against the wall between the bureau and bed.

  Placing his hands high on either side of my head, he inhaled deeply.

  Dammit. I knew how much he liked my perfume. I had put it on this morning out of habit. Now he would think I did it for him. It didn’t help that I could smell the warm spicy scent of his cologne, as well. There was just something so infuriatingly sexy about a man who smelled like a campfire after a storm.

  His hard gaze focused on my mouth. My tongue flicked out to wet my lips, and then the sharp edge of my teeth sank into the bottom one. The vibrations of his growl hummed across my stomach and breasts.

  “Rose tells me you refused breakfast. This is unacceptable.”

  My chin lifted. “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Liar.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Fine. I just didn’t want to eat your food.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. I wasn’t fooled. He was amused, but only as a cat finds playing with a limping mouse amusing.

  Lowering his arm, he traced the V-neck outline of my simple white t-shirt with the tip of a single finger. I clenched my stomach to keep from reacting, but nothing could stop the betraying hardening of my nipples, easily seen through the thin silk fabric of my bra.

  “Your well-being is important to me, malyshka.”

  I snorted. “My family name is important to you, Mr. Ivanov.”

  Ignoring my snipe, he hooked the bottom of my neckline with his finger and tugged till the top of my bra was exposed. “Did you dream about me last night?”

  My mouth opened on a gasp, but I refused to respond.

  “I dreamt about you,” he continued.

  My breath came in quick gasps as I tried to focus on the small, gilt-framed painting of a placid lake just over his shoulder. I tried to match the colors to oil paint names, but my mind was filled only with thoughts of Gregor and his mesmerizing steel gaze.

  “I laid naked in bed, thinking about the moment you’ll spread those gorgeous thighs of yours and beg me to fuck you.”

  Turning my head to the side, I snarled through clenched teeth, “That will never happen.”

  Gregor shifted slightly, brushing his hips against mine so I could feel the threat of his hard cock caress my stomach. Leaning down, his lips skimmed my jaw as he moved to whisper in my ear. “I couldn’t decide which position I want for that moment.”

  His words were like hands moving over my body and into my mind.

  “What do you think, malyshka? Would you prefer to be on your knees? That beautiful ass pushing against my hips as I fist your hair while I spank you till your skin glows a cherry red to match that cute heart tattoo of yours.”

  My teeth sunk so sharply into my bottom lip I could taste blood as I desperately tried to stifle a groan.

  Relentlessly, he continued. “Or do you want to be on your back? Where you can watch as I sink my cock into that tight pussy of yours.” His finger circled my left nipple, taunting me. “I must admit, I think that is my choice. I want to watch as the gold flecks in your emerald eyes gleam and catch fire the moment you feel me breach your maidenhead. The moment we both know you’ve become truly mine.”

  “Ty mozhesh' trakhnut' moye telo, no ya nikogda ne stanu tvoim.” I spat out the threat as if it were poison.

  His hand closed over my jaw, forcing my head forward. I could tell me taunting him in our own mother tongue that he could fuck my body, but I’d never be truly his had angered him, had broken through that icy, false veneer of civility in which he cloaked himself.

  With his free hand, he reached down to clasp the buckle of his leather belt. “Eto vash sposob prosit' menya nakazat' vas?”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “No, I don’t want to be punished.”

  “Then I suggest you start being a good girl. It is dangerous to anger me this way, malyshka.”

  He shifted his hand off his belt and raised it to caress my lips. “Now use this pretty mouth to say you’re sorry.”

  My body shook as it responded to the physical threat his mere presence caused. “I’m…” I swallowed past the dryness in my throat. “I’m sorry, Gregor.”

  “Good girl.” He stepped back and adjusted the cuffs on his shirt. “Now I get to reward you with your surprise.”

  Shivering, I wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach. It was terrifying how a usually pleasant phrase could sound so ominous when uttered by this dark and mercurial man. “Thank you, but I don’t want any surprises.”

  He chuckled. “When are you going to learn that very little about your life from now on is about what you want….” One eyebrow quirked up. “Unless it’s me.”

  Stretching out his arm, he held his hand palm up to me. I stared down at his hands. The dark ink lines of some mostly unseen tattoo wrapped around his wrist and disappeared under his watchband and up his sleeve.

  “Come with me, Samara.”

  Chapter 21

  Samara

  Gregor headed straight down a hallway dotted with lesser known artists’ landscapes, till he came to a massive set of glass French doors.

  As we crossed the threshold, I could tell we were inside a rooftop conservatory. The walls and ceiling were all glass. It looked as though all the plants had been recently removed and the cement floor scrubbed clean. Despite their efforts, you could still see the watery brown circles where large planters used to rest. In place of the plants were stacks of rolled canvases, several easels and four long workbenches filled with every imaginable paintbrush, paints, drawing paper, and pencils.

  Walking past Gregor, I surveyed the room.

  “The roof has automated blinds which are reactivated by heat and light. You can reprogram them if you want to keep the light streaming in.”

  The bright morning sunlight streaked down from the glass ceiling of the open and airy room. Its tall windows let even more light in while offering a stunning view of the battleship grey waters of Lake Michigan.

  It was amazing.

  It was like Gregor had consulted with a painter to find out what their dream studio would look like and followed every bit of advice right down to the smallest detail.

  He had even had his staff hang up all the completed paintings he had moved from my apartment. They looked beautiful against the exposed brick wall. I stared at the various canvases of pretty girls in pink ruffled dresses staring down fierce thunderstorms or shadowy beasts. My Lost Girl series.

  In awe, I ran my fingers over the beautiful stainless-steel topped workman’s bench. All of my brushes had been carefully cleaned and displayed in clear mason jars.

  I didn’t even hear him leave.

  I only turned when I heard the quiet catch of the door latch as he closed it behind him. Instead of being offended, I was even more touched. He hadn’t made me grovel or thank him. He hadn’t even leveraged my obvious delight of having access to such an unbelievable painter’s studio for future sexual favors. I didn’t trust anyone to do something for nothing. It couldn’t be possible that Gregor did all this just to be kind to me? Could it?

  Mentally shaking the confusing emotions off, I picked up a bright white canvas roll and spread it out on a nearby open table. This is what I needed. This is what helped my chaotic world make sense. Picking up a jar of Gesso, I unscrewed the lid and scooped
a generous amount into a plastic bowl. Tightening the red bandana scarf around my ponytail, I got to work preparing my canvas.

  I tested the canvas to see if the layer of Gesso I had spread to prime it was dry. Seeing that it was, I stretched the canvas over the frame and tacked it down. The familiar rhythmic banging of the hammer soothed me. Lifting the newly stretched canvas, I placed it on the easel and surveyed my work.

  Since I didn’t know how long Gregor was going to keep me prisoner in his house, or when I’d get an opportunity to escape, I decided the hopefully tight timeframe would make using my usual oil paints extremely problematic. They took too long to dry. I was going to use acrylic instead.

  Reaching for my favorite wooden palette, I prepared and mixed the different colors I would need to start the background. Gently pulling the glob of paint in one direction then swirling in the different pigments, I slowly created the colors building from light into dark.

  Then, I painted.

  At once I slipped into the comforting embrace of my own little world. Where I was in control of everything. Where every brushstroke, every swipe of color, was my decision.

  I had been painting for hours and didn’t even notice when Gregor entered the studio. When I moved away from the easel to mix more paint, I noticed him leaning against the door.

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to know you bite your lip when you paint,” he replied as he went into the hallway and returned with a small tray. “I come bearing gifts.”

  “McDonalds?”

  That earned me a smirk. “No. Roast chicken with sage fondant potatoes and a winter green salad,” he responded as he placed the tray on a small table that stood in front of a row of the windows with the view of the lake. He then dragged two crates to either side of it.

  I wrinkled my nose at the super fancy sounding fare. “I would rather have a cheeseburger and fries.”

  “I know but Rose worked all morning on this special lunch for you, and her feelings would be hurt if you didn’t eat it, especially after you turned your little nose up at her breakfast tray.”