Seduction: A Dark Bratva Fake Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)

My mom is taking a red-eye flight to Moscow and will arrive late this morning. The officers take pity on me and find me another room in another hotel. I insist on firsthand communication from my father’s men.

I text Sophia that there’s been a situation: her dress was ruined, but I’ll pay for it, and can she please somehow arrange for my clothes to be brought to the hotel? To her credit, she asks nothing and drops clothes off. There will be rumors. . . and I hope we can sort through them all.

Markov isn’t Markov.

Did a part of me, deep down inside, know that, though?

I want to reach out to him somehow. I want to find out if he’s okay.

I want to shake him and scream at him for lying to me and ask him what part of our relationship was real. What part mattered to him.

But I don’t.

I drink one of the little bottles of wine in the hotel fridge and finally go to bed. I have more questions than answers, so it’s no surprise I sleep fitfully.

I wake up to my phone ringing and answer in bleary-eyed confusion. “Hello?”

“Vera. It’s Professor Morozov. May I come and see you?”

“Of course.” I sit up in bed. What will he think of me? Of what happened? Does he know about Irina?

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“See you then,” I say and give him my location.

I open a bottle of water and down it before freshening up. I was too tired last night to shower, but now that I’m here, the hot water triggers my pent-up emotions. I lean against the shower wall and weep.

I don’t have the luxury of an ugly cry, though, and have to force myself to get ready. I slide into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top minutes before I get a call from the front desk.

“Let him up, please.”

There’s a knock at the door.

I look through the peephole and can almost hear Markov telling me not to let anyone in and to be wary. I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still takes me off guard to see men stationed on either side of my door, flanking Professor Morozov.

I open the door, trembling. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t trust anyone anymore.

The professor looks tired and older than he normally does.

“Come in,” I say. My guards look questioningly at me. “He’s a friend.”

Morozov says something to them in Russian, and one of them nods.

I close the door behind us.

“How are you?” he asks. A part of me wants to come apart and tell him everything that happened. I long for someone to trust right now.

He’s someone I trusted. But so was Markov. And so was Irina. I swallow hard and keep my shit together.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice husky. “How much do you know about what has happened?”

I gesture to one of the chairs beside the desk. He sits and folds his hands.

“Some. The authorities at the college told me that Irina was killed. We looked into the matter, and I spoke to the police last evening. I wanted to give you some time to rest, but I also needed to speak with you. How are you?”

“I’m sad. A little. . . bewildered. I never expected any of this. I thought I could trust. . . both of them. Markov and Irina. “

“Vera, I feel like I owe you an apology. I was the one who hired Irina at the strong suggestion of one of my peers, who I now know was bribed. I didn’t know her before this, but her credentials checked out. I should have listened to my gut. My intuition told me something was afoul and that she wasn’t to be trusted when I had never heard her name. And,” he shakes his head, “while I cannot name every single expert in the field, I typically know those of her supposed rank. So when I didn’t. . .”

He shakes his head. “But that is no matter. She’s gone now, and I’m so sorry to hear what you’ve been put through.”

I shake my head. “I thought I was accepted into this program based on my own merit, and it pains me to know that⁠—”

“Vera Ivanova,” Morozov interrupts. “I was the one who accepted you into this program, and you have not only shown me that I made the right decision, but you have proven that you’re capable of so much more than I could have imagined. After the fiasco with Irina, we are going to have to dissolve the program.”

I swallow. “Of course.”

“Will you do the honor of telling me your side of the story? I want to know I have the full picture.”

I draw in a breath and promise to do my best, even though there are parts of it that I’m still confused about. Parts I’m not sure I want to repeat.

“Yes, sir. Of course. I was told that I was accepted into this program. Vera Ivanova is my real name, and I am the daughter of Petr Ivanov, the head of the Russian Bratva here in Moscow and in America. In my home in New York, I was shielded from all these things. I knew nothing about what was happening except that my father was a high-ranking official. My mother kept me away from it all. This is why I don’t even know Russian,” I say with a sad smile.

“And has your mother been apprised of the situation?” Morozov asks quietly.

I nod. “Yes, sir. She’s on her way here.”

He knows. “Excellent. I look forward to meeting her. With your permission, of course. “

“I would like that.”

“Please, continue,” he says in his gentle way. “I interrupted you.”

“The day I was to leave, my mother told me that I would be accompanied by a bodyguard. I didn’t know anything about this, and I was horrified at the thought of someone here knowing that I had a bodyguard. That I was anyone of importance. I just wanted to be. . . me.” My voice catches. “I wanted to know that I belonged here and wanted to prove my worth based on my own diligence to my studies.”

He knows sagely, then shakes his head. “And to think I joked about him being a bodyguard. I mean. . . he looks like one. I’m sorry. So you pretended that he was your husband?”

I nod. “Which probably wasn’t the wisest thing. Probably would’ve been smarter to be honest because look what dishonesty has produced. . .”

“You pretending to be married to Markov was the least of our worries, Vera. I understand why you did what you did, and I don’t blame you. Now, what else can you tell me?”

I might as well tell him the whole truth now. “I fell in love with Markov. At least with who I thought he was. Even though I knew our families would never allow us to be together. Even though I knew that he would never be someone I could be with.” My emotions rise to the surface despite my efforts to keep them down. “He really, truly did protect me. “

“I know. He really was very sincerely proud of you and made that known. And then what happened?”

“Irina was trying to get to my father and needed me out of the way. At least that is what I’ve gathered. . . But it appears she took the scenic route. She said she hired an assassin, and when she saw that Markov wasn’t the man that she hired, she assumed he was here for the same reason and wanted to see how it would play out. She didn’t want to lose her tenure at the college, I’m guessing, or to show her cards to anyone unnecessarily. But I do know that he was shot yesterday by a bullet that was meant for me.” I swallow hard. “She shot my father. And my father didn’t make it.” My voice cracks. I did not have a good relationship with my father, but he was still my father.

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through, and I understand why you’ve made the decisions that you have.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there any support I can offer you? You were caught in the crosshairs of warfare, it seems.”

I shake my head. “Thank you, but no. When my mother arrives, we will decide how to proceed from here.” There will be a funeral mass. A shift in leadership. Me figuring out where I go and what I do.

Morozov looks sorrowful. “Vera, I’m not going to press you to make another decision now, but I would like you to think of one thing. As I said, don’t answer me now. But after all this settles, if you decide to go back to America, I understand. However, I’d like to invite you to be my partner in our next adventure. We are going to have to dissolve the studies program here at the college, but if the two of us pool our resources, I’m confident that we could make incredible strides.”

I’m being asked to partner with Morozov? Even though my heart is heavy, I still need to stifle a squeal. “I will think about it, “I say as politely as I can.

I wish Markov was here. I wish Markov was. . . Markov. I wish I could tell him.

I need to see if he’s alright.