I Don't: Marrying the Wrong Groom

Chapter 2

Venelope POV

"So, are we just going to sit here in silence, or are we going to talk about the rules of this arrangement?" I asked.

I turned my head away from the window and stared directly at Nikolai. My hands were still shaking from the adrenaline rushing through my body, but I forced my voice to sound completely steady. I refused to look weak or intimidated in front of a man who was rumored to kill people for a living. I needed him to know right away that I was an equal partner in this madness, not some helpless victim he could manipulate.

Nikolai did not answer me immediately. He slowly shifted his weight on the leather seat, turning his torso so he was facing me completely. He rested his arm on the back of the seat, his fingers just inches away from my bare shoulder.

"Rules?" he repeated, his deep voice carrying a dark hint of amusement. "You just ruined a multi-million dollar wedding, practically declared war on one of the biggest families in the city, jumped into my car, and now you want to talk about rules?"

"Yes," I said, pinning him with my sharpest glare. "I want to talk about rules. I know exactly who you are, Volkov. I know what you do in the shadows of this city. I know all the rumors about your family, your business, and the docks. To be completely honest with you, I do not care about your body count. I do not care if you are the monster everyone says you are. In fact, I count on it. I want you to use your muscle, your men, and your entire illegal network to break Stefan Aston piece by piece until he has nothing left."

Nikolai leaned across the leather seat, completely invading my personal space. He moved so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. His dark eyes burned with a strange, dangerous kind of amusement as he studied my face. He looked at my eyes, my mouth, and the tight set of my jaw, as if he was trying to see if I would c***k under his pressure.

I didn't back down. I leaned forward slightly, matching his intensity.

What I did not know was that inside Nikolai's head, the gears were turning fast. He was not a mafia don, and he did not have an illegal network. He was a top-tier undercover federal agent, and he had been trying to find a way into Stefan's inner circle for two long years. My conviction that he was a ruthless criminal was the most perfect cover story he could have ever asked for. It gave him a reason to do whatever it took to help me, all while building his federal case in secret.

"You want a monster, printsessa?" Nikolai growled, his voice dropping into a low, rough register that vibrated right through me. "You've got one. But monsters do not come cheap. You better be ready to pay the price for what you are asking."

"I told you my terms at the altar," I snapped back, refusing to let his proximity intimidate me. "You get my family's shipping routes. You get our political connections. That is more than enough to double your empire. All I want is Stefan's complete ruin."

Nikolai looked down at my hands, which were still gripped tightly in the lap of my heavy white silk gown. "You are bleeding," he noted suddenly.

I looked down. I had not even noticed it, but one of the sharp thorns from the white rose bouquet must have sliced into the palm of my right hand when I threw it at Stefan. A small, thin line of red blood was smearing against the white fabric of my dress.

Nikolai reached into his sharp suit jacket. For a second, I thought he was reaching for a gun, and my heart skipped a beat. Instead, he pulled out a completely unbranded burner phone and a small, wicked silver pocket knife. The blade flicked open with a sharp, metallic sound that made the air inside the car feel instantly heavier.

He did not point the knife at me. Instead, he leaned down, gripped the edge of my expensive wedding dress train, and used the blade to slice off a long, clean strip of the white silk. He flicked the knife closed and tossed it onto the seat beside him. Then, he took my injured hand in his massive, warm palm. His skin was rough, calloused, and firm.

"Hold still," he murmured.

He wrapped the silk tightly around my palm, tying it off with a neat, secure knot. The touch of his hands against mine was charged with a strange, intense heat that had nothing to do with the scratch. I stared at his face while he worked, watching the serious expression on his features. He was incredibly focused on a simple scratch, treating it like it was a major injury.

"There," Nikolai said, releasing my hand but keeping his eyes locked onto mine. "Now your dress matches your intentions. Bloody."

"It looks better this way," I muttered, pulling my hand back and looking at the neat white bandage.

The SUV began to slow down, turning sharply to the left. I looked out the window and saw that we were passing through a massive, heavy iron gate that looked like it belonged to a military fortress. High stone walls surrounded the entire perimeter, topped with advanced security cameras that tracked the vehicle as it moved up the long, winding driveway. There were men in dark suits stationed at different points along the gravel path, all of them looking alert and dangerous.

The vehicle came to a smooth stop in front of a massive, modern estate made of dark stone and glass. It looked cold, imposing, and completely uninviting. It was exactly the kind of place I expected a Russian mob boss to live in.

The guard opened my door, and I immediately stepped out, not waiting for Nikolai to help me. The weight of my ruined wedding dress was starting to annoy me, but I kept my posture straight.

"Give her a tour of the grounds?" one of Nikolai's main men asked, stepping forward as we reached the front doors.

"No," Nikolai said, his hand settling firmly against the small of my back, guiding me inside. "We do not have time for a tour. Take her straight to the war room."

The inside of the house was just as dark and minimalist as the outside. We walked past large, empty rooms with expensive furniture, but Nikolai did not stop to show me anything. He led me down a long hallway, down a flight of concrete stairs, and through a heavy steel door that required a biometric fingerprint scan.

When the door clicked open, I stepped into a large, high-tech command center. One entire wall was covered in massive computer monitors displaying live financial data, news broadcasts of our wedding scandal, and real-time security feeds. Another wall held rows of tactical weapons, rifles, and handguns arranged in perfect order.

On the main center screen, I could see a live feed of Stefan's estate. There were reporters gathered outside his gates, and the text scrolling at the bottom of the screen indicated that the Aston stock was already starting to fluctuate. Stefan was in a complete panic, and I could see it clearly in the data.

Nikolai walked over to a large wooden table in the center of the room. He reached over, grabbed a completely blank sheet of white paper and a heavy black pen, and slammed them down onto the surface right in front of me.

"Alright, printsessa, the games are officially over," Nikolai said, leaning his hands on the table and looking across at me. "You wanted a deal, so let us make a deal. Write down everything you have on him. I want every single port he uses, every hidden asset he owns, every bank account, and every dirty name on his payroll. You give me the specific targets, and my men will pull the triggers to destroy them. I will handle the physical and financial damage."

I stared at the paper, then looked up at him.

Nikolai’s expression turned completely cold, his eyes narrowing to slits. "But let me make one thing very clear to you right now. If you are lying to me, if this is some kind of sick trap orchestrated by you and your ex-fiancé to get inside my operation, you will find out very quickly if the bloody rumors about me are true. I do not tolerate traitors, Venelope. If you cross me, you will not live long enough to regret it."

The threat was clear, heavy, and terrifying. In my past life, a warning like that from a man like Nikolai Volkov would have made me burst into tears and beg for mercy. But I had already died once. I had already spent three years in a freezing hell because of my own foolishness. I was not afraid of his threats because I knew my hatred for Stefan was the most real thing in this world.

I did not blink. I did not take a step back. I looked Nikolai right in his dark, menacing eyes and let out a cold, sassy laugh.

"You do not have to worry about that, Volkov," I said smoothly. "I hate Stefan Aston far more than you ever could."