Page 1 of City of Salvation

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Page 1 of City of Salvation

CHAPTER 1

NIKKI

WHY FILE FOR DIVORCE WHEN YOU CAN PUT A HIT ON YOUR HUSBAND?

THREE YEARS EARLIER

“…until death do you part.”

Here’s to fucking hoping.

As if my husband-to-be could hear my thoughts, onyx eyes met mine. Cruelty shone from within their inky depths as his gaze dragged down my body. It didn’t matter that we were in the Lord’s house or that a priest stood not two feet away, performing our wedding ceremony. Yuri was still blatantly undressing me with his thoughts.

It took all I had not to bolt back down the aisle.

He knew what lay under the layers of lace and tulle that swathed my body, having alreadychecked out the goods.Sick fuck had made me strip down naked in front of my own father a few weeks ago, telling him he wouldn’t accept the offer if I wasn’t up to his standards. I’d been poked and prodded like a piece of meat at the market. It was a pretty accurate comparison.

Shame—that was Yuri’s favorite control tactic.

I’d seen it clear as day as he’d made me stand there infront of his men, their dicks hardening behind crisp suit pants, fingers furling and unfurling as they held themselves back from reaching out. They were accustomed to being able to touch the women Yuriacquired,but none of the other girls had been engaged to him.

Bile gathered at the back of my throat. The memory had me fighting the urge to throw up all over the Bratva leader’s leather dress shoes, but instead, I stood there—the picture of a good Bratva wife. For now.

If control was what Yuri wanted, he’d chosen the wrong woman. He wouldn’t use my body against me—I wouldn’t allow it.

My freedom might’ve been sold, but my obedience and submission weren’t for fucking sale.

Movement drew my attention back to my betrothed, the corners of Yuri’s lips curling up in a taunting sneer. On anyone else, the expression might’ve come across as suggestive, but on Yuri—it was pure evil. I stood straighter, jutting my chin. He narrowed his eyes at the small act of defiance, the look promising punishment later.

Yuri looked like the type of man who broke his toys for pleasure, and I was his latest procurement. I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering as adrenaline pumped through my veins, every cell in my body screaming at me to take flight.

I must not have done as good of a job as I’d thought at hiding my fear because the glare dropped away, replaced by the smile that had women willingly running to his bed. It pissed me off that he was actually handsome. His thick black hair was pushed back and neatly styled, complementing the trimmed beard along a strong jaw. A hint of his Bratva tattoo peeked just above the collar of his dress shirt.

The random bridesmaids they’d stuck by my side—notthat I had any actual friends that I would have asked to be at my wedding—had sneered at me as I’d cried while they dressed me, telling me I was lucky to be marrying someone who would be nice to look at while he fucked me.

How did they miss how fucked up that statement was?

I hadn’t been crying over the wedding. I was mourning the loss of the life I never got to live, the dreams I would never get to accomplish because a man felt he had the power to dictate my decisions—my worth.

In the end, my father had decided I was nothing more than a pretty face and cunt for someone to fuck. I’d beengiftedto Yuri Sokolov, the leader of the St. Petersburg Bratva, as well as the Circle.

The monster who managed to hold even the most powerful of men by the balls.

At least, that was what my father’s loose lips had divulged when he’d been drinking. He’d assumed, since I was a woman, I wouldn’t pay attention. My role was to sit in the corner, to be seen and not heard. Arrogant of him to assume I’d remain obedient—loyal—when he’d made the choice to give me away.

Yuri may have been ten years my senior, but thirty-five was practically infantile in the Bratva—yet his ruthlessness and black soul had propelled him to the top of the food chain.

“Tasha, you are bringing this family honor.”

My father dared to feed me that line of bullshit. I wasn’t bringing honor. I was bringing him wealth at the expense of my freedom.

My body.

My sanity.

A cacophony of emotions pooled low in my stomach, thoughts shuffling through my mind, none of them sticking for long. The oxygen in the air began to thicken, making itdifficult for me to swallow down the panic clawing at my throat. The murmur of the audience and the droning on of the priest faded away, replaced by the whooshing of blood in my ears.

The irony. This is how I die, a heart attack in my twenties, standing in front of a cathedral in an atrocious wedding gown I didn’t choose.




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