Sanctum: A Dark Bratva Arranged Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)

I WAKE to the sound of a door opening. At first, I’m completely disoriented and panic sweeps through me when I realize I don’t have full control over my body. My wrists are bound, I’m gagged, and I’m wearing a blindfold.

What in the —

“Oh my God.” Before I can gather myself together, I hear a female voice. I try to settle my nerves and remember what happened.

I’m being married to Aleksandr Romanov — a beautiful, arrogant prick who thinks he’s the boss of me.

My parents gave me away like I was property to be bartered and traded.

My future husband bound and locked me in a room?

What an absolute dick.

“My God is right. I thought Mikhail was a jerk when I was in this position.” A second voice sighs. “We still have time to influence the others.”

The door clicks shut. No more voices, so maybe two women. One of them has a higher voice, the second’s a bit lower and pragmatic.

“We’re here to help you,” the one with the higher voice says. “Please don’t try to fight us.”

Fighting makes no sense when I’m outnumbered. I nod, then realize the blindfold’s damp. Am I crying? One tiny little show of sympathy from someone and I’m crying? I have to get my shit together.

Even though I expect them to touch me, I jerk when I feel hands on me. In seconds, the gag and blindfold are gone.

I blink and stare, my eyes getting used to the light. One of them is a tall, willowy blonde with pale blue eyes and fair, ivory skin. The other’s shorter, with a huge mane of wavy dark hair in a messy bun, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and she’s obviously very, very pregnant. She looks at my wrists and shakes her head at the blonde. “Handcuffs. He handcuffed her. Honestly, have we not made a single dent in their thick skulls? God. I have keys in my bag if these are the basic universal ones handcuffs.”

The blonde wrinkles her nose. “Okay, I do not need to know why you have keys for handcuffs in your room.”

The pregnant one rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, handcuffs are so basic they’re practically vanilla.” She turns to me. “I’m Aria, by the way. Mikhail’s wife. Mikhail’s Aleksandr’s older brother.”

I heard his name before. Mikhail knew Saul, and Mikhail is married to the pregnant one.

The blonde nods. “And I’m Polina, Aleksandr and Mikhail’s sister.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately. Jesus, why couldn’t my brothers be teachers or librarians or something? I really need to stop making a habit out of meeting my sisters like this.”

Okay, so there’s a story there. My heart beats a little faster.

Meeting my sisters?

My voice is husky and faint when I speak. “I’m Harper.”

“Harper Lee Bianchi. Who’s the literary one in your family?”

I swallow. “My mother.”

“Harper, we’re going to get you fixed up,” Aria says. “Polina’s pretty much the only one, other than her mom, that these men will actually listen to, so you’re in good hands. Though I’ll admit, it’s taken a while but I’m getting good at persuading them.” She heads toward the door. “I’ll be back, just going to grab those keys.”

Polina sits on the side of the bed.

“How can I help you? Water? Food?”

My eyes are scratchy from a fitful night of sleep. I was up most of the night trying to plot various ways I could escape, when I wasn’t trying to plot my future husband’s murder.

“Water and food sound great, but I need to use the bathroom. That’ll probably be easier when the cuffs are off. Does he know you’re here?”

She nods. “Mhm. I think telling me and Aria to come in was his attempt at being half human.”

I’m not sure if that’s supposed to comfort me or what. He’s sent her here to help but didn’t even bother to hide the fact that I’m here against my will, and she doesn’t seem terribly surprised to find me this way.

“Once Aria comes back, we’ll uncuff you and you can use the bathroom.” Her eyes light up. “I’ve looked through your socials and made notes of all your favorite products. I’ve got everything you need in there.”

I blink. My socials. She’s looked through my facade of a life and formed an opinion about me based on that? She’s seen the reams of posts of me with my luxury skincare products, the selfies with the shallow captions, my fake friends and promotion of unattainable beauty standards. Gag me. I wish I could tell her it’s all a lie, that she doesn’t have to believe it. That’s not who I am.

Maybe I can.

Has Aleksandr seen them, too?

God. Of course he has.

Thanks, Mom.

“That’s very kind of you,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Of course. And for breakfast you usually eat Greek yogurt with berries? The nonfat, sugar-free kind, right? I had staff pick up some of that⁠—”NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

I shake my head. “No, I hate yogurt.”

Her eyes widen slightly, registering mild surprise.

“I’m sorry, I just mean that — no thank you. I don’t like yogurt. I’ll eat pretty much anything else, though.” My cheeks heat.

The door opens and my heart leaps into my throat at the thought it could be Aleks. Even though she said he knows she’s here…

“Okay. Found a set. Let’s see if they work.”

Phew. It’s Aria.

I hold my hands out in front of me. Aria’s tongue sticks out while she fiddles with the lock. Finally, she turns the key, and the cuffs loosen. My wrists swing free. I stretch my arms out and wriggle my fingers, then lightly massage the skin where the cuffs laid.

“God, that feels good.”

Aria screws up her face. “That looks painful.”

“What?”

She gestures to where the skin at my wrists is chaffed and reddened.

“I’m fine,” I say, shrugging. I am. I’ve experienced a lot worse than that.

“He’d better make it up to you,” she growls. “I could fuck him up.”

I look at her in surprise. Aleks is so much bigger than she is it’s funny to think about her fucking him up.

Polina nods, her eyes wide. “Aria’s the queen of hackers. She totally could.”

“Good to know.”

“Okay, off to the bathroom with you,” Polina says. “And tell me if there’s anything else you need, because I’m calling down for some breakfast.”

I nod. “Thank you. I really was starting to worry this whole thing would be under Aleksandr’s lock and key.” I laugh, but the two of them exchange concerned glances.

Great. That’s not troubling at all.

In my family, we don’t order breakfast. We used to have staff ages ago, but we don’t have them anymore. My mother cooked for a while, but my father was spoiled by our housekeeper and didn’t like it.

Here, Polina says she’s ordering food. Suffice it to say, I think the Romanovs are quite different from us.

It feels good to take a shower, but I don’t spend long because I’m afraid if I do, Aria and Polina will be gone, and I have questions. I quickly wash, then towel dry. I find a fluffy robe on the back of the door. If this wasn’t an obvious case of being held against my will, it would almost be like a stay in a luxury hotel.

When my hand’s on the doorknob, I hear a deep male voice. I don’t move. I wait until I hear the door click shut again.

When I come back into the room, it’s just Polina and Aria.

“Did I hear someone else?”

Polina nods. “Aleks stopped by to fill us in on the wedding arrangements.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Feel better?”

I nod. “I do feel better, thank you.” I notice a glass of water on a side table. “Is that mine?”

“Of course, have at it.”

I lift the glass and drain it. When I’m done, I sigh. “That was so good.”

“Look what this asshole has done. She’s practically dancing a jig after a shower and a glass of water,” Polina says. “Why did he cuff you, though? That was a bit much, even for him.”

Even for him.

“Because he knew I was going to try to get away.”

Polina tips her head to the side. “Would you? I mean besides the obvious fact that you’ve been demoralized as a woman and treated like property,” she says with clear disdain, “is there another reason?”

Can I tell her? Can I trust her? Maybe some day.

I don’t reply, and I hope my silence is answer enough for now.

Yes…I think I might be able to trust her.

“Do you want to tell me?” she asks in a small voice. Oh, God, I do, so badly it makes me want to cry, but if I tell her and she has any obligation to tell Aleks, he could call everything off. Then I’d have nowhere to go. I hate that my family has put me in this position, but at this point my only choice is to marry him.

“I…I can’t. Not now, anyway.”

She and Aria exchange a look. They’re clever women and at the very least, will have likely surmised that if I’m waiting to share my personal information, I may be trying to keep this wedding going.

Polina fiddles with a delicate gold necklace around her neck. “My family is in jeopardy, Harper. It has been, for some time. My brothers need to solidify the family with alliances and connections. It’s the way we survive.”

I nod. I know I’m only a puppet on strings, at least in the eyes of the Bratva. “I know how these things work,” I say wearily. “I get it.”

We sit in silence for a moment. All of us are tangled in this web in one way or another.

“Alright then,” Polina says. “Let’s get going. You have to get ready for breakfast downstairs.” She smiles sheepishly. “That was sort of the argument between us just now. Aleks thinks you should be eating downstairs with everyone.”

Everyone? I swallow. “Who’s everyone?”

Aria and Polina share another look. Polina sighs. “Welllll. There’s a lot of us. Mikhail’s the oldest, then there are my other brothers, six in total although one of them is out of the country right now, and then my mother…”

“You have six brothers?” Yikes. Even though Aleks is the one I’m supposedly marrying, the thought of being outnumbered by more of him is a little scary.

“Tell me about it. So let’s get you dressed and downstairs.”

I’m starving and I want breakfast. I have to face them all eventually. “Alright.”

“I picked out a few outfits. You’ll find them in the closet.”

“Thank you.”

She probably picked out clothes the same way she picked out my makeup, but at this point, I don’t care. The most important thing I can do right now is make friends with these two so I can survive this. So I can do what I have to.

Allies. I need allies.

I look through the clothes quickly. “Casual?”

“Just something you’d wear to breakfast.”

I don’t eat breakfast and would probably drink coffee dressed in my jammies, but I get her point. The small stack of neatly folded clothes and the dresses on hangers in the closet are stark reminders that I wasn’t allowed to bring anything with me.

Nothing.

I can’t think of that now.

I choose a soft pair of leggings and a long sweater suitable for this cool weather, then quickly step into the bathroom to get ready. I swipe on some makeup.

Aria sighs. “I could spend an hour getting ready and still look like a little kid playing in her big sister’s makeup.”

I give her a wry smile. “I could maybe help with that.”

Her eyes light up. “I would love that.”

I like her.

I get a good view of the house when we walk downstairs for breakfast. I’m not surprised that when I glance through large windows, I find we’re nestled in a secure location behind dense rows of trees. I’d bet my last penny the security systems that surround this home are top-notch. He knows every bird that lands on his property, every car that drives by.

The home is modern and almost minimalist, built with sleek, clean lines, not a speck of dust or anything out of place. Thick carpet beneath my feet, framed prints of contemporary art. I note a few things that are a bit out of the ordinary — a control panel for the light fixtures that looks like someone lifted it straight out of a spaceship, a thermostat on the wall with an impressive display screen.

“I’m a tech girl,” Aria says when she sees me taking everything in. We walk down a small set of stairs toward the smell of bacon and coffee. “And let me tell you, I drool when I come here.”

A huge, framed print is mounted over the fireplace in the living room. Takes me a minute to realize it’s the TV, though it’s framed like a picture and currently displaying artwork. We walk past that doorway and into the dining room.

My stomach clenches as the sound of talking dies down. There is indeed an entire group of men sitting at the dining room table, but no Aleksandr.

A man who looks to be in his thirties stands and walks over to me. Deep-set dark brown eyes beneath heavy brows, golden, tanned skin, and dark brown hair tinged with flecks of gold make him look almost godlike. I find myself mentally comparing him to Aleksandr’s darker, rugged good looks, and immediately give myself a mental shake. Stop. This man’s arrestingly masculine and undeniably attractive but a bit more civilized than Aleks.

He stretches his hand out to me. “Mikhail Romanov, Aleksandr’s older brother and head of the Romanov family. Welcome.” I nod mutely, unsure what the proper thing to do is in this circumstance.

“I’m Harper.” My cheeks flush. Obviously, they know who I am. Everyone’s staring at me. Fortunately, I don’t have to think on it for long, because Mikhail goes straight to Aria and puts his hand on her lower back.

“Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“About the same as I was when I saw you fifteen minutes ago,” she says, her eyes twinkling. A stab of jealousy hits me. I woke up in bed bound and captive.

I DON’T DESERVE tenderness like that.

I don’t deserve to be loved.

DISGRACE.

Disgust.

Whore.

“COME, sit. My mother will be joining us later. She’s getting things ready for tomorrow night.”

I blink. Tomorrow night. My wedding.

I nod, still mute, then notice a shadow looming from behind me. I shiver when the temperature in the room drops.

My fiancé has arrived.

While everyone else is dressed in business-casual, Aleksandr’s wearing gym shorts and a white tee. His hair’s still damp as if from a shower, the masculine scent of his bodywash lingering in the air. I’d bet good money he just worked out. His muscles are evident under his T-shirt, a physique born of hard work and heavy labor.

He nods coolly to me and pulls out a chair for me to sit down. It’s almost an intimate gesture but feels so fake, so rehearsed, that it doesn’t give me the warm glow I got from watching Mikhail with Aria.

“Not all of my family’s here,” he begins, as I sit down. Is he just on his best behavior for his family? “But I’ll introduce you to who is. You’ll meet most of them at the wedding.”

I nod.

“Ollie’s in Moscow, but you’ll eventually meet him. My other brothers.” He jerks his head toward the other side of the table, where a few of his brothers sit.

To his right sits a dangerous-looking man, heavily tattooed with a rugged, primal appeal to him. His large frame and menacing scowl make me want to hide. “Nikko, and next to him, Viktor.”

Viktor, a hulking, muscular man with a shaved head and a scar running down one cheek, lifts a hand. His strong, scarred features are a bit terrifying.

Polina said she had six brothers, though. Including Aleksandr, I’ve only met four and one is in Moscow.

“Our youngest brother was recently injured… he’s spent some time in the hospital but should be well enough to attend the wedding.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, but my words are quickly drowned out by the swishing of doors and the footsteps of staff bringing in large trays of food. I note standard American foods like sausage, bacon, and scrambled eggs alongside a platter of open-faced sandwiches topped with a variety of ingredients. I’m intrigued by the large tray of little pancakes served with sides of sour cream, jam, and honey.

I usually completely skip breakfast even though my socials paint me as the high-protein yogurt lover. Today, though, I’m going to feast.

Aleksandr sits beside me and pours a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee, placing them both next to my plate.

I look at him curiously, wondering if he had a personality transplant somewhere down in the gym. I mean, I didn’t imagine waking up handcuffed and gagged, did I? And now he’s the gentleman, serving me juice?

“Smile, you two!” Polina says, holding her phone up to take a picture.

I flash a radiant smile for the camera on cue. I do it without conscious thought. I feel the warmth and weight of his arm across my shoulders and freeze. It’s too familiar. Too gentlemanly. Too inconsistent with the way he’s treated me.

“Aleks,” Polina says. “It’s okay to smile for a picture.”

Out of the corner of my eye, he flips her the bird.

Maybe we will get along.

“Aren’t you cold?” Polina asks him, as she walks past us and takes a seat on my other side.

He shrugs. “This is nothing. It’s warm here compared to Russian winters.”

“Not just the winters,” I mutter under my breath. Polina snickers but Aleks only moves a little closer to me.

He leans across me to grab a platter of the little pancake things. His warmth makes my skin glow, and his undeniable masculine scent makes every one of my nerves snap to attention. Aleks radiates testosterone, and my body’s taking note.

Dammit.

“What are those little pancake things?”

“Syrniki. Fried cottage cheese pancakes traditionally eaten with sour cream or something sweet like jam or honey. The sandwiches are also a Russian tradition — buterbrody. Here, try them.”

“Not sure what I like but I’ll try anything once,” I say.

He freezes, his fork halfway to piercing one of the small, plump pancakes. “Anything?” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I ignore the flush in my cheeks. I hate how easily he undoes me. I have to get back on solid footing.

“Is frowning at your food a Romanov tradition, or are you improvising?” I ask sweetly, before I take a large bite of the pancake. It’s rich and sweet and delicious.

“Is unbridled sarcasm a Bianchi trait, or are you perfecting the art?”

“Oh, that’s just for you.”

A corner of his lips quirks up, but he doesn’t look amused. “You wear your defenses like a second skin, Princess.”

My heart beats faster. “And you wear your arrogance like a crown, Your Majesty.”

Polina chuckles beside me. “I like you, Harper. Oh, I like you very much.”

Aleksandr scowls at her. “Stay out of this.”

“Not on your life,” she answers sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Behave yourself,” he says in a low voice in my ear. He may have no control over his sister, but apparently needs to exercise control over me. My skin heats, the small hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

“Or what? You’ll break off the engagement?” I whisper back. I lean toward him, so I’m pressed against his bare arm, my breasts flush up against him. I lay my hand delicately on his chest. “I don’t seem to remember you having a readily available lineup of women ready to marry you, do you?”

Aria gasps. I look over to see her hand on her belly.

Mikhail leaps out of his chair so quickly he upends it.

Polina grins. “You okay?”

“Was that a contraction?” Aria whispers, her eyes wide.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Polina says, ever the calm one. She looks over at Mikhail, who’s on his feet and white as a sheet. “Relax, Mikhail, it’s her first. You have plenty of time.”

“You have a crystal ball?” he snaps, his eyes flashing at her.

She waves her hand at him. “Aria, let’s make sure you have everything in your bag if you need it. It’s good to walk if you’re in early labor anyway.”

I remember the flash of pain, the trickle of water. The tearing of flesh and the fresh wail.

I close my eyes as a stab of pain hits my chest. I only give myself a few seconds before I open them and reach for a glass of water. They’re leaving. I don’t want them to leave.

My hand trembles and I nearly knock over the pitcher. Wordlessly, Aleks reaches for the pitcher and pours me a glass.

“Thank you,” I whisper, trying to soothe my racing heart with sips of the icy cold water.

Miss High and Mighty.

Filthy piece of trash.

Fucking whore.

I sip the water until my chest burns. Pile food on my plate, even though right now it’s all tasteless. Gratefully lift the cup of coffee and welcome the scalding burn of it down my throat.

If Aria’s in labor, it could be a good distraction… an opportunity.

I could escape here forever. I could maybe escape the inevitable horror of our wedding night.