Bound By Duty

Sergei

The woman’s body slammed against the leather couch, her large breasts dangling back and forth violently, her gasps ragged and broken as I drove into her from behind. My hands gripped her hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises—because I didn’t give a damn about being gentle. She fucking loved it. Her moans fed my relentless rhythm, her voice a mix of pleasure and pain, just how I liked it.

“Harder,” she begged, her voice catching on a sob.

I obliged without hesitation, slamming into her so hard the couch creaked beneath us. My jaw clenched, the tension in my chest coiling tighter with every filthy sound that escaped her lips. Her head fell forward, dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she braced herself against the cushions. I leaned down, biting the back of her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She cried out, her body arching against mine.

“Fuck,” I growled, the word low and guttural as I pulled her closer. My breath came heavy and sharp, mingling with hers in the thick, stifling air. Sweat rolled down my back, but I barely registered it. All I cared about was the way her body trembled beneath me, pliant and begging for more.

Her nails raked over the couch cushions, leaving faint trails as she struggled to hold on. “Sergei…” she whimpered, her voice a broken plea.

“Shut up,” I muttered, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. “You’re here to take what I give you. Don’t fucking talk.”

She moaned louder at the roughness, her thighs tightening around me. I grinned, dark satisfaction curling in my gut. Women like her always craved a man who wouldn’t hold back. Someone who took what he wanted without apology.

My hips pistoned with brutal precision, each thrust harder than the last. The pressure built low in my gut, sharp and unrelenting, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. I needed to push her further, to hear her scream.

Her cries turned desperate, high-pitched whimpers echoing through the lounge. She was close. I could feel it in the way her body clenched around me, in the tremor of her thighs.

The phone buzzed on the table.

I ignored it at first, driving into her harder, my focus singular and primal. But the damn thing buzzed again, persistent and insistent. My thrusts slowed but didn’t stop. The woman gasped, her body jerking with every deliberate push.

Dmitri’s name flashed on the screen. Of course.

I swiped to answer, bringing the phone to my ear. “What?” I barked, my voice rough, laced with exertion.

“Are you… what the fuck, Sergei? Are you screwing someone right now?” Dmitri’s tone was sharp, incredulous.

A smirk tugged at my lips. I didn’t stop moving. My grunts echoed in the small room, mingling with the woman’s moans. “Maybe,” I said, clipped and breathless.

“You’re a goddamn animal,” Dmitri snapped. “Get to my house. Now.”

The line went dead.

I tossed the phone aside, my movements unbroken. The woman shuddered beneath me, her cries building as she tipped over the edge, her body clenching around me as she came with a shuddering scream. Her release only pushed me further, my rhythm brutal and methodical even as she sagged beneath me, spent.

When I finally pulled out, she lay there, panting, her body trembling. “Same time next week?” she murmured weakly, a satisfied smile curling her lips.

I didn’t bother answering. She was just another means to an end—another fleeting escape from the grind. Adjusting my belt, I grabbed my phone and jacket without a backward glance.

The bass from the club hit me like a wave as I stepped outside, the cold night air slicing through the lingering heat on my skin. I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily upward as I exhaled, tension still thrumming in my veins.

This had better be worth it.

****

As I strode down the long hallway toward Dmitri’s office, unease coiled in my gut like a snake. Dmitri didn’t summon me in the dead of night without a damned good reason.

The soft sound of footsteps drew my attention. Katy, Dmitri’s heavily pregnant wife, moved carefully, balancing a plate of snacks in her hands. Her glow was dimmed by exhaustion, but she still managed a tired smile.

“Hey, should you be up?” I asked, leaning down to kiss her forehead in greeting.

She rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff. “I’m pregnant, Sergei. Not dying.”

I chuckled, caressing her swollen belly gently. A kick met my palm, and for a moment, the smallest flicker of warmth pierced through the tension. “How are our little ones doing?”

“Giving me hell,” Katy replied with a mock dramatic sigh. “Especially this one.” She gestured to her belly. “Already a troublemaker like Dmitri.”

I shook my head, smirking. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine. She fixed me with a pointed look as she shifted the plate in her hands. “Don’t tell Dmitri I’m out of bed like this.”

I winked conspiratorially. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

But as I pushed open the door to Dmitri’s office, the tension in my chest returned full force. Dmitri’s head was bent over a stack of papers, his pen scratching against the surface in sharp, precise movements. The room smelled faintly of leather and cigars—a testament to Dmitri’s need for order, even in chaos.

Without looking up, Dmitri’s voice cut through the silence. “You never knock, do you?”

I smirked, shutting the door behind me with a deliberate slam. “And you still point it out every time.”

Dmitri glanced up, his gaze cold and assessing. “One day, Sergei, your lack of decorum is going to get you killed.”

“Maybe,” I said, taking a seat. “But not today.”

Dmitri leaned back, his fingers steepled. “Vahagn Karapetyan called me.”

The name hit me like a freight train. My jaw clenched, rage simmering beneath my skin. Karapetyan. The Armenians. Memories clawed their way to the surface—Yulia’s lifeless body, Katy and I dragged into hell together by their hands.

“He’s the new boss,” Dmitri continued, his voice steady. “His father’s finally rotting in the ground.”

“Good riddance,” I muttered, fists clenching. “So why the fuck is his son calling you?”

Dmitri’s gaze darkened, his expression unreadable. “A proposition.”

I leaned forward, my gaze narrowing. “What kind of proposition?”

“He wants an alliance.”

The words slammed into me harder than any bullet ever could. My fists clenched tighter around the armrests, the tension thrumming through my veins like a live wire.

“An alliance?” I spat the word like it was poison. “With the people who fucking kidnapped us? Who killed Yulia? And you’re considering it?”

Dmitri’s expression didn’t waver. “I’m not thrilled about it either, Sergei. But it’s not just about what we want anymore. It’s about what the Bratva needs.”

I shot to my feet, pacing the room like a caged animal. “What the Bratva needs? We’ve survived this long without bending over for the fucking Armenians. Why the sudden change?”

Dmitri’s gaze followed me, calm but unwavering. “Because Declan O’Rourke is making moves. He’s been talking to the Italians, Sergei. This has been dragging for a while. If they form an alliance, we’re going to be boxed out of every major port and trade deal. We’ll lose everything we’ve built.”

I stopped pacing, turning to face him. “So you think Vahagn is the answer? You trust him?”

“No,” Dmitri said bluntly. “I don’t trust him. That’s why I need you to marry his sister.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, all I could hear was the pounding of my own heartbeat, the blood rushing in my ears.

“Marry his sister?” I laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

Dmitri’s expression hardened. “You think I like this? You think I want to throw one of my best men into a marriage with the enemy? But this isn’t about you or me. It’s about the Bratva.”

I shook my head, disbelief washing over me. “You’re asking me to tie myself to the very people who ruined our lives. To a woman who—”

“You don’t know her,” Dmitri cut in sharply. “And neither do I. But I do know this—Vahagn is desperate to make this work. He knows his family’s past mistakes, and he’s trying to fix them.”

“And you believe him?”

Dmitri shrugged. “I believe he’s scared. Scared of losing everything. That fear makes people do a lot of things—including seeking alliances they never would have considered before.”

I ran a hand through my hair, the tension in my chest tightening like a vice. “And what happens when it all goes to shit? When she stabs me in the back?”

Dmitri’s gaze locked on mine, unflinching. “Then you do what needs to be done.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. My mind raced, torn between fury and duty. I knew Dmitri wasn’t wrong. The Bratva always came first. But this? This was asking too fucking much.

“Why me?” I finally asked, my voice low. “Why not someone else?”

Dmitri’s lips thinned. “Because I trust you to see through any bullshit. You’ve been through hell, Sergei. You’ll know if something’s off.”

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. “You’re asking me to marry a fucking Armenian.”

“I’m not asking,” Dmitri said, his voice cold. “I’m telling you.”

My jaw tightened, the weight of his words settling over me like a goddamn death sentence.

“Shit,” I muttered, running a hand over my face. “You better be right about this.”

Dmitri’s gaze didn’t falter. “You’ll do what needs to be done. You always do.”

I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair, my movements sharp and jerky. As I turned to leave, Dmitri’s voice stopped me.

“Sergei.”

I glanced back, my gaze cold.

“Don’t underestimate her,” Dmitri said quietly. “She might surprise you.”

I didn’t bother responding. My mind was already spinning with the weight of what was to come. Marriage. To an Armenian. Damn it all to hell.

As I strode out of the office and into the night, one thought lingered in my mind, dark and foreboding.

This is going to be a fucking disaster.