Match Made in Hell

Chapter Three

Moya Point of View

I entered the house and was automatically hit with a strong scent of sandalwood hitting my nose instantly. Dimitri was here; I could feel it. He had a domineering persona that the whole room could feel and I felt a cold rush in my spine, resulting in goosebumps. I couldn't escape him especially when I saw him sitting on the chair opposite my father with guns pointing at him. There was only one way this day could end and that was with me heading to Russia and finally getting married.

"I've waited a long time to find you, dorogoy (sweetheart)."

Dimitri's head slowly turned; his cold green eyes bore into me while he stood up and stalked towards me. For the first time in my life, I was frozen as if my ability to walk, talk and everything else had vanished when I saw him coming for me. His presence was overwhelming but I couldn't let a man control my movements. That's what they all want: power and control. The last thing I could have possibly done is shown some sort of weakness towards him; he would prey on that with complete viciousness. I kept my head high and my eyes plastered on his as he moved.

He stopped walking when he was two inches away from me and just stared at me. I thought I was tall standing at around five foot ten but compared to him, I was miniature. I didn't even reach his ear and my eyes just managed to reach the bottom of his neck completely. He must have been around six- three minimum. He was dressed in a suit but with a missing blazer and the cufflinks gone with the sleeves rolled up. His white button up was stained with some blood, probably the blood of those who stood in the way of coming into this house and demanding for the wife he was promised years ago.

The rolled up sleeves revealed the tattoos that covered his arms completely, like a tattoo sleeve on both arms. All sorts of tattoos: daggers, guns, names, serpents, lions, ghost faces. The list would be endless. Even with his arms covered up, his veins were still evident and pulsing. His presence was (just like I said) domineering. His face was rough and there was no affection in it whatsoever but what else could you except from the Pakhan of the Russian mob.

"Let's go," he ordered while his eyes stayed glued onto me. My attempt at staring back at him was broken when I heard a hollow slap on the other side of the room and witnessed a blonde man smirking while hitting my fathers shoulder and murmuring something in his ear.

Whilst my attention was taken off Dimitri, his hands snaked around my waist and gently guided me towards the door where there were multiple Russian men with their guns out and attention focused on the Italians. Most of their gazes were plastered on Sergei, who looked emotionless. There's not much I can say about my uncle Sergei but he was damn good about covering his emotions and ended up having a nickname of being the ice cold king. That gene seemed to be genetic as my cousin's Marco eyes were empty and his expression held a meaning as if Dimitri's actions were completely reasonable. Marco was a relatively calm man and never showed any anger in public; so there was no surprise in his emotions in the current situation.

On the other hand, my father and brothers looked infuriated and humiliated. It bought a smile to my face. It was a different sort of satisfaction, seeing them being on the other side for once in my life. The entitled brats had it coming in so many different ways; they have more enemies that they do friends, which shouldn't be shocking to anyone if they met my so called family.

"Watch your step, dorogoy (sweetheart)," he uttered in a gruff manner while we walked down the steps that lead to the outside. His hands were still plastered around my waist, escorting me towards his car. Outside stood a chauffeur, dressed in a suit. As he saw us approaching, he opened the back car door and held it open. Dimitri's rough hands left my waist and pressed on my lower back while he lightly pushed me into the car seats. I made my way to the far left, besides the window seat and my gaze focused on the outside. Dimitri was yet to join me inside and was talking to one of his other men that had a gun trained on my father when we were inside. He was a blonde and was someone that I recognised from newspaper articles, probably one of the infamous manwhores in the Russian mafia.

His Russian accent was thick while he was talking and for a small part of me, I was turned on. I knew I shouldn't have been but the way Russian rolls off his tongue had a little part of my stomach churning. I didn't even know what dorogoy meant, yet he kept referring to me as if it was a term of affection for me by him. He had already called me dorogoy twice within a minute.

My gaze settled on the view from the window. As much as I hated the family I had in Italy, I would rather kill myself that say that Italy was ugly. It was pure perfection in my eyes and it made sense into why my mama had moved over here when she got married. She may have loved my father but it would have made an easier decision when she saw the beauty that lies within Italy. The sun would always glimmer and the weather would be flawless, helping to lift up everyone's mood. This would completely contrast with Russia's cold weather full of snow, hail and frost. The one good thing about cold weather is that it makes going to bed so much more better as you cuddle up more cozily in blankets with a piping hot chocolate ready to go.

I was snapped out my thoughts when the car door slammed and my head turned towards Dimitri, who now had his phone in his hands dialling a number. His teeth was clenched, hinting that there was something on his mind that angered him. Once the number was dialled, he held it to his ear and spoke Russian angrily. My eyes wandered on him for a while. His body was physically fit and ripped, with his biceps being very visible even through his shirt.

"You okay, dorogoy (sweetheart)?" he posed as a question to me, while still being on the phone. Shit, he caught me staring at him. Adjusting my body back towards the window, I answered back at him, "I'm fine with being kidnapped and taken to a whole different country." His head snapped at me and I felt his eyes glaring and burning a hole at the back of my neck. Within a few seconds, he went back to his phone call, who was to a man named Gregor as so I heard when he chatted with his voice restrained.

My eyes moved around and saw the divided wall between the chauffeur and the rest of us, giving us our privacy. I never really had a chauffeur, at least not one that I personally hired at least. Almost always I would have my own red Porsche to drive anywhere I want to and if the place I wanted to go was closer, I would prefer to walk, especially in Italy. Knowing the Ivanov family had filthy rich money, chauffeurs were their normality. Me and Dimitri could not have had any more different lives than we did right now.

He stopped talking on the phone so I guess that meant that the phone call was over but his focus still lied with his phone as he scanned through messages. "What does dorogoy mean?" I asked him, trying to have minimal curiosity peeking out through my words. Even though I was facing him, he didn't look up from his phone. Instead, his hands caressed my thighs and bought me closer towards him. "You don't need to worry about that, dorogoy," he seethed out while his hand remaining on my dress. He started rubbing my thighs with no intention to stop.

A pit in my stomach started flipping non stop when Dimitri touched me. Fuck, he seemed to be very touchy as within me first entering the house he managed to touch me three times now. It was as if the touch of him merely could turn me on and somehow could keep my body paralysed. I didn't want to like his touch but I couldn't help it, especially when he would touch me softly. I viscously pushed his hands off my body and that took his attention off his phone and onto me.

He furrowed his eyebrows but his lips were tightly lipped, whilst he shoved his phone into his lap. With his newly free hand, he moved me by my legs closer to him and now in between both of his legs while his left hand was around my waist, once again.

"Don't do that again, dorogoy," he whispered into my ear in an almost sinister manner.