Bound to Him—Chapter One[Vaughn&Natasha]

 

BOUND TO HIM

Natasha

A part of me always knew I was meant to be imprisoned, maybe even killed, in the name of my father’s treacherous deeds. What I didn’t know was that it would be by his hands.

Vaughn.

The name I had been dreaming about for the past month. The name I had been falling for.

And the name that shattered my reality just a week ago.

I had gone home after five years for a short visit—to see Dante, my childhood friend, my protector, my only constant. Our fathers built an empire together, ruling the underworld of Malaysia, and yet Dante was nothing like mine. He had the cruelty of a firstborn mafia heir, but he wielded his power with precision, never blind rage. He avoided violence when he could—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of it. I had seen him burn a man alive when I was nineteen. He was twenty-three.

Dante had always been built for this dynasty—broad shoulders, a body inked with the symbol of our families, and jet-black eyes that carried the weight of a future already written in blood. But those same eyes softened when they looked at me. That was why I kept in touch with him, why I still trusted him after five years away from home. Years since I parted ways with my father. Because no matter how monstrous Dante became, I had never been afraid of him.

That day, I wasn’t expecting him to say anything that would change my life. We were just two old friends catching up. I sipped my coffee, half-listening, half-distracted by the weight of being back home. Then he said a name that made my world tilt.

"Vaughn Volkov."

I choked, scalding liquid burning my throat.

Because I knew that name.
Because I had been falling for it, never realizing it would destroy me.

But Dante continued, oblivious to the way my fingers trembled around my cup. He spoke of a man my father had been obsessed with hunting down. A man so elusive my father had killed a dozen of his own men in rage just for failing to find him. The Mad King, they called my father. But even he feared this ghost.

"They call him the Blind Assassin," Dante had said. "No one sees him coming until it’s too late."

I sat there, my pulse hammering, as he revealed the truth I never wanted to hear.

Vaughn Volkov was Pakhan of the Russian mafia. The same mafia my father hated with his guts. The man I had trusted, craved, dreamed about… was the enemy I never saw coming.

But the signs had always been there. I just hadn’t wanted to see them.

—

I remember the exact moment my doubts had first begun to creep in.

It was late, past midnight. I had been heading back to my dorm when I saw Vaughn and Andrei outside, speaking in hushed tones. They hadn’t noticed me, tucked in the shadows near the library’s side entrance.

"—he’s getting too close. It needs to be handled." Andrei’s voice, low but urgent.

"It will be," Vaughn had replied, his tone steady. "I’ll make sure of it."

Something about the way he said it sent a chill through me. I didn’t understand the full weight of their words then, but the way they spoke—calm, calculated, dangerous—lingered in my mind like a splinter under my skin.

The next evening, when I met Vaughn at our usual spot, I asked him directly.

"Andrei and you… last night. What were you talking about?"

His gaze didn’t even flicker. "Nothing important."

"It sounded important."

He leaned back against the railing, tilting his head like he was amused. "Since when do you eavesdrop, Natasha?"

"Since when do you talk like you’re planning to kill someone? I know your friends are members of some mafia association. Are you?"

For a split second—just a fraction of a breath—his expression shifted. A flicker of something… dark. But then it was gone, replaced by that maddening smirk.

"You read too many mafia fiction, solnyshka." He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "I’m not part of that world."

And I had believed him.

Like a fool, I had believed him.

—

Now, as I lie bound to his bed, wrists aching from the silk ties securing me in place, I replay every moment in my head. Every warning sign. Every chance I had to walk away.

But I hadn’t walked away.

Because I hadn’t wanted to.

And now I am here, staring at the ceiling of his room, waiting for whatever comes next.

Waiting for the man I trusted to decide my fate.

Vaughn Volkov.

The man who played me.
The man who used me.

The fucking tragedy of my life.