When the most dangerous man in Moscow is pummeling his opponent in an underground fight...and spots his young wife in the crowd.

Fear fl00ds his veins. She must have followed him here. But this place is dangerous, filled with the lowest members of society.

With a swift roundhouse kick to his opponent's knee, he goes down, ending the f!ght. He doesn't stick around to bask in the roar of the crowd.

As soon as victory is declared, he vaults over the ropes, his gaze locked onto the flash of his wife's blonde hair as she runs away. His little wife thinks she can run from him. How wrong she is.

He lets her get as far as the entrance. She tastes freedom before he lunges for her, one arm wrapping around her middle like a seatbelt.

He brings her flush with his hard, sweaty body, adrenaline still pumping through his system. "Where do you think you're going, wife?" He hisses into her ear.

Her breath catches, and she fights him. Wriggling and trying to break free, but it's useless.

Before she can do anything else, he drags her out to the alleyway and presses her against the rough brick wall. His big arm caging her in.

"Have you no f/k!ng sense of self- preservation?" His voice is a low growl, vibrating with anger.

"Wasn't nearly being k!lléd once today enough? You made it that much easier for my enemies to get to you."

"I...I thought maybe you were going to see another woman." She takes a shaky breath, her resolve faltering for a moment. "I had to see for myself." He doesn't believe her for one second.

Their marriage is nothing but a business arrangement. She already told him she doesn't care who he sleeps with.

Leaning in close, the heat of their bodles mingles in the cool air. He wraps his hand around her neck like a collàr, feeling for the delicate pulse thumping under his fingers.

"I'm going to give you one more chance to tell me the truth, and if you don't..." he squeezes the slightest bit, giving her a taste of what it feels like to have your air supply cüt off. "I'm ending this right now"