CHAPTER ELEVEN
Every inch a queen.
Ari
Maxsim’s fingers curl around mine as we stride toward the library at the far end of the hall.
It’s done.
And it’s clear that more people want to see this union fail than succeed. Which means that if I want to see my next birthday, I should find a way to make this marriage work.
I follow my new husband into the room and watch the men who trail him everywhere wait outside the door. “If the guests mean to do it, they should just get it over with.”
“Don’t tempt the gods, Ari. Too many people would love to start a war and make this a red wedding.”
“Saying the quiet part out loud won’t change the inevitable.” I slide my hand out of his and step back. “The Bratva and Cosa Nostra will not begin playing well together just because we got married.”
“If they want to survive, they better learn to share the battlefield or face extinction.” He closes the space I created. “What scent are you wearing?”
“Cherry Smoke by Tom Ford.” I shift from one foot to the other. “I don’t wear it often because not everyone deserves it.”
“But I do?” he asks with a smile, straightening the rings on my finger. “Your one true love.”
“Already casting yourself as Prince Charming?” I smirk. “How did I miss your Disney Prince fetish?”
“It’s something I like to keep under wraps.” He kisses my forehead and then grabs a bottle of champagne from a bucket.
I wander over to the window and try to gather my wits. I can handle many things, but a madman with a sense of humor could stretch even my impressive capabilities. “The reception is going to be a powder keg.”
I accept the glass he hands me and take a sip. “Do we have a strategy for the fuse that’s been lit, or are we making it up as we go along?”
“It’s our fucking wedding.” He traces the curvature of my cheek. “I want you to enjoy the celebration.”
Unable to square the gentle caress of his hand and the command to enjoy the evening, I let out a huff. “I can barely breathe in this dress, people are staring at us with malevolence, and the cake isn’t even chocolate. There is no good time in sight.”
“We’ll see about that.” He signals to the man standing outside the door. “Anton, my wife wants chocolate cake.”
“I’ll have one delivered to the suite at the hotel unless you want one sooner.”
“The hotel is fine.” Maxsim links our hands. “Is there anything else you desire?”
“Freedom,” I say before thinking. “Or the closest facsimile.” His lashes lower, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or resigned.
“Believe it or not, I understand your wildness and have no desire to tame it…or keep it in a cage.” He tightens his grip. “Against all odds, you’ve found a man who appreciates the beauty of wild things.”
My heart thunders, but I know better than to attribute it to hope. This is a calculated move in what I expect will be a lifelong chess game. “No list of rules and expectations? That’s surprising.”
“Word on the street is your mother delivered thousands with little effect, so why waste my breath.”
Five minutes ago, I would’ve sworn that Maxsim was made of carbon steel and didn’t have a kind bone in his body. But now…I’m not so sure.
Is my husband more dangerous and unpredictable than I imagine?
“Are you ready to show our guests a united front so they know we’re invincible?”
I hitch my shoulder slowly. “I haven’t decided yet.”
A dangerous smile lifts the corner of his mouth as if my defiance is precisely what he expected. “I didn’t marry you for your submission.” He traces the rings that mark me as his wife. “But I suggest you save your rebelliousness for something worthwhile.”
The words land between us like a challenge, and I fight the urge to look away. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Good.” He leads me out of the room as I remind myself that no matter how civilized Maxsim appears, he will always be a wild animal. Which means that having the Bratva madman at my side is my best chance of survival.
***
The moment we enter the ballroom, applause greets us, and we are handed champagne glasses. Maxsim raises his in a toast.
His voice is a blade, cutting through the crowd’s murmurs. I watch the reactions—a quiet nod from André, a smirk from Salvatore, and the slightest narrowing of eyes from a Bratva underboss I don’t recognize.
I lift my glass at the appropriate moment and watch him. Every word he speaks is carefully measured, like pieces on a chessboard, positioning himself—and me—exactly where he wants us.
The crowd applauds, clinking their glasses, but I barely hear them. All I can focus on is Maxsim—the way his eyes find mine and the disconcerting attraction I work so hard to ignore.
As the applause fades and the guests return to their conversations, movement from the edge of the crowd catches my eye. Sal Santoro is leaning toward one of the Bratva lieutenants. The exchange is brief—just a few whispered words—who is loyal to whom?
Maxsim squeezes my hand before stepping away to speak with a bratok , and I see André weaving through the crowd. He moves like he’s on a mission, his sharp eyes scanning the room before they land on me.
“Ari,” he says, voice low as he approaches. He leans in like he’s about to offer congratulations, but his grip on my arm says this isn’t a warm family moment. “Walk with me.”
I glance toward Maxsim, but he’s too busy talking to notice. “We’re in the middle of my wedding reception, André. I’m not going to make a break for it.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even acknowledge the sarcasm. Instead, he leads me toward a quiet alcove near the edge of the ballroom, away from prying eyes.
“You’re playing a dangerous game now,” he says, voice low and even. His expression is calm, but his eyes betray something sharper. “And I need to know that you’re ready for it.”
“Do I have a choice?” I reply, keeping my tone steady. “If I don’t succeed, I won’t live to see my next birthday.”
He exhales sharply, almost like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “This one is different, Ari. You’re not just playing for yourself anymore. Every move you make reflects on the family. On me. On all of us.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” He steps closer, lowering his voice further. “Because there are wolves in this room who would love nothing more than to tear this alliance apart before it even starts. Salvatore isn’t here to wish you well. He’s here to find cracks.”
I glance toward the crowd, my stomach tightening as I spot Sal lingering near a cluster of Bratva men. His expression is unreadable, but his presence feels like a shadow crawling across the room.
André follows my gaze. “Keep your eyes open. One misstep from you or Maxsim, and you know what happens.”
“War,” I murmur, my throat tightening around the word.
“Exactly.” His grip on my arm softens slightly. “I know you didn’t choose this, but you’re in it now. And whether you like it or not, you’re a queen on this board. Queens don’t get to hesitate.”
His words linger long after he strides away, his presence replaced by the weight of his warning.
“Shall we?” Maxsim’s voice pulls me back to the moment, his hand extending toward mine, his eyes encouraging me to accept.
Our first dance. A performance for the crowd.
I chafe against the idea of him leading me around like a puppet on display but know refusing would lead to gossip we can’t afford. Placing my hand in his, I feel the coolness of his skin against mine as he guides me to the center of the room.
The band strikes a slow, sweeping melody, and we begin to move together, our steps perfectly in sync despite our lack of familiarity.
My stomach rumbles as we make our first turn, and I try to remember the last time I ate. “What I would give for a cheeseburger.”
Maxsim’s gaze flickers with amusement. “This marriage might be easier than I anticipated.”
“If you believe that, then you’re a fool.”
“I’m a lot of things, but that isn’t one of them.” He pulls me closer. “All you’ve asked me for is food.”
“I didn’t ask you for anything.” I shift away, irritated by his comment.
“If you express a desire, then it’s my duty to satisfy it.” I ignore his hand, tightening around mine as we spin across the floor. “But make no mistake, Ari. I will be the monster in your story.”
“I know.” We stand chest to chest and stare at one another, and for the first time, I feel a tiny thread of connection building. “I also feel confident you will surrender your life if it means saving mine.”
“Your very own hero in villain’s clothing.”
“We’re going to work on this fairytale hero fetish you have.”
“I look forward to it.”
There’s amusement in his soft voice, and I feel a distinct lack of defiance for the first time since this nightmare began.
My husband doesn’t want to control me…he desires something darker, something I might want to explore.
Could falling for Maxsim be my most reckless act of all?