Unrestrained (Unwilling Bonds #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

Katya

The closer we get to our destination, the harder it is for me to control my trembling hands. This was never going to be easy to pull off. Knowing I concealed the truth to get here isn't helping my nerves.

Though I've spent my life around dangerous men, I fear Gabriele Volante might be more than I can handle. A ruthless reputation precedes him and I know what he does to people who cross him.

Pressing my palms against my thighs, I breathe in deeply to steady myself. Rome flashes by outside the car window. It's my first time in the Eternal City but I'm wound too tight to enjoy the scenery. I need to focus on keeping my story straight in my head.

"You can still back out," Niamh says.

I turn to her, meeting her probing gaze. In the two weeks I've known Niamh Donnelly I've learned that her angelic features and warm, friendly personality belong to a woman who misses nothing.

"No," I tell her. "I won't back out."

There's a quiver in my voice too obvious to miss.

"If you think you might back out, do it now, Katya. It would be too cruel after."

I nod, understanding exactly what she's saying. If I change my mind about marrying Gabriele after I meet him, it will look as if it's because I'm repulsed by his scars.

People have whispered about him for years, about how he's become a virtual recluse since his face was slashed with a broken bottle during a fight. I could never be so shallow as to reject him because of his looks.

His scars don't worry me in the slightest. It's the man himself I'm not sure I can cope with. Since he withdrew from the world, an air of myth has surrounded him. He's become something of a boogeyman even among dangerous men.

"I wouldn't do that," I assure her.

Niamh purses her lips. "That's what Davina O'Reilly said."

"Davina O'Reilly?" The name is familiar but I can't place it.

"She saw where you were two months ago and told me the same thing. Then she met Gabriele and ran back to daddy telling him she wouldn't marry a man whose face is a ruin. Her father needed the alliance to save his skin. He won't recover from the fallout. Neither will she."

The smile that crosses Niamh's face holds an edge of cruelty. It's a reminder that she's one of the few women in our fucked-up circles who wields truly terrifying power. She lets the silence stretch, making sure I understand exactly what’s at stake.

"That won't happen this time."

"No?" She fixes one of her intrusive stares on me. "Well, I suppose your father isn't quite as invested in your marriage as O'Reilly was in his daughter's. Tell me, Katya, does he really not mind you coming here alone?"

I smooth down my skirt.

"As I said when we first met, my father allows me complete autonomy in these matters."

Knowing she was looking for a suitable wife for Gabriele, I approached her at a party in London to ask for an introduction. She assumed my father knew what we were discussing since he was also there and I didn't correct her.

"He believes the union will be beneficial, so he's happy for me to meet with Gabriele."

Skepticism flashes across her face before her expression settles into a careful smile.

"Then you're lucky. Few pakhans would allow their daughter such freedom."

"What can I say?" I give my best spoiled princess shrug. "My father adores me."

That couldn't be further from the truth. There was a time when my father showed some affection for me but that ended the moment I refused a match with Sergei Litkov.

When I took drastic action to get myself out of it, my father shot the man I lured to my bed without stopping to consider the consequences of killing another Bratva leader's brother.

To avoid a war he can't win, he offered me to Boris Orlov. But Boris isn't the type of man to forgive his brother's killer. He'll take pleasure in breaking me and when he's done he'll slaughter the entire Kuznetov Bratva, leaving my father for last.

The thought of that should seem distant as I'm driven through the Roman sunshine two thousand miles from home. It doesn't. Fear of what might happen sits behind my ribs, a weight no amount of wishful thinking can shift.

Marrying a man as powerful as Gabriele might be the only way I can save myself and convince Orlov going to war would be a mistake. I just have to pray he'll want me as his wife. I can't fuck this up.

"Is Gabriele sensitive about his scars?" I ask. "How should I act?"

"Act naturally," Niamh advises. "He won't care if you're shocked. He'll expect it."

"So it's as bad as people say?"

"No. It's not pretty but I've seen worse. His eye is a mess but he usually hides it."

"Okay." I've prepared myself for the worst and I'm determined not to react too badly. "And what is he like?"

She considers for a moment, no doubt deciding what she's prepared to share. As well as being business associates, she and Gabriele are friends. She made it clear from the start that she's in his corner and not mine.

"He's intelligent, fair, ambitious. He doesn't suffer fools." The corner of her mouth twists in a wry grin. "But you're no fool, are you, Katya?"

"No, I'm not." I've done foolish things in the past, but I'm far from stupid.

"You won't find him an easy man, Katya."

I shrug. "I'm used to difficult men."

"A difficult husband is a different thing entirely."

Something in her tone suggests she speaks from bitter experience.

"Is that why you didn't marry Tony Morganti?"

Her jaw clenches and I realize I've fucked up. I don't know her well enough to ask about her personal life. Before I can apologize for overstepping, she shakes her head.

"No, there were other reasons for that."

I nod and turn to look out of the window as we pull onto a quiet, tree-lined street. We drive up to a set of tall, wrought iron gates which swing open as we approach.

As the car winds slowly up the long driveway, I notice several armed men patrolling the perimeter. That's something I'm used to, having grown up in a heavily fortified mansion in St. Petersburg. The vastness of the estate is also familiar.

What's different, however, is the sparseness.

There's grass and a few trees, but there's no color anywhere, no flowers.

There's nothing ornamental like a fountain or an arbor as far as I can see.

The gardens are functional, a space to create distance between the house and the rest of the world, but I don't get a sense that anyone enjoys the place.

There’s no sound, not even birdsong. The place is shrouded in a funereal silence. It’s a shame. I love to sit in the garden with a glass of wine on a sunny evening, listening to the birds chattering.

I can’t help wondering about the man who lives here. Is he as bleak as his environment suggests?”

As we draw to a stop at the front door of the house, my stomach tightens. I breathe in and out slowly and the tension eases.

A man opens my door and offers me his hand.

He's tall with jet black hair and piercing green eyes.

He's pretty rather than handsome. Dressed in a beautifully tailored suit to fit his broad chest and long limbs, he carries himself with an air of confidence that tells me he's important. Gabriele's consigliere, perhaps?

I take his hand and let him help me from the car.

"I'm Lukas," he introduces himself, thankfully in English. "I'll take you to Gabriele."

He closes my door and the car moves off. My heart lurches.

"Isn't Niamh coming?"

"Do you need her to?"

Though I would probably feel safer with a familiar face in the room, this is something I should do alone.

"No, of course not."

Lukas leads me into the house. It's cool inside, which is a relief because the Roman summer is hotter than I'm used to. The house is obviously large, with a grand staircase leading up from the entryway and corridors going off to the left and right. It's not shabby but it is a little dated.

Bratva leaders tend to live in more opulent surroundings than this. Perhaps it's a nod to tradition, a reminder of the illustrious heritage of the Volante family.

The décor may be muted but the antiques appear old and valuable and there are some landscapes on the walls that could be by notable artists.

When we're halfway along a corridor, Lukas stops and opens a door. He steps back to allow me to pass.

"There's coffee on the table. Help yourself."

I glance up at him. "You're not coming in?"

"Do you need me to?" He echoes his earlier question.

"No."

I walk into a large room that's either a study or a library. There's a large wooden desk at one end with a leather chair behind it and a closed laptop at its center.

There are two Chesterfield sofas upholstered in green leather with a low wooden coffee table between them. It reminds me of one of those stuffy gentleman's clubs, not that I've ever been in one.

The walls are lined with book-filled shelves. That makes me smile. I love to read. I step forward and run my fingers along a row of spines. Russian would have been too much to hope for but I thought there might be something in English.

Sadly these are all in Italian, the titles and authors as foreign to me as the land itself. I gnaw my bottom lip. I should learn the language if I'm going to live here. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

As I take a seat on one of the sofas, something moves in the corner of my eye. I gasp and jump to my feet as I spot a man in the far corner by the window.

The room seems to shrink as he moves forward and pauses as if deciding whether to show himself or remain in the shadows. For a moment I don’t breathe. I don’t move, waiting for him to speak.

"Did I startle you?" he asks as he steps into the light.

"Just a little. I didn't see you there."

He nods and stands there appraising me the same way I examine him. Gabriele Volante is tall and muscular, the right side of his face telling me he was devastatingly handsome before he was attacked.

Scarring runs from his temple to his jaw on the left side. It's not from a single slash. Someone took time to carve him up.

The skin on his cheek is pale and tight, a map of sickening violence. A black patch covers his eye. I can't help but stare, not because of some grotesque fascination but because the man beneath the scars exudes a power I can't turn away from.

"Sit, please."

It's an instruction rather than an invitation and I quickly obey. He moves closer, but doesn't take a seat.

"Coffee?" he enquires.

"No, thank you."

With my nerves running rampant, coffee would make me ill. I'm used to being scrutinized. People in our world spend a lot of time weighing each other up, looking for potential threats, trying to sniff out weakness. Gabriele's gaze is unsettling. It's like he's trying to strip me bare.

"So, Ekaterina…."

"Katya," I interrupt, having always preferred the diminutive of my name.

He inclines his head. "Katya, tell me why you're here."

"Oh." That catches me off guard. Is he planning to treat this like a job interview? "I hear you're looking for a wife and I want to be considered."

He nods. That much he knew. "Why?"

"Well, you're a powerful man and I think it will strengthen both of our families if we form an alliance."

His eyebrow rises almost imperceptibly. "You speak for the Kuznetov Bratva?"

I lift my chin. "I do."

"Hmm." Though I suspect he doesn't believe that, he doesn't challenge me. "Why would I align myself with such a minor family?"

I feel the sting of that. My father might not be on the same level as the Volantes but he rules over a significant territory.

"My father's an important man."

"In Russia, perhaps. On the international stage, he barely registers."

Okay, the alliance angle clearly isn't going to work. "Well, there are other benefits. I'm young, attractive. I'm quick to learn. I can attend events on your behalf, represent your interests."

"You think I can't do that?"

"I heard you don't go out much."

He doesn't respond and now I'm not sure how reliable my information is. I thought I could be useful to him by networking at parties and galas. Maybe he's not as reclusive as rumor suggests.

"Uh, well, I'm sure you want an heir."

"You're offering the use of your womb?"

That makes me cringe. "I'm offering to have a family with you. Not now, of course, but when we know each other better."

"You want children?"

"Someday. I'd love three, at least."

As an only child I often felt I was missing out on something. Gabriele, I know, has two brothers, so I'm hoping he likes the idea of replicating his own childhood.

He nods as though he finds my answer acceptable but again gives nothing away. It's frustrating. I'm usually good at reading people. This man gives me little to work with.

"And what do you get out of it, Katya?"

"Well, I'm used to a certain lifestyle." This is one area where I will admit to being shallow. I enjoy the perks that come with having money and can't imagine living more modestly. I bat my eyelashes at him in what I hope is a seductive manner. "I've always wanted to marry a rich, powerful man."

"Is that so?" Something in his manner has changed. It's subtle but there's a tautness in his shoulders. "Sergei Litkov and Boris Orlov weren't rich and powerful enough for you?"

A chill runs down my spine as I sense a trap is being sprung. "What?"

He shakes his head.

"Really, Signorina Kuznetova. Did you think I'd agree to meet without already knowing everything about you?"

I swallow hard. Damn!