Chapter 10 Anika
ANIKA
I can feel the charged anticipation in the air before I’m even fully awake. Like a predator in the room that I can’t quite see, but I can feel its eyes on me.
It’s my wedding day, and the humming bustle rises from below, where the staff prepare the main floor of the house for the special occasion.
It’s not going to be an extravagant affair. Considering it was put together in less than a week, it hardly seems like the wedding could be all that special.
But Chastity told me the household has been working overtime to pull it off.
And now the day has arrived.
I can taste the bitter anxiety that climbs up my throat as soon as my eyes open.
To my surprise, in the five days following my tense confrontation with Miko, he hasn’t taken liberties with me to satisfy his lust—even if I could feel how much he wanted to on the day he caught me trying to sneak off the Novikov property.
If I’d stayed in the same house as Pyotr before our wedding, he wouldn’t have hesitated to make himself at home in my bed—regardless of our marital status.
The fact that Miko hasn’t tried anything leaves me feeling anxious and unsteady.
They say it’s better to face the devil you know than the devil you don’t, and I just don’t know what to make of Miko.
He hasn’t given me much opportunity to observe him either.
I’ve hardly seen the oldest Chiaroscuro brother beyond our brief interactions at breakfast.
That’s largely in part because I’ve been confined to my room most of the day, with a guard on constant watch to ensure I don’t try to make another break for it.
And it would seem that revenge along with the task of crushing the Novikov empire into the ground must be something of a full-time job for Miko.
But when it comes to what he has planned for me, his absence has only fueled my subconscious’s creative license. I don’t quite know what to make of the conflicting emotions that cloud my sleep. I’ve been plagued by dreams of him slipping into my room late at night to take what he wants from me.
The strangest part is the thrill I feel whenever Miko enters my subconscious unexpectedly.
If I didn’t know better, I would almost call it anticipation. But I do know better than to want the attention of a man like him—at least, I know that while I’m awake.
In my unconscious state, each time he comes to me, a possessive, carnal desire radiates from him.
But in my dreams, that doesn’t scare me.
Half the time, I reach for him, curious about the man who claimed me as his wife with my husband’s blood still on his hands.
Deep in sleep, I find myself exploring the chiseled lines of his abdomen with my fingers, running my palms over the thick muscles of his chest.
I can smell the motor oil, too, something I recall from the night I ran into him over a year ago.
The memory must have been locked deep in the vault of my mind, emerging only now in my dream manifestation of him.
But it makes my heart race every time.
And more than once, I’ve woken mortified to find my panties wet with excitement.
I know that, when the time comes, the reality of my situation will be a lot less pleasant.
I never enjoyed sex with Pyotr.
More than that, over the year I spent as his wife, I’d come to dread it.
I did what I could to avoid it.
And when I couldn’t, I learned to find a dark corner of my mind to hide away in until he finished. That usually didn’t take long, since he never took the time to make it pleasurable.
The mounting fear in my belly warns me that my role as Miko’s wife will likely play out in much the same fashion.
Men like that don’t care if their women want them.
They use us to satisfy their own desires—and if they can, put a baby in our bellies.
Then they toss us aside until the next time we can be of use.
My stomach knots with the realization that tonight will be my wedding night.
For the second time in my life.
No woman should have to endure that twice, and a shudder races down my spine as I push the memories of my first time down deep inside, burying it so I won’t have to relive it more than once.
I just hope it won’t hurt as badly this time around.
My heart skips a beat at the sound of my door clicking open, and I sit up, hugging the sheets to my chest.
“Still in bed, gospozha?” Chastity asks as she steps into my room with a bright expression. “You’re going to sleep away the day.”
“It can’t be that late, can it?” I ask, finger combing my tangled hair back from my face.
Crossing the room, Chastity throws open the curtains to let in a bright beam of sunlight that tells me it must be nearly midmorning.
“Don’t worry. Everyone seems to be getting a late start today.
The Chiaroscuros just came down for breakfast not too long ago.
Good thing it’s going to be an evening ceremony.
” Hurrying into my closet, Chastity returns a moment later with a deep-green-and-white polka-dot summer dress.
“The tailor should be delivering your wedding dress in the next few hours, so I’ll get everything set up while you go eat. ”
I don’t know that I have the appetite for breakfast, with my stomach in such knots.
But I’ve made a practice of joining the Chiaroscuro brothers for meals because it’s the only opportunity I have to glean some useful information from them. So I bite back my groan and roll out of bed.
I’m dressed and presentable within the next fifteen minutes, thanks to Chastity’s help, and I lead my escort down the stairs to the breakfast room, where the sounds of boisterous conversation are already filtering out.
“I’m itching to get back in the ring and bust some jaws,” Sandro says as he cracks his knuckles and throws a few air punches.
After a week in their company, I’ve learned to tell him apart from his identical twin, Raf, by the tattoo of an eight-point nautical star beneath the outside corner of Sandro’s right eye.
But even without the distinctive feature, I would be able to identify him quickly by his penchant for fighting. Raf, on the other hand, seems more subdued.
Smart but almost obsessively focused on making those who hurt their family pay.
I’ve learned to cut both twins a wide berth because of their more menacing unpredictability.
Gio, on the other hand, seems rather levelheaded compared to the rest of the brothers that I’ve met.
A fact he proves once again as he claps Sandro on the shoulder. “I don’t think the Murrays will be welcoming you back to their fighting pits anytime soon, brother.”
“Yeah, considering they were right there destroying our family home alongside the Tanakas and Novikovs,” Raf growls, spearing a forkful of eggs on his plate as if they personally insulted him.
Sandro shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wary concern etching his face as he studies his twin.
He looks unsettled by the dark, spiteful storm that roils inside Raf.
Not that I can blame him.
After finding out his wife was killed in the attack on their family, I can see why Raf’s fury seems to bubble just beneath the surface, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. Still, his anger slows my steps at the doorway.
As if sensing my presence, Miko shifts his gaze in my direction, his blue eyes penetrating as he finds me. “Good morning,” he says, from his seat at the head of the table.
His deep voice captures his brothers’ attention, and they turn their heads to give me a casual greeting before promptly going back to ignoring me.
“Good morning,” I murmur, turning my attention to the sideboard that holds a wide variety of breakfast options to make myself a plate.
By the time I take a seat, it’s as if the brothers have completely forgotten my existence—aside from their subtle switch from English to Italian.
It’s a sure sign that they still don’t trust me, and they don’t want me to know what they’re talking about. They do it often enough, and while I wonder if it’s an intentional effort to alienate me, it’s also the main reason I choose to join them for breakfast every morning.
Because this is where the important information trickles in. And my ears perk up as I listen without making it obvious that I understand them.
After all, I was raised to be a perfect Russian bride—an asset to my husband, so I know all the languages I might need to eavesdrop on critical conversations.
Not that I intend to do anything to hinder the Chiaroscuro brothers’ plans. I could care less about their revenge.
I just hope to pick up on some intel that could help me leave this life behind.
And until I do, I’ll play along with becoming Miko’s bride. Because clearly, outright defying him isn’t working. I’ll have to be sneakier if I want to make it out of here alive.
“You ready for the big day, brother?” Gio asks in Italian, turning his attention to Miko as he switches to their native tongue.
I keep my eyes on my plate, pretending not to understand the question, but my heart skips a beat when Miko glances in my direction.
“I’m ready to do what’s necessary,” he states.
Something inside me cracks, my heart sinking a fraction of an inch at the lack of emotion in his tone.
My response surprises me. I didn’t realize that, despite my best efforts to be realistic about what this marriage is about, something of the romantic deep inside me refuses to die out.
And in the days since Miko freed me from Pyotr’s reign of terror, some of that idealism must have trickled through the cracks, bringing to life a seed of hope—at least until Miko’s lackluster response killed it stone dead.
“I’m surprised by the level of success we’ve had in pulling together a strategic guestlist,” Raf states. “Based on who has RSVP’d—beyond the Italian families who are still loyal to us—despite such short notice, I’d wager the Irish are less than happy about the way the Murrays have handled things.”
“The Irish could prove useful allies when the time comes, especially if any are looking to overturn who’s in charge,” Gio agrees.
“Same goes for the Russians we invited—even if I hate backing down while we’ve got them on the run.
It was a smart play to keep those men of Valentin’s alive, Miko.
If the Bratva see we’re willing to let things go now that Pyotr’s dead, they might switch sides to take the target off their backs. ”
My heart stutters at the mention of my dead husband’s name, and I swallow painfully as I try not to give away how hearing it affects me.
“We invited the Russians because I want to send a clear message to them that Anika belongs to me now,” Miko growls.
Silence stretches around the table, finally broken by Raf clearing his throat. “Regardless of the reason behind it, having them at the wedding will also help us assess how fractured the Bratva clans are right now.”
Miko gives a slight tip of his head, acknowledging Raf’s observation, then the room falls silent once more.
I don’t dare look up to read their expressions, and I pick at my plate, sliding a strawberry between my lips as I wait to see if they’ll have anything more interesting to say.
The guest list sounds larger than I had expected, and nerves flutter in my stomach when I think about standing before a roomful of strangers and agreeing to marry a complete stranger.
“So, Anika,” Sandro asks, switching back to English as he turns his attention to me. “Are you ready to be Miko’s wife? He must be an upgrade from the monster you were married to before. Or did you not know what kind of man your former husband was?”
There’s a hint of malice in his tone, no doubt a lingering hatred for Pyotr after all he did to earn the Chiaroscuros’ hatred.
I saw firsthand just how volatile their relationship was—even before he killed the Don. No doubt that’s only escalated after recent events.
But I’m not oblivious to the notion that, even if I had nothing to do with Pyotr’s business, I could still be held accountable for his actions. And if he did anything half as cruel to the world as he did to me as his wife, I will have much to answer for.
“You knew my husband well, then?” I ask, trying to keep my tone steady as I lift my chin to meet his eyes.
“I didn’t need to get close to Pyotr Novikov to know what a piece of scum he was,” Sandro states.
My pulse jumps, adrenaline surging through my veins, and before I know it’s coming, I feel the ghost of Pyotr’s hand wrapping around my throat, staunching the oxygen flooding into my lungs.
It’s real enough, I jerk back, trying to regain my bearings as Pyotr’s sneer fades from my mind’s eye.
Yes, my husband was a monster.
Swallowing hard, I drop my eyes back to my plate in an effort to regain my composure, but so much talk about Pyotr has me rattled.
“Drop it, Sandro,” Miko commands, his voice holding an edge of authority that makes me flinch.
What is wrong with me?
Miko wasn’t even talking to me.
If anything, he was coming to my defense, and I’m half ready to jump out of my skin at his voice. Dragging in a slow breath to rein in my sudden shaking, I push my chair back and stand.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I murmur, barely able to mask the quiver in my voice, “I need to start getting ready.”
Without lifting my gaze, I exit the breakfast room at just shy of what could be called a run.
As soon as I round the corner, I press my back flat against the wall, closing my eyes to focus on my racing heart.
But I can’t stop the deluge of memories that flood into my mind—flashes from my first wedding day, Pyotr so striking with his smile and all-black suit.
He had seemed so charming back then, I’d actually been excited to say my vows.
I know better than to fall for any man’s charms now.
A sense of dread settles in my stomach as I see the same horrible ruse unfolding once again. Miko, playing the perfect gentleman—until he has me alone.
My worst nightmare is happening all over again.