6. Carmie
Chapter 6
Carmie
I ’m shaking on the drive over to the Federov house.
Dad’s behind the wheel, not speaking. Daniel’s up front with him, and Luca’s in the back with me. Nobody’s talking, and the tension is high. I’ve been told a dozen times how important this marriage is, but it never felt real until right now. The Don himself wants this to happen, and Dad knows his brother’s temper can be very dangerous when things don’t go his way.
Which means I’ve been told a dozen times I better not fuck this up.
But how the hell am I going to keep it together?
It’s him . The man from my one night of rebellion. I looked at that high school yearbook photo fifty times leading up to this car ride, and I’m absolutely sure it matches the man in my memory. He’s older now, somehow even more handsome, but it’s definitely him.
I don’t know why he lied about his name. I don’t know what he was doing at that club that night or why he followed me out into the street.
I don’t know why he took me home and fucked me.
But it happened, and I feel like my world’s falling apart around me.
He wasn’t supposed to have this. That’s all I keep thinking. He wasn’t supposed to have me . My virginity was meant to go to the man of my choosing, and I definitely did not want it to be my future husband.
And he still somehow took it from me.
I’m pissed. I’m sick. A million emotions rush through my body all at once, and I feel trapped, because I can’t tell a soul.
I trust the Mob Girlies with almost anything, but I can’t trust them with this. It’s just too big. If anyone found out what I did that night, it’d ruin my life.
Dad would kill me himself.
But as the car parks and Luca grumbles at me to hurry up and get out, I realize something.
Lev’s going to recognize me, too . He’s going to know that I was out trying to sleep with some random guy.
How’s he going to react? Is he going to lose his mind and refuse the marriage? If that happens, I’m dead.
Literally, not figuratively.
Dad will shoot me in the head.
I feel like I’m marching through waist-deep running water as I follow my family up the steps of a very nice Old City row home. It’s an expensive house, and I’d probably feel a little impressed if I weren’t too busy freaking out.
Maybe I can run. If I break to the left and keep going, maybe I can get away. I’ll live out my final days somewhere out west and change my name to Serena Rose.
“I’m glad you made it, Mr. Marino.” A man’s voice. He’s older, around my father’s age.
“Call me Bruno. You must be Oleg.” The men shake hands and exchange pleasantries as we’re led into a formal sitting room.
Lev’s father is a burly Russian man with a loud laugh and sharp eyes. I can see some of Lev in him, the same brows, the same hair, though Oleg’s is graying and thinning slightly. He’s in expensive but understated clothing, just like my father. Both have on glittering gold watches.
Daniel and Luca join the conversation, and I’m left at the end of the couch, losing my mind. Oleg seems completely uninterested in me and instead focuses on my father and my brothers, asking them questions about business and family like he’s trying to dig for information. Which is fine because my brothers are doing the exact same thing.
Everyone’s feeling each other out.
“My apologies, it seems like my son’s running late.” Oleg gets to his feet, a flash of annoyance on his face. “If you’ll excuse me?—”
But he doesn’t get far. The door opens, and there he is on the threshold wearing a slim-fitting suit that shows off his muscular torso and makes him look like a capitalistic kingpin surveying his corporate holdings.
I nearly scream. I’m so nervous my legs are shaking.
It’s really him.
Step. No, Lev. No, my future husband. Whoever he is, he’s standing right there, shaking my father’s hand and turning toward me.
We lock eyes, and I know he knows.
For an instant, he goes very still. The charming smile falters. The mask slips for only a beat, and he looks at me with real surprise.
Something ugly and dark slips across his face.
But it’s gone a second after. He shakes hands with Luca and Daniel before Dad brings him over to introduce me.
“This is your future wife, my daughter, Carmela,” Dad says, gesturing to me.
I stand on unsteady knees. I try to meet Step’s gaze—no, damn it, his name is Lev—but I can’t manage it. Instead, I thrust a hand at him.
“Everyone calls me Carmie,” I mutter, looking at his shoes. They’re dull, like he wears them too often.
“Good to finally meet you, Carmie,” Lev says, slipping his hand into mine. His grip is firm and warm, and I can’t help but think of that palm on my ass and his fingers in my hair.
Holy shit. Holy shit. This can’t be really happening.
I’m about to vomit all over the floor.
There’s an uncomfortable beat as Lev stares at me, still grinning, the image of a dashing young man. Except we both know how supremely fucked this is.
Then the men take over. They start talking business again, and I’m forgotten for a little while, left to sit on the end of the sofa and stew in my misery. Lev hasn’t called me out yet, but he keeps throwing me looks, occasionally dark and rage-filled, but always covered by his ease and his laughter. He’s got my brother telling him stories and pouring him drinks from the bar cart in the corner, and I can already tell they’re going to rave about my future husband on the ride home. Meanwhile, Dad and Oleg are having a head-to-head near the window, both holding a glass of whiskey.
I’m forgotten. At least, I think I am. Except Lev reminds me over and over that he knows I’m there.
His gaze is like poison.
“We should give these two a few minutes alone together,” Oleg announces and gestures at my brothers and my father. “Why don’t we go visit the game room and let them talk?”
“Fine with me,” Luca says and elbows Lev like they’re already best friends. Oh my god, those two are going to be horrible together. “Just be careful, okay? We wouldn’t want any accidental babies before the wedding.”
“Luca!” I hiss at him, turning pink, but all the men find that hilarious.
Daniel squeezes my shoulder on the way out. I think that’s meant to be reassuring, but it only feels possessive, like I’m the object here getting passed on to my new owner. Dad laughs loudly at some joke Oleg makes, and my brothers follow them into the entry hall.
Lev walks casually to the door and closes it very quietly behind them.
Then we’re alone together.
My heart’s racing in my chest. I stand on the opposite side of the room from him and consciously put the coffee table and the couches between us.
“I thought your name was Step,” I say sharply, and I don’t even know why that’s the first thing out of my mouth. There are a dozen better ways to approach this, like maybe acknowledging how fucking crazy this is.
Instead, I’m pissed.
His smile fades and disappears. What’s left is cold, a black void of emotion. He looks at me like a predator.
“It seems we were both lying that night,” he says, and though he doesn’t walk closer, the way his body shifts makes me feel like he’s tensing for something.
“I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know who you were that night.”
“Are you sure about that? Adriano didn’t put you up to it?”
I glare at him, fighting back outrage. “Absolutely not. You think my cousin can order me to freaking sleep with a stranger on top of marrying him?”
He lets out a soft sound of acknowledgment. I’m frightened, terrified actually, but also strangely thrilled. I never thought I’d get anywhere near this man again in my life, and now it turns out I’m marrying him. I’m disturbed by this turn of events, but that night flashes back.
The pleasure. How good it was. His hands all over my body like he was worshipping every inch of my exposed flesh.
Like he couldn’t get enough.
It was intoxicating. And while I don’t see that same man standing in front of me—while he seems colder, more distant, even angry—maybe we can have a taste of that night one day.
“I don’t know what you’re capable of,” he says softly, and the accusation is clear. “Listen to me. That night never happened. We never met before. Do you understand?”
“You think I want people to know?”
“I have no idea what you want, little fencer.”
I flinch at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”
He takes a breath and blows it out, obviously fighting to get himself under control. But what’s he struggling with? I’m tempted to walk toward him, to close the distance between us. It doesn’t have to be all pain and anger. It doesn’t need to be a lifetime of hate and acrimony. If we can hold on to that night and let ourselves be those people one more time?—
“From now on, we’re colleagues,” he says, tone completely flat.
And I go very still. “What’s that mean?”
“You and I mean nothing. I have no interest in a wife, and I’m doing this out of obligation to my family. I assume it’s the same for you.”
“No, I actually really wanted to marry a total stranger. I volunteered for it.”
He doesn’t find my sarcasm amusing. “Then we cut a deal right now. That night never happened. You’ll be my wife in name only. We’ll live our separate lives and do the bare minimum to appease our families. Beyond that, I have no interest in you, and I don’t expect you to ask anything of me. Am I making myself clear?”
Slowly, the tiny speck of hope that was growing in my guts withers away and turns to bile in the back of my throat.
“I hear you. Lev .” I put emphasis on the name, mostly because I’m trying to hurt him now, because I feel like he’s hurting me.
It doesn’t need to be this way.
Except my future husband is a fucking asshole, and that’s how it’s going to be.
“Good. I’m glad you understand. Now, we’ll go out there, we’ll smile, we’ll pretend like we had a nice, productive conversation, and you won’t fuck this up. We never met. We don’t know each other. Understood?”
“You don’t have to be such an asshole about it.”
“Actually, I feel like I do.” His jaw works. Is that a little emotion from the ice king? I don’t give a shit if I pissed him off.
“That night wasn’t about you,” I snap at him, letting loose now. He wants to be enemies? Then we can be enemies. “I just wanted something for myself. All I wanted was to lose my virginity to someone I chose, and I had the bad fucking luck to end up in your shitty bed that night. So don’t misunderstand anything, Lev. We’ll get married. We’ll act like it’s all good. But I have no interest in you, at all .”
His surprise thrills me. I like that I got under his skin. He stares, and for the first time, he looks like he doesn’t know what to say. “Your… virginity?”
“Yes, dickhead. I was a virgin that night. And if I got my way, you wouldn’t have been involved at all. Guess we both got fucked.”
Surprise turns to anger. It’s cold and terrifying, a real fury. He comes toward me, jaw working. “You were going to throw yourself at some stranger, all to avoid sleeping with your husband for your first time?”
“I was taking control of my life,” I shoot back at him, standing my ground, even though I want to run. “Like I said, it had nothing to do with you.”
“That could’ve been anyone. You could’ve gotten hurt . What the hell were you thinking?” He stops on the other side of the coffee table. Eight feet separates us at most.
“What do you care?”
“I nearly cut that fucking prick’s throat.”
I rear back in shock. The casual way he says it sends my pulse skittering. I remember his shirt, stained with blood. “You did what?”
“That guy was going to follow you out into the street and do God knows what. I made sure he’d think twice before bothering a woman ever again. And there you were, stumbling around, throwing yourself into a stupid situation. You couldn’t have been more out of control if you tried.”
“Screw you, Lev. You don’t even know me at all.”
“I feel like I know you very well now.”
“Don’t be disgusting.” I jab my finger in the air between us. “You want to forget that night happened? Then you stop throwing it in my face. You want to be colleagues ? Then you don’t get a say in what I do.”
He lets that sink in. I glare at him, and he glares right back. This went so absolutely fucking terrible, and I don’t know how we ended up here, but I don’t think I’ve ever despised someone so much in my entire life.
He could’ve handled this so much better. I gave him my freaking virginity that night, and he’s acting like the whole thing was a mistake. I want to scream into a pillow and sob myself to sleep, but I absolutely will not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this hurts right now.
“You’re right,” he says, the icy chill coming back into his voice. “Do what you want, Carmie. I don’t give a shit. Just make sure you smile when your brothers come back.”
Which is exactly what I do. I plaster it on my fucking face, a big old grin like I’m having a great time, and I can tell my dad’s pleased by how the trip went.
And when we get back home, I puke my guts up in the bathroom and have to scream at Luca to leave me the hell alone when he asks if I’m okay, because I’m not okay, I’m not remotely okay, not even freaking close.