Chapter 9 - Aleksei
The idea first materializes in my head on the descent down the cold, grey stairs leading into the basement. It’s not the best course of action to go with something you thought of a few seconds beforehand—being a bit of a shotgun approach as far as the execution went, but it could work very well. The fact that we took the wrong Rossi sister is a humiliating mistake that will never happen again—of that I made sure, giving a stern warning to Grigor, and reminding myself that if I needed something to work out, I only have myself to rely on.
The discussion we came to with Dmitri and Grigor upstairs was that despite the fuckup at the club, keeping her is still an advantage. I itch to get Maksim’s and Nikolai’s input too, though their absence makes that impossible for now. That we have to use the current situation to our advantage is a fact that we all conceded on. The marriage, though, that is for my pleasure only. I can’t wait to hear from the old Rossi bastard once he finds out I married his eldest. That she’s mine. And that would just be the beginning before I break him down part by part, reveling in each step.
I don’t rush, choosing to relish in the moments before I reach the heavy-duty brown door. A plethora of images run through my mind, all of them different snapshots of Bianca’s expressions—possibilities of how she’ll react. Despite knowing her for such a short time, it’s a quirk of hers I’ve come to find endearing. Amusing , I correct myself.
When I enter the code into the sleek black touchpad on the side, the door slides open with ease. Bianca jumps to a standing position, staring with fear and anger radiating from those big, blue, doe eyes. I stare for a few moments, allowing a sense of satisfaction to wash over me. She may not be who we were initially hoping for, but she’ll make a very fine pawn to torment her father nonetheless.
I’ve already confirmed with independent sources that she is indeed Rossi’s daughter—his first, the bastard that was shunned from public appearances. It explains a lot—both in the fleeting resemblance she sometimes bears to him, and in that we weren’t aware there was a second, the elder one . When I mention it to her—that I know she’s the bastard—I notice her flinch. For a second, I wish I could explain further, to make her understand that it’s not a fact I hold against her but rather an explanation of why we weren’t aware of her existence. She wasn’t flaunted in public because she didn’t fit Lorenzo’s ideal image of the perfect family. But then it dawns on me that she is still in a state of shock and rage—enough for her not to listen—so I squash what little sympathy I have for her aside.
“The catch, darling, is that you’ll have to marry me.” The words still sound crazy, even when I feel them escaping from my own lips. So crazy they might just work.
She starts laughing, a deep-seated belly laugh full of mirth. It gets louder and louder, until it reaches an almost uncomfortable volume coming from such a petite body. She buckles over, propping her palms on her knees for support. She then looks up, lifting her brows in a question.
“You’re kidding, right?” She asks, voice airy after her laughter. “ Right? ”
When she catches onto the fact that I’m not reacting the way she’d expect me to if it was a joke, she straightens herself up before getting closer.
“What the hell?” She half shouts, making me somewhat confused. I thought this would’ve been the main possibility when I told her I intended to keep her. To have her under my protection. Wasn’t this the best way to do that?
“I told you I’d—“ I’m cut off by an angry pointed finger shoved into my chest, attempting to push me back. The weight behind it does little more than make me chuckle, which seems to enrage her more.
“No, listen here!” She starts, huffing and puffing. “You said I was useful to you. That you’d keep me alive. There’s no need for any of this.” She forms her pointing finger back into a frustrated fist and punches at me lightly. The tears flow freely from her eyes now.
When she begins to repeatedly pummel her fists down onto my chest with more and more force, I bring my hands around her wrists and she lets go, defeated.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She questions, eyes red as she stares up at me.
I bend down slightly to look her in the eyes. “Look at me. Think about this rationally. It is the best option for both of us right now. I don’t want to make you into a martyr, but I do have some blood debts I need to repay.” She looks intently now, grasping onto every word I say. Good girl. “I know you’re not in frequent contact with your family apart from your sister. I’ve seen your file. I know how they treated you. You have some scores to even too, right?” She nods, almost in a trance. “Think of this as a business collaboration.”
When her breathing calms, I find myself on the cusp of taking her hand in mine, stopping myself just before I touch her skin.
“Come, we’ve got a room for you upstairs. Much better than it is here.” I head to the door, not waiting for her answer. When I don’t hear shuffling behind me, I turn for a second, seeing a myriad of fleeting thoughts cross her face before she finally decides to move.
I lead her up the stairs from the basement—ones she ascends slowly, almost trance-like. We make it down several corridors before we reach the main wing of the house and enter the living room. The mansion our father passed on to us is not much beyond a place to sleep for all of us, but even I sometimes marvel at its opulent size. I look to her again, noting her interested expression, looking around, committing things to memory. The first time she was here she was probably going off pure adrenaline, not taking much stock of her surroundings, unlike now.
I lead her through, passing briefly through the kitchen before entering the foyer, slowly starting our ascent up the massive, curved staircase leading to the first floor. There is just one corridor, split in the middle by the staircase. We turn right, and I lead her to the penultimate door. Nudging the door open, I turn to her. The room is vast, one that we had had uninhabited for years, having preferred to keep it empty after her death.
“Here’s your room. I had some clothes picked out for you, alongside some toiletries.” I state, looking at the room. It is dark now, the moonlight peeking in through the curtains. She slips past me, no hesitation. I find myself somewhat impressed.
“Thanks,” is all she utters when she turns back. I lean against the doorframe, scanning her curvy body for any injuries. It’s a habit I formed back when she was still alive, checking for her safety even when no danger was present. Then one day I felt too comfortable, and that was the day she was taken from me.
“I do want to let you know though; I’ll have to lock you in from the outside. It’s mainly for peace of mind.” I can see her roll her eyes at me at this. I smirk at her attitude, even in these circumstances. “I’ll come get you tomorrow morning. Sleep tight.”
“Yeah, right.” Her words echo as I close the door, locking it before walking to my room.
I wake up from a restless sleep to turn to the window, seeing the sun peeking over the horizon. I wonder how she slept. If she could sleep.
Once I shower and put some clothes on, I head next door and knock on her door. When I unlock it, I find her sitting at the foot of the bed looking antsy. She still has bags under her eyes, but the droopiness of her eyelids hints that she got at least a few hours of shuteye.
“I thought about it more, you know.” She stands up and starts toward me. “The entire night, actually. I need to go along with your little game of playing house, but don’t expect me to be nice about it.” She rushes by me, heading towards the stairs. I only noticed now that she changed out of her clothes, having put on jeans and a shirt from the collection I’ve had prepared for her.
I lead her through the mansion and into the garage, where a driver is already waiting for us. We sit at the back of the limousine, and I can’t help but laugh at Bianca’s stiff pose—her back pin straight and legs on her knees. I try to brief her on the venue we’re heading to, but she keeps her gaze focused squarely on the seat in front of her.
We get out of the vehicle swiftly, entering the building through the back entrance, the irony of which is not lost on me. The dressing rooms are already prepped and full of staff. I don’t take her to the heart of the venue, in hopes of not overwhelming her pre-emptively. I stand by a table while I motion to the middle-aged woman standing in front of her.
“This is Lana, a dressmaker. She’s worked with our family for decades.” Then I turn to Bianca, who looks at me, then the woman next to her, with big eyes. “This is Bianca. Treat her well please, it’s her big day today.”
Lana gets to work straight away, taking Bianca’s measurements as she announces: “The approximate measurements you gave us are great, we don’t need to tailor any of the dress. It’ll fit her like a glove.” She smiles at Bianca, then turns her gaze between us again. “We could start putting it on. The makeup artist will work on you, Bianca, after that.”
Bianca nods, returning Lana’s warm smile, before turning to me as if remembering I am still present. “Are you just going to stand there?” She asks, voice somewhat demanding.
“I want to see the dress, too,” I reply, offering her a smirk. The truth is I don’t care much for the dress, nor do I need to stay, but I’ve come to learn over the past few hours we spent together that I loved watching her. Loved seeing her expressions and curvy body.
Lana’s assistants bring the dress over, a pretty lace bodice with pearl accents. She motions and reassures Bianca to step into the dress, but Bianca shakes her head and refuses to get in.
“I want you to leave, Aleksei.” She says, glancing towards me. “Actually, can I have a moment with him alone?” She looks to Lana and the staff standing around, who reluctantly look around between me and Bianca. I stay silent, staring her down.
“No,” I smirk at her, realizing I’m getting hard under her defiant gaze.
“What the hell is wrong with all of you? Please , can you all get out?” No one responds until I do. I may be annoyed by Bianca’s constant questioning and refusal despite the time constraint, but what irks me more is how all the staff ignore her. Don’t they know she is mine now? That they need to respect her the same way they do me? In a surprising twist, her growing anger only fuels how turned I am getting, truly comprehending that her defiance pleases me in more ways than one. I clear my throat.
“Get out!” I shout.
Once everyone shuffles out of the room, Bianca pins me down with a stern gaze. “I realized I can’t do this—I won’t.” She starts.
I interject. “Put it on, now .”
She lifts her hands up in frustration, as if motioning to the heavens. “There is no way in hell my wedding day will go like this. Please get out. I need some time to think.”
I stand up, feeling frustration well up within me.
“ Put it on, ” I order, and she laughs. In my face.
“You know, fuck it, I might as well. This is all just a lie anyways.” She tugs the shirt over her shoulders and throws it on the floor. The jeans follow shortly after. When she’s standing there in her bra and thongs, she looks me dead in the eyes as she starts undoing the back clasps of her bra. When done, she gives a little sarcastic bow before heading to the dress and pulling it roughly up her body. I’m surprised the fabric doesn’t tear.
She holds the sleeveless dress up to where it’s meant to be placed, though still unzipped, and glares at me. “Here you go, husband. Isn’t it pretty?” She smiles a sweet smile, underpinned with hate and frustration simmering beneath.
“Put it on properly, we don’t have much time before the ceremony.”
“No.”
“I said—“
“I heard what you said, I refuse.” She smiles again, looking almost dazed.
I stand up, feeling the annoyance finally reach a tipping point before I reach her.
“If you don’t put it on, I’ll do it for you.” I come closer to her, and with each step she takes one backwards. She doesn’t realize there’s not much distance until her back reaches the wall and she lets out a surprised huff. My arms come up against the wall, pinning her in place so she has nowhere else to run off to. The rise and fall of her chest quickens. I grab her waist and turn her to the side, so the zipper faces me. I grasp it, playing with it for a while before starting to zip it up.
She turns to me, staring daggers into my soul.
Once done, I attach the one last latch at the top of the corset, straining my face as I feel myself growing impossibly hard. Bianca doesn’t notice, choosing to instead look anywhere but me now.
“Be good, little bird.” I get closer, whispering into her ear. “It’ll be better for us both.” She rolls her eyes so hard they almost fall back into her skull.
“And what’ll you do if I’m not? Kill me?” She scoffs.
I take a step back, admiring the seamstress’ work. The cream corset bodice is embroidered with pearl accents that line the hem and fall in cascades over the length of the torso, making it look like flowing water, emphasized by the crystals sown into it. The corset accentuates her cleavage nicely, catching my eyes for a moment too long before I look away. The dress becomes very voluminous at the waist, flowing around her curvy bottom to give her an impeccable hourglass figure. I nod, humming.
“What if I don’t go out there? There’s always a back entrance if you want to meet me outside.” She smirks, thinking her joke very funny.
“Then what? You’ll have your younger sister put a bag over my head and take me back to your father’s mansion? Don’t forget, if you’re too desperate to fight back against everything, I can have Giorgia brought here too. That would be great motivation for you to act right. Hm?” She freezes, throwing me a glacier stare.
“Monster.” She huffs, and I laugh, starting to grow fond of her new nickname for me.