Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Lucy
The rain lashed down in sheets.
Thunder rumbled above us just as we reached the gates of Kirill’s residence. His mansion loomed ahead, and its forbidding structure weighed heavily on my shoulders. I was exhausted. It was exhausting to force a smile when all my lips wanted to do was snarl or snap my husband’s head off.
Much like a female praying mantis would do to its mate after coupling.
I glanced surreptitiously at Kirill, who was busy scrolling through his phone. I had no intention of having sex with him. That idea had been flushed down the sewers since I discovered him with Anya. It was the ultimate insult, and Kirill didn’t seem the least bit apologetic.
Whatever. I was holding on to my outrage and kept the stabbing pain in my chest locked tight. Except it was like a bleeding wound being held together by ragged sutures, and a primal scream was threatening to break free.
I maintained the demeanor of the radiant bride as we ate cake for the benefit of my relatives.
My brother, Dom, especially, had a strong sense of taking care of family.
I was so glad he had Sloane now, and she was his priority.
But as we prepared to leave in the limousine after the reception, I couldn’t dispel the tortured expression in my brother’s eyes.
That he’d let me down. That he was sending me off to an execution, and he was helpless to stop it.
I didn’t see Dad or Uncle Cesar. I had a feeling my uncle was keeping my father from losing his damn mind.
The women at least counterbalanced their men’s grim expressions, especially Mamma and Irina.
Instead of parking in front of the house, the limo made it all the way around and rolled into a vast garage that could hold six huge SUVs easily. A spot was already vacated right by the door leading indoors.
Sato helped me out. Water was clinging to his hair, and his suit appeared drenched. There was a solemn expression on his face, almost sympathy, but I tipped my chin and glanced over the roof of the limo at Kirill. “Same room?”
Kirill looked at Sato. “Are her things in there?”
“Yes.”
I gave a brief nod and, with my head still held high, I walked into the house. I didn’t move too quickly. I didn’t know my way around, and getting lost and walking in circles in my wedding gown would negate the aura that I was in control.
I expected the house staff to appear, but none came. It was Kirill who appeared by my side.
“I guess we’re not having a wedding night?” he asked.
He couldn’t be serious!
I huffed and glared at him. The nerve.
His face didn’t show reaction except to motion me to turn right from the kitchen, and I recognized the stairs that led to the bedroom.
“I can find my way from here.”
“I have something to say to you.”
“Can you say it here and get it over with?”
In a flash, he tossed me over his shoulder.
“How dare you?” I shouted and pounded on his back. “I’m not sleeping with you!”
He was ascending the steps. Hysteria started bubbling up my throat, but since I was upside down, it burned in my chest and replaced the bottled-up pain with survival.
Pounding on his back was like pounding on a wall, and he had my legs barred tight. And I resisted wiggling too much for fear of toppling down the stairs.
I let my arms hang loosely, frustrated and saving my energy to fight him in case he forced himself on me.
We entered the bedroom, and I was immediately tossed onto the bed. I rolled off and scrambled to the French doors leading to a balcony. And then what?
“Stay away from me!”
“I’m not going to touch you!” Kirill growled. “No need for theatrics.”
“And you expect me to believe you, you lying bastard!”
“I prefer my women willing, and there’s plenty around who are willing. Trust me.”
“Like Anya?”
His mouth twisted cruelly. “Anya is one of them.”
“Then what’s this? I could have found my way to the bedroom by myself.” Then I added with a sneer, “No need to tuck me in.”
“Jesus Christ, you test my patience.” He stalked toward me, and even if he said he wouldn’t touch me, I still recoiled. Kirill was all stone face and expressionless now. His icy eyes could freeze me in place. “You’re ruining the delivery.”
“The delivery of what?”
He backed me against the wall, leaned in, and caged me with his arms yet kept his body from touching me. “You’re right. I tricked you, although this would have been more satisfactory if you had fallen for my courtship.”
I laughed maniacally. “You seem to have the wrong concept of courtship because nowhere did I feel courted.”
“Because I’ve never done it, and I suck at faking it. Besides, you have a nose for bullshit. You’re here for my revenge. Kolya and Anya were my family in Russia. Now Kolya is in jail, and he has lost his anonymity to do the work he was trained to do for the bratva.”
“What? Kill people for a living?” I scoffed. “He may have been wrongly accused of being the Mistress Strangler, but don’t tell me he hasn’t killed hundreds.”
“That’s mob business.”
“Doesn’t justify it in my eyes. And why do you still blame me for Kolya? How is it my fault? It was your own people who framed him.”
“But they’re dead, and you’re the next best target.”
I clamped my mouth shut.
Kirill leaned back. “So, yes. You’ll be my wife. You will present yourself dutifully as a pakhan’s wife. I don’t need to fuck you, and you will have no say in who I fuck.”
“Does that mean—”
“Let another man touch you, and I’ll gut him right in front of you.”
“How is that fair?” I gasped.
“This is my revenge, remember? Every humiliation you suffer is a debt to be paid.”
“Because technically, you can’t kill me.”
“Correct.”
I was fuming, seething. The arrogance. It reiterated how much I hated men like him. But it was just a year. What Kirill didn’t know was that it took more than his having an affair to humiliate me. Humiliation meant I cared.
Did I?
No. Fuck him.
Wait, no.
Fuck that.
His hand reached out as if to touch my face, but I flinched, so he dropped it and backed away.
I squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. What else did he want? He won. And that irritated the hell out of me. I also needed him out of this room because I was suffocating in this farce of a wedding dress.
“I’m going to fulfill my commitment to this marriage. Unlike you, I have no problem abstaining from sex for a year. I will not be the one to break my vows.”
“You’re giving me permission to cheat?”
“Do I have a choice, Kirill? My hands are tied, and I don’t want a war.”
“Such a sacrifice.”
“But understand this. In public, I will act as your dutiful wife, but in private, we’re nothing, got it?
You keep to your shit, and I’ll keep to mine.
I’ll find my way in your world and make sure I will not affect your success as pakhan.
The quicker you cement your position, the quicker we can divorce. ”
He seemed to believe me, but he was still looking at me with eyes like glittering ice. “You surprise me, Lucy.”
“What were you expecting? A crying mess?” I scoffed. Fuck if I gave him that satisfaction. “You haven’t earned my tears, Kirill.”
His jaw tightened. “I bet you’re pretty when you cry.”
Fuck that.
“Are you done? Because I’m exhausted.”
He backed away slowly and smirked. “Happy wedding night.”
When he left, my bones liquefied, sending my ass to the floor.
It was as if Kirill pissed me off so badly all the blood went to my head, and when it was all over, it drained to the soles of my feet.
The layers of the gown smothered me. I crawled on all fours until I was sure I could stand without swaying.
I twisted to get at the buttons on my back, but I couldn’t reach them.
A sob tore through my throat in frustration. They were meant for the groom to assist me.
Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting the mirror in front of me. I was like a wraith. The ghost of an abandoned bride.
I fell asleep on the floor, and I knew this because a beep on my phone woke me up.
The storm had abated, but I could hear rumblings of thunder in the distance. The clock said three fifteen. I’d slept for two hours.
Another message came.
Do you know where your husband is?
I waited.
And an image came.
I recognized Anya’s house, but there was no sign of Kirill.
Did it matter anymore?
I pushed up on the floor, my bones aching because they weren’t used to the hard surface. I slept in my wedding gown. How pathetic.
I yanked at the back. It resisted at first, then buttons sprayed everywhere as the fabric gave way.
Sounds of frustration bubbled up my throat. Groans, grunts, sobs. I tore at the garment. When I was free of the wedding dress, I padded to the bathroom and started the shower.
I yanked the pins from my hair, welcoming the pain that brought tears to my eyes. With my smeared makeup, I looked a fright, but I was determined to wash the night away.
I stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to scorch all traces of the night into oblivion. It was becoming a habit in this room, but amidst the roar of its jets, that primal scream escaped.
It was long, guttural, originating from the depths of my soul.
Catharsis.
Something happened in that shower when I let out all the bottled emotion and the images I suppressed since the night that changed my life.
Davenport being injected with heroin and seizing.
I was helpless as Viktor’s men held me down.
Being locked in the car's trunk with a dead body. The eyes of the dead trooper. Shooting Viktor and killing him. I’d reached the point where my body stopped survival mode and now I was existing in the nightmare birthed from that night.
It was up to me how I chose to live through the nightmare.
So the next morning, I woke up to have breakfast. I sat in the kitchen and had coffee, enjoying an array of breakfast bread, eggs, and ham. Sato joined me. Asked me how I was, but I didn’t respond, except with a shrug.
He sat warily in front of me and started scrolling through his phone. I didn’t ask about Kirill.
I didn’t care.
About half an hour later, my husband strode in. He was still wearing his tuxedo from last night, without a tie, and with his shirt unbuttoned.
I didn’t care.
He walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug. Then he turned around and stared at me.
I shoveled eggs into my mouth and sipped coffee, ignoring him.
“I had to go out last night,” he informed me.
That was when I looked at him. “Should I care?”
“Anya tried to kill herself.”
That sent a jolt through me, but was I supposed to feel sympathy?
That I had to ask myself that question left a nasty taste in my mouth.
It was like déjà vu. My mother manipulated Dom and Dad to get what she wanted.
She never attempted suicide, but I saw the terror in my father’s eyes each time my mother fell into deep depression, and I hated her for doing that to Dad.
Here I was again, but the joke was on me because in what universe was I supposed to care about my husband’s mistress?
I sipped coffee, and it burned my throat like battery acid. I set it down and pushed the mug away and asked the question someone with a shred of basic human decency would ask. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes, but she’s in the hospital for observation.” Kirill raked his hand through his hair.
“Do you want me to send her flowers?”
Kirill’s eyes flashed, and he slammed his mug on the table, startling me. Sato grew alert and sat forward.
“You think this is a joke?” Kirill snarled. “Her blood was everywhere! She’s spiraling because I married you, and you want to send her flowers from us? Rub it in that I married you instead of her?”
Wow, that was the first time I’d seen a storm of emotion from Kirill. He must really love Anya.
“But the public doesn’t know that.” I probably needed to inject some common sense back into him.
Clearly, he wasn’t thinking straight. In this regard, I was his perfect wife.
“Tell me what to do here, Kirill? Tell me how to play your game or whatever scheme you’re cooking up.
You say you don’t want to raise any suspicion about the two of you.
That was why I suggested sending flowers from us. Because you rushed to her side…”
“She gave a statement to the press this morning that she couldn’t live without Bruce Davenport as the reason she tried to take her own life.”
I sat back in my chair. Wow. She attempted suicide, supposedly was suffering from blood loss and deep depression, and could speak to the press.
“You put her up to it?”
“For damage control. What a mess!” He sliced his hand through the air. “Some reporter caught wind I was in her house when I should be here with my bride.”
“Wasn’t that your intention anyway? For my total humiliation. What’s more humiliating than an abandoned bride on her wedding night?”
Kirill glared at me. “It doesn’t work if the mistress tries to kill herself.”
“You’re feeling guilty because your revenge on me sent Anya over the edge and it wasn’t what you were planning?”
“Careful,” he sneered. “You almost sound sympathetic to Anya.”
“I’m trying to be the bigger person here but it looks like you're blaming me for this entire fiasco.” I stood up. “Well, guess what? I’m done trying to save your ass. You figure out how to handle your scandals, and we’ll communicate through a calendar when you need me to make an appearance.”
I was done.
I stomped out of the kitchen. Not one day married, and I wanted to stab my husband in the eye.
It was going to be a long year.