Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
DANIIL
My footsteps echo off the marble foyer, something I only notice because the penthouse is dead quiet at this late hour, or more accurately, early hour.
The fact that I’m home before two in the morning is a near miracle; my schedule has been nonstop since the casino opened two weeks ago.
But tonight, Leo took over managing the Bellair so I could attend to more pressing matters.
Like beating the shit out of a group of cheaters who were caught swapping cards under the table before the night was even in full swing. Their scam ran with two players switching cards to make up a winning hand, while a third person distracted the dealer with talk, and another acted as lookout.
There’s only one way to deal with cheats: swiftly and brutally. And that pleasure fell to me tonight. It’s a shame I couldn’t have administered the same punishment to Días the night of the casino opening.
I flex my now busted knuckles. They probably need an ice pack, but I opt for the numbing effect of booze instead.
Fixing myself a whisky from the bar cart, I discard my suit jacket and loosen my tie, allowing the liquor to settle my nerves.
Dropping onto the living room couch, I lean back and release a tense breath I didn’t know I was holding only to suck in a gulp of air that smells like her.
Fuck me, am I hallucinating? I turn and find a sweater of hers tossed along the back of the couch.
I’ve seen pictures of her wearing it on the terrace, staring out at the city buzzing below.
I’m barely around, but I know what she does every day—gym, shops, reads, paces, reads some more—because my men report everything back to me.
Everything but what is going on in that pretty little head of hers.
That remains a mystery. Not that she knows me either.
But it’s best this way. Most bratva marriages are built on duty and nothing more—Andrei and Yulian are the exceptions to the rule.
Even still, I can’t help but pick up Bianca’s sweater and take a deep inhale.
Her scent, like cloves and vanilla, washes over me, making me want something I can’t have.
I throw her sweater across the room, confused by my reaction. My cock twitches in my pants, and a feeling I have no words for blooms in my chest. In Russian, I would call her zanoza—a pain, a complication. From the moment she walked into my life, everything has been so damn complicated.
Starting with the fact that I now am required to work with her ex.
Every night, under Días’s careful watch, a handful of Zegas show up at the Bellair with wads of cash that they use to buy casino chips.
Then they hit the tables and slot machines, winning a bit here, losing a lot there.
When their loss is in the twenty percent range, Jorge signals his men.
They cash out their chips and leave with fresh bills from the casino—dirty money now clean, and our casino is thriving.
Except seeing Jorge parade through the Bellair like he’s the king of the fucking world is making me insane. Flashing an arrogant smile at the security cameras every chance he gets, he knows I’m sitting upstairs in my office watching him. Seething.
Yesterday, as I was walking out of the casino, The Madman stepped into my path, a shit-eating grin on his face. “How’s Bianca?” he asked with all the sincerity of a car salesman. “Please send my regards to her.”
I was reaching for my Glock when Leo stepped between us. “Easy,” he murmured. “He’s fucking with you. Don’t take the bait.”
But it’s too late. There’s a buzz in my veins that won’t be extinguished until Jorge is lying mangled at my feet, every bone in his body twisted unnaturally.
“If I ever hear my wife’s name on your tongue again, I’ll cut it out and feed it to the dogs,” I threatened, even though Leo remained between us.
“You mistake my intentions,” Jorge claimed, a mocking edge to his tone. Then, with a little bow, he slithered away, and I was left with an acidic taste in my mouth and the intense need for violence.
I settled for shots of vodka.
But what I really need is a long, hard fuck.
And that won’t be happening any time soon; my new wife and I are at an impasse. She doesn’t want to be married to me, and I don’t trust her. It’s a funny thing though, I still want to bend her over a chair, and make her wet for me.
Ever since our wedding night, I’ve obsessed over how fucking good it felt to have Bianca’s lips wrapped around my cock.
The way she obeyed my commands, getting on her knees for me when I told her to …
Shit, that was everything. Her inexperience was clear, but it only fueled my hunger.
I’ve been like a randy teenager since then, walking around at half-mast every time her lush curves and gorgeous face appear in my mind.
Fuck it, I’m hard as steel right now. I need a cold shower and a few hours of sleep before I do something really idiotic like visit the little traitor in her bed.
Abandoning my tumbler on the side table, I head towards my bedroom.
I’m passing by the open door of the library when I hear it.
A rustling sound, like papers being shuffled.
I enter the room cautiously. The penthouse is secure, I’m not worried about an intruder, but I’m curious to see what a member of my staff is doing in here at this hour.
A moment later, Bianca steps out of the shadows, a small pen and notebook in her hand.
Lit only by the moonlight streaming in through windows, she looks like a goddess as her full breasts swing gently under her loose tank top, and a tiny pair of sleep shorts show off smooth brown legs. Fuck. She’s designed to ruin me.
Self-preservation makes me look past her to the rows of bookshelves lining the room. “What are you doing in here?” I demand.
She startles, pressing a hand to her chest. “Daniil,” she chokes out. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s the point.”
I curl my toes into the Persian rug to stop myself from advancing on her. Instead, I cross my arms and lean against the wall behind me. With no makeup and her hair falling in soft waves around her face, she looks like an angel come to life.
Except she’s no angel. I see the way she’s trying to hide the notebook behind her back. “What’s that?” I gesture to the contents in her hands.
“Nothing,” she responds, her chin held high. “I was just … journaling.”
My eyes dart to the oak writing desk in the corner of the room.
It’s my mother’s desk, a memento I took from my childhood home to remind me of her.
The mother I lost way too fucking soon. I wonder what she would make of me now, a high-ranking vor who married not for love but for an alliance.
Somehow, I know she’d be disappointed in me.
Even though it’s common practice in our world, she would have wanted more for me.
She would have expected more.
Yet here I am, standing off with my wife that I treat no better than the hired help. I imagine I’d be a disappointment to my mother in more ways than one.
“Were you going through the desk?” I ask.
Truthfully, there’s nothing to find. I never work here.
And for that reason, I don’t bother locking the desk drawers.
I keep nothing related to the family business in the penthouse.
It’s Mafia 101, if our homes ever got raided, the authorities would find nothing of use.
“Of course not,” she fires back all too quickly. “Why would I go through your desk?”
“Care to share what’s in that little notebook of yours?”
“Now why would I do that?” She scowls at me but continues to stand her ground.
Amusement curls my lips. For some reason, I’m enjoying her bravado.
But I want to see if I can make her sweat.
Pushing off the wall, I take a few steps and close the gap between us, stopping just shy of touching her.
Her own arms wrap tightly around her waist, her wary gaze bounces around the room, as if looking for help or a way to escape me, but that’s not possible.
Time is suspended as I listen to her quickened breaths, waiting to see how she’ll react.
“I think you’re hiding something from me,” I whisper breezily in her ear.
She looks up to my face and our gazes hold, locked in battle. Most women would stand down at this point, but not Bianca. She meets my fiery look with a scathing one of her own.
“Fine, you want to read about how bored I am, how useless I feel here. Be my guest.” She holds the book up, but I don’t make a move for it, preferring to graze my thumb over the hammering pulse in her neck.
“What are you really looking for?” I ask, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. A little shiver dances down her spine.
“Nothing, pendejo. You ignore me for weeks and then you accuse me of … of what exactly? Snooping? As if I care to find out about your business. You mean nothing to me.” She pushes hard against my chest, but I don’t move an inch. Instead, I grab both of her hands and hold them captive in mine.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask, dipping my head to run the tip of my nose down her neck.
She turns her face away from me, but I don't miss the way her breath catches in her throat. “You made it clear you didn’t want this marriage, so I’m giving you space,” I growl.
“I haven’t forced myself on you. I haven’t asked anything of you.
I let you live your life, just as I’m living mine. ”
“Exactly,” she seethes. “We live like strangers. Having nothing to do with each other. Not even sharing a bed.”
A shaky laugh escapes my throat, and I release her hand that still clutches the journal. Reaching down, I twirl a piece of her silky chestnut hair around my finger. “I didn’t realize you needed to be fucked so badly.”
She snorts. “You’re clueless if you think that’s what this is about.”
“So enlighten me.” My thumb traces over her lips. A slow back and forth. Maybe I do it to see how she’ll respond …
A gasp escapes, causing her mouth to open, and those full lips parting reminds me how well she uses them.
It’s all I can do not to lean in and taste her.
The only thing holding me back is her fierce expression.
“I’m not allowed to do anything except shop, work out, and watch TV.
I’m dying a slow death over here, and you don’t even know or care. ”
Tears spring to her eyes, and my chest squeezes, a strange tightness wrapping around my lungs.
Blyad, I’ve gone soft. Since when am I moved by a woman’s tears or bothered by their emotions?
Bianca has a hold over me. I’m drawn to her.
I crave her. Need her. Even though she’s keeping something from me. I’m sure of it.
I step back from her, dragging a hand through my hair. Abruptly, I turn away, not wanting her to pick up on the conflicting emotions playing out inside me.
“Daniil.” Her voice is scarcely a whisper.
“I do care,” I say tightly.
Light footsteps shuffle towards me, but I flinch before she can make contact. I can’t stand her touch right now. I can’t bear to hear how much I’m disappointing her.
Not waiting for her response, I leave the room in a fog of confusion.
Sitting down heavily on my bed, I grab my cell off the desk and dial Kira’s number. She picks up after the first ring.
“Daniil! Nice to see your name pop up on my caller ID, even though it’s the middle of the night.” In the background, a car horn honks and yells ring out. The familiar sounds of New York City streets.
“And what are you still doing out at this late hour?” I chide jokingly.
“I could ask you the same thing!”
I snort. “Alright, fair point.” I lie back on the pillow and stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom. “I’m sorry I’m calling out of the blue. I know we haven’t spoken in a while. I’ve been busy.”
“Hell yeah, you have been. You’re a married man now, I hope you’ve been living in bed, having a shit ton of sweet newlywed sex—”
“Not quite,” I interrupt, rubbing the back of my neck. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh … ’kay.” There’s rustling and the sound of keys jangling as she enters her loft. “I’m all ears. What’s going on?”
Kira has only been in our lives for about a year—hell, we didn’t know we had a sister until shortly before that—and yet she’s become an integral part of our family. The best part, if you ask me.
“Fuck … I just …” I stumble, at a loss for how to explain myself. “I don’t know how to be married. What am I supposed to do?”
“I’m sorry?” A stifled laugh on the other end of the line. “You mean like, how to treat her?”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
I sound like such a loser. “She’s bored and lonely and told me as much.
I’m working all the time, cause that’s what I do.
She’s not like other mafia wives—she doesn’t want to shop and go to the gym all day.
She wants to work, and I don’t know … be useful somehow.
” What I don’t mention is how shitty I’ve treated her. Purposely.
There’s silence on the other end of the line before she asks, “So you didn’t even take time off for a honeymoon?”
“It’s an arranged marriage, and I’m busy with the casino.” And she hates me. But there’s no point in sharing that.
“Right. Well, first things first, you gotta make some time for her. Take her out for dinner. Nowhere fancy or too stuffy. Somewhere down-to-earth where you can both relax and get to know each other as people. Bianca does not strike me as a cartel princess, so don’t treat her like one.”
I scratch my chin. “I can do dinner. Anything else?”
Kira huffs out a laugh. “Start with dinner and not working all the damn time. She’ll tell you what to do next.”
I grin to myself. Yeah, she probably will. Bianca is no shrinking violet. “Can you organize a girls’ night out for her? I think it would help if she had some friends.”
“Already on it. We just need to settle on a date, then we’ll whisk her away for a crazy night on the town.”
“What!? I meant a quiet dinner, maybe a lounge or something … somewhere that we own. No crazy night!”
There’s a loud cackle on the other end of the line before she hangs up.
Shit. I have a feeling I just opened a big box of worms.