Chapter 21 – Luka
I n the quiet of the night, while my new bride dozed, I finally had the time and space I needed to consider what I’d done. I bound myself to another woman. Me. The man who danced with death, unable to tempt him into taking me for a spin.
My palm rubbed across my chest. There was an ache there, the old, familiar feeling that kept Sasha on my mind. It’d been almost a decade since I lost her, and still, she was always there in the back of my mind.
“I’m not replacing you,” I whispered to the stretch of highway.
There would never be another Sasha Vlasova. But if God had made a replica in another woman, it would be the one in the passenger seat beside me. That had to be why the lust simmering in my veins didn’t feel wrong or why her embrace didn’t fill me with regret.
“I don’t love Vivian, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that way again,” I continued the nearly silent confession. “This is only to protect her. The logical thing to do.”
There was no answer, no correspondence with the supernatural.
I sighed. “Am I healing?”
Every living being should want to live. I hadn’t. Yes, I had verbal promises to my brother and sacred vows to my brotherhood, the bratva. But those paled to the pain of loneliness. Part of me hurt so badly that living was a burden. But now there was a purpose bigger than myself, stronger than any other previous argument. The bratva and Kolya could survive without me. Vivian couldn’t. My life would keep Vivian safe. If our marriage was nothing but platonic, if we never touched again, I would exist to protect her.
“I can do that,” I murmured, fingers digging into my sternum as I tried and failed to reach the gnarled cuts, which ran so deep that time couldn’t erase them. Not that I wanted it to. That would mean letting Sasha go. And that would be the ultimate betrayal.
***
If I was a smart man, I wouldn’t have stopped for pastries. Hell, if I was a smart man, I wouldn’t have disobeyed my pakhan. But his orders were wrong, and it was up to me to show him that. We might be criminals, but we had lines we just wouldn’t cross. And once Dimitri learned the true price his favor from Markem Regis would cost, he would see I had no choice but to act.
It wasn’t like we hadn’t done our homework when Markem first contacted us. But there was nothing suspicious about his claim. He’d fought with his fiancée, and she’d run away in a fit of ill judgment. The key details in that story weren’t ones to be found in a data sweep.
The muscles in my jaw clenched as I left the bakery. Markem was years older than Vivian, but an age gap was nothing in our world. Still, the thought of him touching her….
Was marrying her hasty? But my gut had told me to make the move and stake my claim.
Dimitri wouldn’t be happy, but he wasn’t going to kill me. And bringing his wife her favorite pastries, along with enough for the other women at home, was just good sense.
Vivian woke up as I slid back in the Nova.
“Here, have one,” I offered, setting the boxes on her lap.
She looked at her hands and sighed. “I need a shower. And a proper bed.”
My dick stiffened at the images flooding my head. Oh, the things I could do to her in either of those places. The idea of her soft skin was so real, my palms could feel it. The sounds she would make as I worshiped those lush curves played vividly in my ears. I couldn’t wait to take her again.
On instinct, I checked again and found not a trace of the bone-aching regret, only the need to protect. It would take hours, probably days if not weeks to process that phenomenon. Right now, I had other, more pressing matters.
“Here’s my plan,” I said, noticing how husky my voice was. It was as if I’d eaten gravel. “I’m going to sneak you up the back to my room—”
“Hold up! Wait just a minute.” Vivian turned on me. “Your room. Where are you taking me?”
Probably should have started with that. “My family lives together. I’ll take you to my suites, where you’ll have privacy. You can shower, nap, or whatever else you need.”
Whether she was too tired to protest or was too overwhelmed to sleep, Vivian quietly ate the pastry. We pulled into the fortress, where the guards’ eyes sparkled over my ride. Genrikh ambled over and was already unhooking the hood before I cut the engine. Chuckling, I popped the release so he could enjoy the view.
“She’s beautiful, Luka,” he called from under the hood.
“Needs some cleanup, but she’s a rare find,” I agreed, but it wasn’t the classic piece of American muscle that my gaze wandered over.
Vivian took the boxes and for once seemed lost for words.
“Genrikh, this is Vivian—my wife.”
The guard jumped so high in surprise that he nearly hit his head on the hood.
“See that she has clearance to come and go as she needs,” I instructed.
Without waiting for his assent, I hurried Vivian into the kitchen. My father converted this factory into a fortress, and my late mother turned the pile of brick into a palace. But the current mistress of the castle made it a home. Most of the construction was wrapping up. Now Dimitri took up an entire wing with his bride, as did Kazimir. But the central hub of the space was Chiara’s kitchen.
Already our cook and her sister the housekeeper were bustling to prepare breakfast. I set the boxes of pastries down and exchanged warm greetings with the women.
“Mila and Ania, may I introduce my wife, Vivian,” I said in our mother tongue, as I swept a hand toward my bride.
A pin falling could have been heard in the kitchen. The only sound to mask it would have been the whir of electricity from the overhead lights.
“Now, be good girls, and help yourself to a cruller,” I said with a wink.
Vivian was giving me the stink eye for speaking in Russian. But I shepherded her upstairs with only one box of pastries.
“And these,” I said in English, “are our rooms.”
“Wow.” The single word escaped as a breath. “This…this isn’t what I was expecting.”
Curiosity spiked. “Color me a picture, darlin.”
She snorted. “I can win any mock trial, but drawing isn’t one of my many talents.”
“With your words, smart ass,” I quipped, grabbing a pair of my joggers, a tee, and boxers. I snatched a clean towel from the upper shelf before presenting the stack to her.
The thought of her wearing my clothes sent a zing of electricity through me.
Vivian huffed through her nose and fisted her hands on her hips. “I was expecting a dump. Some squatter’s hole-in-the-wall, filled with stale beer and dirty tissues from your depressing love life.”
The fit of laughter that overtook me sent me bending at the waist. Vivian’s look of astonishment only made it twice as hilarious. I hadn’t slept enough either, and my emotions were strung tight, ready to snap. It was better to laugh than find an alternative release.
Still chuckling, I left the bedroom. I only sobered up enough to be silent for this next part.
Dimitri’s door was locked. It didn’t even slow me down as I fished a duplicate key from my pocket.
A low snarl greeted me, but a well-tossed cruller and a soft murmur settled the hellhound. I placed the box of pastries on the queen’s side of the bed before jumping to perch on the footboard. The motion jostled the king, but it took a nudge from my boot to send him bolting upright.
A gun flashed in the dark.
I ducked.
The shot made Laurel scream.
“Hey, hey!” I bellowed. “It’s still my wedding night! I don’t want to die before I’ve sated my bride.”
In the echoes of the gunshot, the silence pulsed like a living thing.
“Explain.” Something dark and volatile dripped from my cousin. It slid around me like a vice, threatening to cut off the precious supply of oxygen.
I smirked in defiance, resuming my seat. “Laurel, my darling cousin, I stopped by Geppetto’s for a treat.”
“Luka, explain. Now!” Dimitri growled.
Kicking my leg against the edge of the bed, I kept my tone light as I quipped. “What don’t you understand? I got married—eloped, actually.”
Dimitri let out a ragged sigh. He fell back against his pillow, scrubbing both hands over his head.
“And your…bride?” Laurel tried, but her voice was full of surprise.
“Oh, Vivian? She’s taking a shower. Had to wash the Tennessee River off.” I grinned. “I wanted you to be the first to know. Except…I told Genrikh. Oh, and Mila. Ania too. They all met Vivian already. Sorry, I couldn’t bring her in for a proper introduction. But if I’d have known you were going to shoot at us, I probably would have—”
“Vivian?” Dimitri boomed. It took him long enough to cut off my rambling. “As in Vivian Hayworth? Markem Regis’s fiancée?”
“We haven’t discussed last names, but in my head, she’s Vivian Vlasova. Beautiful name, don’t you think?” I sighed dreamily.
“I need a drink,” the pakhan muttered.
“Little early for that, isn’t it, boss?” I pointed at the box of pastries in Laurel’s hands. “How about a good, fresh baked treat?”
“Considering we went to bed at four, and it’s now—”
“5:57,” I informed him helpfully.
“Saints. I’m going to fucking kill you, Luka. You’re dead.”
I sighed. “My time has come. Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant.”