Chapter 9
TIERNEY
I’ve survived covert operations, physical combat, and my father’s disappointment.
Five days married to Bronx Viacava has tested me in ways none of those ever did.
So far, I haven’t strangled him in his sleep.
Lucky for him, the bed he insisted we share is big enough for a small army.
I go to bed first, stick to my side, and each morning I wake to find him sprawled across half the mattress like some sun-warmed deity, wearing nothing but silk boxers.
The second my eyes open, I throw back the sheets and get out without letting my gaze linger on his tanned, cut abdomen or the dark lashes resting against cheekbones that look engineered rather than grown.
Six seconds. That’s my record.
I pull on the sweatshirt he’d left draped over a chair; the fabric hanging off me and smelling faintly of his belly-flipping cologne.
It’s simply a necessity to drown out the silk pajama set he bought without asking. Considering I arrived here with nothing, I’m not in a position to protest.
I perch on a stool at the black marble kitchen island and sip my sugary latte. Some blessings arrive disguised as frothy coffee.
That’s what I tell myself while sitting in a billionaire’s penthouse, wearing a ring that’s not my style and a surname that makes me gag when I think about it.
“Did you make me a coffee too, princess?”
Bronx strolls into the kitchen with that lazy swagger of his and a grin that would undo any woman who didn’t know better.
“I’m not your servant.” I flip him the bird and take another sip.
“Still a cranky little wife.” He reaches for a mug in the high cupboard and, damn, his tattoos catch the daylight and come alive against his skin. “I’ve given you a few days to adjust. Now it’s time you learned how I like my coffee.”
I let out a throaty half-laugh and swivel on the stool so my back faces him. “Not interested.”
I feel him before I see him.
One second I’m turned away, the next he’s yanking the stool so I’m forced to face him.
“Do you wake every morning and decide to be a bratty little princess?” He lifts my coffee from my hand and takes a slow sip. “Funny how someone so pretty and bitter likes her coffee so sweet.”
A lock of dark hair falls across his brow, and those rich hazel eyes of his pin me in place. Being this close, with his full attention fixed on me, sends heat flashing through my veins before I can shut it down.
I steady my breathing according to my training. In through my nose. Out through my mouth and my pulse should follow.
“Wonderful,” I say, slipping off the stool and giving him the advantage of height. “Now you’ve contaminated the only thing I enjoy in this try-hard apartment. God knows where your mouth’s been.”
“Oh, princess…”
He sets the mug down and catches my arm before I can step away, pulling me into his bare chest.
His mouth lowers to the side of my face, breath warm against the shell of my ear.
“You hate that you feel it, don’t you,” he says, his voice deep. “That quick little pulse under your skin when I get this close to you.”
When I try to pull away, his fingers clamp around my arm.
“From the moment I said my vows,” he continues, gaze dragging over my face, “I decided my lips would only touch yours. And wherever else you beg me to put them.”
My pulse betrays me, fluttering exactly where he’d pointed out.
“I’d advise you to take a step back before I break every bone in the hand that’s touching me,” I say, even though my heart is racing hard enough to bruise my ribs. “I warned you not to touch me.”
He laughs in a low rumble and lifts his other hand, catching the hem of the sweatshirt I’m wearing.
“I’m already all over you, princess,” he murmurs, fingers grazing the fabric. “My name. My clothes. My cologne. You’re wrapped in me whether you admit it or not. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can consummate our happy marriage.”
“You have big shoes to fill, Bronx.” I lift my chin and gaze into his eyes. “My boyfriend was a demon under the sheets. That’s what happens when two people actually love each other.”
For a fraction of a second, the gold flecks in his hazel eyes vanish as his pupils darken, widening until there’s almost nothing left but black.
His hand stills.
“What did I tell you about that word, Tierney?” he asks, the controlled tone he uses chilling.
“I’m your husband. He’s a memory. And I don’t tolerate ex’s vying for a woman who already belongs to me.” A muscle ticks in his jaw, but his voice stays level. “Do I need to remind you how easily problems in Ireland can disappear?”
I close my eyes for a beat, pulling anger up like armour.
“Aww, Bronx,” I say, meeting his gaze now with a taunting smile. “Are you really that intimidated by a guy who doesn’t need a flashy penthouse as an extension of his big fat ego?”
His thumb drifts to the band I haven’t taken off yet, turning it slightly.
“I like this ring on your finger,” he says, gaze holding mine. “It suits you, wife, very much.”
His mouth hovers near my temple again, not touching this time, and I can’t help the shiver he gives me.
“You’re mine now,” he says. “And I’m going to show you how insignificant your past really is.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, shoving into his chest with my shoulder. “I’m going to take a shower.”
He releases me without argument and steps back.
I don’t look at him while I walk out of the kitchen, though I sense his gaze all over my back, burning into my every stride.
I head straight for the farthest bathroom in the penthouse and close the door behind me.
Once I’ve stripped, I step beneath the hot spray and stand there, letting the water pound against my shoulders until the steam thickens the air and blurs the edges of my frustration.
When I close my eyes, Damien surfaces in my thoughts.
The warmth of him after nights when my nerves were still buzzing from jobs I couldn’t talk about. Sometimes the sex between us was urgent and hungry. Other times it was just me going through the motions.
And maybe I mistook what we had for love.
A place where safety and peace flowed as a steady rhythm that didn’t demand blood and violence.
I squeeze shampoo onto my hand and lather it in my hair, wondering if Damien was the one.
Or had he simply gifted me a resting place after I’d done bad things to bad people.
That thought scares me, because if I can’t tell the difference between comfort and love, then what does that say about me?
Water rinses the suds, and I watch them swirl down the plughole.
While I’m lost in thought, the bathroom door opens and Bronx strolls inside.
“Why the fuck are you stalking me?” I snap, wiping a circle through the steam so I can see him properly.
It doesn’t help that he’s still half dressed, toothbrush in his mouth, moving with cocky confidence. He spits into the sink and rinses, completely unbothered.
“Relax, princess. The glass is fogged. I can’t see anything.”
“Jesus, Bronx,” I hiss. “That’s not my point.”
He turns toward me, and in the mirror I catch the reflection of the ink spread across his back, dark lines spreading over muscle as he leans against the vanity.
There’s a slow smile on his face because the asshole knows he’s getting under my skin.
“Then what is the point?” he asks, tone lazy. “You’re my wife. Shared spaces come with the territory. If you refuse to use the en-suite in our bedroom, I’ll join you in this one.”
Heat flashes up my spine. I thump my palm against the glass.
“I will end you.”
He studies me through the steam for a beat, eyes steady, before taking the toothbrush out of his mouth.
“Let’s do it,” he says, winking. “I’d love to wrestle my naked, wet wife on the bathroom floor. Promise me you won’t hold back.”
Something in his grin snaps the last thread of my patience.
“Try me then, Bronx.” I shove the shower door open and step out.
Water streams down my skin, pooling at my toes, steam curling around the room.
I don’t reach for a towel to cover myself. Rather, I square my shoulders, hitch my chin higher, and pad barefoot towards him.
“You think this is a joke?” I ask, slotting my hands on my hips. “You think because we signed a silly piece of paper you get to swagger in here and play the dominant husband?”
I stop inches from him and stare right into his fucking mesmerising eyes.
“I was trained to kill men like you,” I continue, keeping tone deadly calm. “Cocky. Distracted. Overconfident bastards.”
My gaze flicks to the counter behind him.
“The cord from that hairdryer would loop around your throat nicely. Two seconds to get it in place. One sharp pivot. Drop my weight and you’d hit the tiles before you realized I wasn’t flirting.”
His chest rises, and a small smile dances at the corners of his mouth.
“I could do it now,” I say, leaning in ever so slightly.
For a beat, neither of us moves, then his hand comes up and his fingers span the back of my neck. He kills the space between us with one tug so our bodies collide, my wet skin against his solid wall of heat.
“You could.” His hand moves to my throat, thumb pressing against the wild rhythm of my pulse. “But you haven’t… and you won’t.”
His gaze drills into mine, and I almost whimper at the way he makes my blood turn nuclear.
“I know everything about my wife, Tierney Viacava. Every job you’ve finished. Every corpse you’ve left behind. I know the exact number. I know the dates. And I have a record of when you last had a shot to make sure you don’t get pregnant.”
My breath stutters.
Featherlight fingertips skim over my wet shoulder, tracing a slow path through the goosebumps he’s pulled from me. He watches the reaction and almost smiles.
“You don’t have to fight for survival anymore,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering just short of mine. “Not as my wife. I’m all you’ll ever need. That comes with my protection.”
His thumb presses beneath my jaw, tilting my face up.
“Understand something, though,” he continues, voice low and raspy. “I’m not someone you can eliminate. And I’m sure as fuck not your latest assignment.”
My chest rises and falls as I force air into my lungs, pretending the throbbing heat low in my core isn’t there.
For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me, and part of me actually wishes he would. I push the deceitful urge down and tell myself I’d bite his tongue if made a move.
When I press my hands to his warm chest, he releases me and steps aside, leaving a sudden absence that’s colder than the tile beneath my feet.
“Dry off, princess,” he says, already turning toward the door. “Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”
And just like that, he walks out.
I brace my hands against the vanity and lean forward, water dripping from my hair as my pulse refuses to steady.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mutter once the door clicks shut.
The buzz under my skin is worse than any fight I’ve ever walked away from.
Craving Bronx was never part of the plan. In fact, it’s the worst possible outcome.
However, I’m not na?ve enough to believe he’s happy about my father cornering his family. Bronx didn’t marry me for romance. The Viacava men don’t make sacrifices without calculating the return.
Which means he has a backup plan.
A way out of this marriage and ammunition to strike back at my family.
And I refuse to let myself fall into whatever trap he’s trying to lure me into. The charm offensive won’t work on me. Temptation won’t either.
As the day drags on, Bronx keeps to his home office and I stay in the one space he never visits—the cinema room with its comfy sofas and wall-sized screen.
I’ve stared at my phone for the past hour, waiting for my da to reply to my text messages. My living in the Viacava’s world does not mean I’ll depend on them. I’d rather die than be a kept little wife with no voice or freedom.
I want my independence without having to ask Bronx for a single damn thing.
“There you are,” his voice comes from behind me. “We’re going out for dinner. You’ll find the closet full of Viacava appropriate dresses for you to wear.”
“I don’t wear dresses,” I say without turning around. “I prefer tactical gear. Weapons make better accessories.”
His laugh grows louder as he joins me and sinks into the couch like we’re a typical married couple.
“We’re dining with your in-laws tonight, princess.”
His fingers reach for my hair, and I swat him away before he finishes the gesture.
“Your spatial awareness needs work,” I tell him. “Stop touching me.”
He grins lazily. “Or what?”
“Like I said before,” I reply, finally turning to face him, “I’ll touch you and you won’t enjoy it.”
His smile deepens.
“You keep making threats you never follow through on,” he sighs. “Is that what Declan Blake taught you? How to bluff?”
Something in me snaps, and I lunge.
One second I’m on my side of the couch, the next I’m straddling him, shoving him flat against the cushions and pinning his wrists down.
I arch over him, knees braced against his hips, my hair falling forward in two curtains. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I know Bronx could overpower me in a heartbeat if he chose to.
Despite that, he doesn’t move other than his chest rising beneath me.
“Finally,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerously close to satisfaction. “There she is. I’ve been dying to meet my little hellcat again.”
My fingers tighten around his wrists.
“Don’t talk about my da like that,” I grit, dipping into his face. “Don’t even mention his name.”
Our bodies press closer from the movement, and the contact sends a pulse through me that has nothing to do with violence.
“If you wanted me on my back,” he murmurs, “all you had to do was ask. Would you rather I tell the family that my wife wants to play tonight instead of dining with them?”