32. Tatiana
32
TATIANA
I never thought I’d see the day where violence could bring me such relief. But watching Lucian execute Saturo brought a sense of finality to the bloodshed and fighting. The remaining yakuza men surrendered to him without question, which means we will be taking the Bronx territory into the fold.
Where a year ago, it felt like my family was surrounded by enemies, as I arrive home with Lucian, I’m struck by the realization that Natasha and I have built an empire stronger than anything my father lived to witness. It fills me with a sense of accomplishment, and at the same time, a deep sadness. This is his empire—one I never could have built without all his love and support. I just wish he could be here to see what we’ve become. I think he would have been proud.
I keep my face turned toward the car window, brushing away the tear that rolls down my cheek as the driver kills the engine. Lucian hasn’t said a word since we got into the back seat together, and as I climb out, I wonder if he’s reveling in our victory like I am or if he’s just too exhausted after spending so many long hours bringing this plan to fruition.
It will be nice to get back to normal.
“You know what sounds incredible right about now?” I ask, falling into step with Lucian as we climb the steps to the Italian-style mansion I now call home.
“Hmm?” he asks, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
“A nice steamy bath.” I smile at him playfully, anticipating his suggestion that he might have to join me.
Instead, he pulls open the front door and gestures for me to lead the way inside. “I’m sure Gabriella can help you draw one up,” he says, his tone cool and distant.
A knot forms in my stomach, and I do my best to quell the rising disappointment. “What are you going to do?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, though it rings false to my ears.
“I have some business to attend to.”
“Now? It can’t wait? We just settled a major score. You can’t take one day to celebrate?”
Lucian stops abruptly, and I stop with him, turning as I fight the sudden urge to cry. I wish I wasn’t so emotional, but the pregnancy hormones only seem to be getting worse by the day, and I press my lips together as I try to maintain my composure.
“I still have a large shipment of contraband that’s sitting like a ticking time bomb in my warehouse. With Saturo gone, I have an open avenue for transporting that shipment inland, but I need to hire trucks and men I trust to see it to its new location. So no, it can’t wait. If you’ll excuse me.” Lucian gives a stiff bow of the head that feels painfully formal. Then he turns abruptly in the direction of his office.
It cuts deep—to have him treat me so cooly. After everything we’ve been through together, after everything we’ve achieved, I thought that maybe now Lucian would open back up to me. I naively pictured him showering me with affection or carrying me to bed, like he usually would. Instead, I was confronted with a man who has as little emotion as I envisioned him having before I got to know him.
I don’t understand.
Trying to hold back the tears, I race to our bedroom and close the doors. Then the waterworks start. Without Gabriella’s help, I go to the bathroom and draw up a bath in our clawfoot tub, checking the temperature so it will be nice and warm without making it too hot for the baby. Then I add lavender bath salts before slowly lowering myself into the frothy bubbles.
It does feel good, soaking in the warm water, the midday sun streaming in through the bathroom window. But it doesn’t ease the tension in my chest. Alone with my thoughts, all I can think about is what could have caused this shift between us. It feels like a light switch. One minute, Lucian was showering me with kisses, boldly undressing me with his eyes in front of my men on the night of his deal with Saturo. And since then, it feels like he couldn’t care less if I’m in the room. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t talk to me. He definitely hasn’t kissed me. It calls into question everything I thought I knew about Lucian—all the undying passion and devotion he professed.
Yes, on the battlefield, we make a good team. But here at home, it feels like we have miles of frigid lake between us. I don’t like it. This seemingly more permanent shift in Lucian’s affections makes me realize I can’t keep denying my feelings for him. I need to face the truth and be brave enough to acknowledge the fact that I’ve been falling for him since our first night together. And if I don’t do something about it—if I can’t be brave enough to tell him that, then I might be the reason he slips away from me.
I stay in the tepid water until my fingers are pruney and goosebumps start to rise along my arms, but even then, I don’t feel better. So I splash some water on my face and climb out to go confront my husband.
Rather than the fluffy, warm terry cloth robe I would prefer to put on, I slip into my rose-gold silk one, hoping I might encourage him to take a break from the stress of business long enough to show me it’s not actually me he’s upset with.
Then I pad down the cool marble steps to head toward his office. Luca and Tullio stand outside, their expressions carefully blank, their gazes trained forward as I knock on the solid wood door.
“Yes?” Lucian’s familiar voice is low and inviting, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Can I come in?” I ask, hating how meek my voice sounds.
“Of course. You’re my wife. This house is as much yours as it is mine.”
Something in the ice that hardens the edges of his words, makes me want to cry, but I push the feeling down and choose to take him at his word. Stepping inside his luxurious home office, I close the door behind me, leaning back against the solid wood for strength. He rarely uses the space, but it’s nice enough. I’m tempted to use it as a new place for us to mingle work with pleasure. The thought makes my core tighten, and warmth floods my stomach.
But Lucian keeps his attention focused on the paperwork before him. Shuffling papers, and scribbling notes, he doesn’t even glance up to acknowledge me as I wait. The longer the silence stretches between us, the more apparent it becomes that if I want to speak to him, I’m going to have to start.
It makes my hands shake and my stomach quiver. I’m not good at being the vulnerable one. Lucian’s taken the reins all this time, forcing that vulnerability from me, wringing it out of me one drop at a time. Initiating a conversation is so much harder than I could have imagined, and the words stick behind the lump in my throat.
Clearing it, I release the doorknob to take a step farther into the room, and I lift my chin as I strengthen my resolve. “What’s going on, Lucian?” I demand crossing my arms defensively over my chest.
Finally, his scribbling stops, and his eyes lift to meet mine. “You’re the one who asked to speak with me,” he points out coolly.
“Yeah, because you’re not talking to me at all. You’ve been distant and standoffish for days. At first, I thought it might be because I was hurt. Then I figured it was because you were focused on dealing with Saturo, but now I’m getting the feeling that it’s me you’re intentionally trying to distance yourself from.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I press my lips together to fight the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me.
Meanwhile, Lucian’s hazel gaze is cool and assessing as he studies my face. It holds none of the cheeky playfulness he usually catches me off guard with, and even though I’m wearing little enough that I know it should arouse him, he hasn’t even glanced at my body.
“Why are you being so cold?” I demand, striding forward to slap my palms against his desk. Because I want to get a reaction out of him—anything to break through the stony silence.
“My aim was to gain the Manhattan territory,” he states flatly, his usually warm hazel eyes glacial in their apathy. “Our marriage alliance guarantees that at least any progeny we have will inherit it—even if I can’t. And now, we’ve gained the yakuza territory as well, which means I have no further need to do business with you. So, what does it matter if we have feelings for each other or not? Why keep up the pretense?”
If he reached across the desk and slapped me right now, I would be less surprised, and my lungs freeze in my chest, incapable of functioning as his words cut me to the core.
“We might be married,” he continues, his tone agonizingly nonchalant as he remains seated in his chair, the desk an impenetrable barrier between us, “but I see no point in acting like we’re in love when we’re not. You wanted to keep things separate, Tatiana. Remember? So, that’s what I’m giving you. I’ll rule my territory, and you can rule yours. Once you give me an heir, I see nothing else keeping us together. So, after that…?”
He clicks his tongue, making it sound like this is all some inconsequential logistical meeting—not him bringing my world crumbling down around my ears.
“You can go back to living in Manhattan if you’d like. We can lead completely separate lives. You won’t have to cross paths with me aside from the occasional public event that requires us to present a united front or when it’s time to have another child.”
“Is that what you want?” I breathe, the blood in my veins solid ice.
“Does it matter?” he counters, his expression smooth and emotionless.
For one agonizing second, I stand frozen, speechless as I try to make sense of his words.
He never loved me.
He doesn’t want me.
He married me only for the benefits of becoming my husband.
Crushing devastation breaks my trance, and I whirl, sprinting from his office, unable to stop the sobs that rip from my chest.