Chapter 3
Lula
I choose you,he says, like that explains it all. Does he know who I am? My last name is Romano, so he might not know my connection to the Regis family, even if he read the wedding program. He asked for my name, and I gave a fake one—Vera, my mother’s name. A reminder to myself of the reason I’m here. My motivation and purpose. My plan.
Victor’s taken me to an industrial part of town, a concrete jungle. Not a soul is on the streets, and there are barely any cars around. I get a glimpse of the driver as my captor pulls me from the car: male, with a shaved head and a full, bushy beard, his gaze fixed steadfastly forward. Nothing to see here. No help will come from him.
I can’t run. I’ll get about five steps in these shoes before Victor, the knife-loving psycho, grabs me. Better to keep playing this dangerous game.
Stephanos told me I could choose my reward.I have a hard time believing Victor would choose me as his reward, not knowing who I am. But in the backseat of the car, his interest in me had less to do with my pedigree and more to do with my body.
My treacherous body. My face still burns with the heat of my blush. Stop it. Stop crushing on a killer.
Victor’s shadow falls over me. He smells like snow, sharp and fresh and cold. His lips are plump, but the rest of his features—cheekbones, jaw, nose—are too sharp to be human, like he’s a fae king who stepped into our world and made it his winter court.
He puts a large hand at my back, and my skin tingles under my bodice. He raises a white-blond brow with an amused twist to his mouth. He’s waiting to see if I’ll try to run.
But. . . my libido gasps. He’s so pretty. . .
He holds out a hand, and I almost accept it. Stop it!
My body keeps on betraying me as my heel twists under me, and I fall into my captor. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me, bridal style, to the front door. And like a simpering fool, I wind my arms around his neck, feeling safe and secure against him.
To anyone watching, we look like a newly married couple. Is he playing it up for any cameras? Building a case that I went with him willingly?
Probably not. When you’ve murdered as many people as Victor probably has, adding a kidnapping charge is no big deal.
He frees a hand for a handprint scanner to enter the building. A keypad. Interesting. It transforms this boring, concrete block apartment building into a villain’s lair. A hitman like Victor would require nothing less.
The doors open to a sleek, square-shaped foyer, empty of anything but an elevator door and another keypad to enter it.
“Almost there, beautiful,” Victor murmurs, and I blink to keep from rolling my eyes. Just because he’s carrying me like a bride doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten who he is to me. I should be fighting to get away.
Later. Victor is my best chance at getting to Stephanos. Going along with him is as good as infiltrating the Petropoulos gang. I just have to survive.
The elevator requires a third handprint before it takes us to the top floor, the doors opening directly into a dimly lit penthouse. Subtle overhead lights blink on as Victor carries me over the threshold. The air is a few degrees cooler than I expected, or maybe it’s the cold, sterile nature of the decor. Most of the cavernous space is one giant room with gray concrete floors, stainless steel appliances, and white leather couches. Everything is shiny, modern, and spotless. There’s a long table made from a single quartz slab, clean enough to perform surgery on. Victor could kill someone in here and easily wipe up the blood.
Maybe he already has.
“So, I’m here.” My voice echoes in the massive space. “Now what?”
“You know what.” His voice drops to a deeper register, and I want to roll my eyes. Except, once again, my libido is falling for it.
Since when are sexy psychopaths my type?
A strand of hair has escaped its updo, and he reaches out and winds it around his finger, rubbing his thumb over it. I resist a shiver. I am not wondering what his fingers would feel like on my naked skin. I am not.
“This is some Richard the Third-level fetish. Seducing a bride after you kill her groom?”
“You were having second thoughts. That is what you told me, no?” The more I talk to him, the more I detect an Eastern European accent. Not Ukrainian, but something close.
“That doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”
“And yet you stood by and did nothing. No crying. No hysterics. Just rearranging your schedule in your head.” Victor’s glacier-blue eyes fasten on mine, intent on prising me apart.
“You make me sound so cold.” And even though my exact reputation in La Famiglia is as a frigid mafia princess known for her sharp-tongued disdain, it hurts to be called callous.
“No, beautiful.” He plucks at the long satin sleeve of my dress with his long fingers, and I can’t hold my shiver back. “You’re the opposite of cold.”
My blush blooms hotter. Dammit. I can hide my thoughts but not my libido, which, after years of lying dormant, has come roaring to life. It’s been a while since I’ve had a one-night stand. I seduced David by gazing adoringly up at him through my lashes and pretending to laugh at his bad jokes. I got him to the altar by promising to hand over my virginity (Ha!) once I was legally his.
In short, my sex life has had quite a dry spell, and now my body is ready to throw itself at this man, the blood on his hands be damned.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“I promise no harm will come to you this night.”
I don’t know why, but I believe him. But the lawyer in me has to close all loopholes. “And in the morning?”
He doesn’t answer right away, only toys with my hair.
“Victor?” I wait, rubbing the sword charm of my necklace between a thumb and forefinger.
“We shall see.”
This is the reason I believe him. He’s careful about what he promises. If he’s telling the truth, I have a twelve-hour window to escape.
No problem. There’s a foolproof way to stay alive and send my captor to sleep.
I’m going to seduce him.
He steps closer, and the force of his presence, his striking good looks and intensity, makes me wobble.
I cast about for something to distract him. Something other than me. I’m his entertainment for the night, but I need a minute to gird my loins and get ready to perform.
“I need to use the restroom,” I say, smoothing a hand over my necklace.
He steps back and waves a hand toward a room beyond the kitchen. He’s got that slight smile back, the one that says he knows I’m stalling for time. That’s fine. I’d rather him think I’m reluctant than guess what I’m really about.
The bathroom mirror shows a surprisingly vibrant-looking bride. There’s pink in my cheeks, thanks to Victor’s exploratory touches. My arousal will work to my benefit.
I just won’t examine my reaction to him too closely.
There’s blood on my dress. I forgot about that. Victor swung out of the way on the altar, out of the spray, but I was close enough to get spattered. The rust-colored stains already look old.
I do my business and use the sounds of the flushing toilet and running water to cover the real reason I needed a private moment. Bending over, I haul up my dress and unstrap the handgun holster hidden on my right thigh.
Are you always so well-armed?
Always.
I palm the butt of the compact weapon and let its cool weight give me strength. I strapped this gun to my leg, hoping Stephanos would come to the wedding and I could blow him away at the reception. The Sig Sauer P365 is my baby, the smallest gun I own. I’m lucky I wasn’t strip-searched in the car, but my reprieve won’t last long. Judging by the way Victor was looking at me, he’s taking me to bed, and soon.
I could come out shooting and end the night before it begins. But then I won’t get a chance to set a trap for Stephanos.
Carefully, so as not to make any telltale creaks, I open the cabinet under the sink and hide the weapon and holster behind a neat stack of toilet paper. Then I rise and wash my hands, and not a moment too soon.
The door handle turns, and Victor saunters in. I didn’t lock the door on purpose—in case the clicking sound alerted him to the fact that I had something to hide. I expected him to respect my need for privacy.
My reprieve is over.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. My cheeks flush even further. With my red lips, I look more than ready to play seductress. “Help me with my dress?”
He steps forward, crowding me. I lean over the bathroom counter until the sword on my necklace points into the sink and stare at Victor in the mirror. His favorite knife makes its appearance, flashing between us. Every muscle in me goes rigid.
Victor slides the knife up the back of my dress, slicing off the old-fashioned buttons. The dress sags, the puffed sleeves wilting off my shoulders. I go to strip them off, but Victor tsks, “No,” and waves the knife, his icy eyes holding mine in the mirror. “Do not move.” He sets the blade at my back against my skin. Close enough to shave the soft hairs there. “Do not even breathe.” He slices the rest of the bindings away.
The weight of the fabric makes the dress fall with a heavy, rustling sound, leaving me naked but for my sheer stockings, garter belt, bra, and panties.
I had a plan for my wedding night. A few bottles of wine and a bit of Rohypnol in David’s glass, and I could spill a little blood on the sheets and coo to him in the morning that he was amazing. Idiot that he was, he’d believe it. He believed when I said I loved him, that I was a virgin, and that I’d give myself fully to him as soon as we were married.
For my own pleasure, I wore my favorite set of sheer lingerie in a bright, cheerful color. Something blue. The exact color of Victor’s eyes.
I don’t believe in fate, not like my cousin Royal. But if I did, I’d say she’s up to something. The bitch.
In his dark suit, Victor makes a somber frame for my naked self. The black of his pupils has grown to swallow up the blue. He murmurs something in his native tongue. A curse or a compliment, something low and soothing to steady me as he traces his long fingers over my back and shoulders, down my arms. It’d be more relaxing if he wasn’t still holding the knife.
I swallow and dig for my courage. Before I can turn, he presses into my back, pinning my hips against the sink. I can’t stop the flare of fear in my eyes. He glides his hand over the flat of my stomach, the handle of his knife imprinting my skin. “So beautiful,” he murmurs into the curve of my shoulder, kissing the tender junction at the base of my neck.
It’d be so easy for him to bring up the knife and hold it to my throat, looking deep into my eyes and slicing my jugular while murmuring sweet nothings into my ears. He could so easily do it, but something tells me he won’t. I don’t know why I’m so sure. I lean into my captor’s strong embrace, letting my breasts rise and fall in time to my rapid heartbeat. I didn’t take the time to kick off my heels, and with their added inches, I’m tall enough that his cock probes my backside.
Then he kicks my legs apart. I watch Death’s beautiful face, helpless to stop him as he slips his left hand between my legs. His eyes widen when he discovers my secret, the one I’ve been keeping from him.
I’m so fucking wet, wetter than I’ve ever been before. Does the threat of being stabbed turn me on? Is the fear an aphrodisiac, making me crave the basest proof that I’m alive?
He holds me between his hands, his right hand on my belly, the knife an unspoken threat, his left stroking over the soaked gusset of my La Perla panties in a come-hither motion. Arousal flares deep in my belly. I hold out for several long minutes, but when his middle finger presses through the fabric to tease my sensitive opening, my eyes flutter and almost close.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I obey, grateful for the harsh rasp of his voice. Better to not lose myself. Better to not take my eyes off my adversary.
He dips his head, breathes in deeply, and drops a kiss on my shoulder. He brings the knife up and across my collarbone to my bra strap and, with a small snick, bares my left breast. Goosebumps rise all over my chest, and he rubs at them, finding my nipple and thumbing it. I swallow my breath and hold still. The knife blade is right there. And he knows I’m aware of it, that I’m afraid. With a cruel twist to his lips, he flips the blade in midair and palms the sharp edge to use the handle as a second digit, pinching my nipple between it and his thumb.
It’s too much. I cum in a rush, shaking silently. Heat and a pink stain flood my chest. I stifle my cries but can’t hide my reaction from him.
I just came in my captor’s arms.
He releases my nipple and flips the knife again to use the blade to slice away my panties. The rest of my bra is next. He spares the garter belt and stockings, but they only emphasize how naked and vulnerable I am before him.
He raises his left hand, the one that made me cum. My pussy soaked his cuff. He licks my essence off his fingers, watching my face in the mirror.
Once more, he palms the sharp edge of the knife before lowering it between my legs. He presses the handle into me. The base of the knife slides in smoothly, my juices easing the way.
I jerk in his arms, and he clamps his free arm around me, holding me between him and the sink. We make a pretty picture—a naked woman, her chest flushed from orgasm, and a beautiful man behind her, securing her against his powerful, suit-clad frame. You just have to look closely to see the tip of a knife in his hand and the monster lurking in the corner of his smile.
He slides the knife handle in and out of me, fucking me so deep I feel it behind my belly button. He knows just how to angle the weapon, how to drag it across the sweet spots inside me. I shudder, fighting my rising orgasm.
“Don’t resist, beautiful,” he breathes, drawing the handle out and pushing it back in. My soaked pussy makes a squelching sound. “Surrender.”
A series of thrusts with the knife handle trigger my G-spot, and it’s all over. I come again, this time with a low, breathless rush of air, not quite a moan.
“So quiet.” Victor laughs softly in my ear. “So controlled. I’m going to make you scream for me.”
He tips me forward and braces his left hand on my hip. Teetering off balance, I slap a hand against the mirror to hold me upright and look into my own dark eyes. My cheeks are flushed red. My captor made me come, not once, but twice.
And he’s not done.
Victor plants his right hand on the mirror next to mine. He’s still holding the knife, the handle slick and shiny with my cum, and the long blade clinks against the glass.
My gun’s right under the sink. It’d take me a moment to grab it, but I could distract him and do it at any time. But he promised I’d survive tonight.
His breathing is harsh, puffing against my hair. He tugs at his clothes with his free hand, baring only the essential part of him to plunge into me. A hitch, an adjustment, and he presses his hand over mine, pinning me with his body and his gaze. The head of his cock nudges my entrance, and my pussy weeps with need. With one long thrust, he stabs his cock into me, driving me to my tiptoes. I bow over the counter, my necklace clinking on the marble, my cries echoing in the small space. I lose contact with the floor and one heel, then the other drops to the floor. Victor wraps his arm around my midriff, propping me higher. I’m taller than the average woman and no lightweight, but I feel like a rag doll, plucked off the ground, dangling in from his hold. A toy in his hands. Victor drives into me, and I take it all, my mouth open and red lips rounded. He strokes into me, a merciless pounding beat.
And I cum, bouncing and quivering on his rod. A pin in my updo comes loose, and my dark hair tumbles down, veiling my face. I toss my head back and forth, trying to shake the strands of hair away from my eyes. The sword dances under my throat.
“Yes,” Victor growls and I realize I’m whimpering No, no, no. My arousal is rising again, an inexorable wave of pleasure threatening to tow me under. My pussy clenches on his dick, trying to suck him in deeper.
I slap the mirror again and again, fighting to gain purchase and angle my hips to take more of Victor’s giant dick. It’s swollen further inside me, knocking at my cervix and so deep I go cross-eyed. Heat blooms in my head and core, and I’m cumming again, the spasms sending Victor over the edge. He pushes me up until my body drapes over the counter, and my cheek is plastered against the mirror. I focus on the knife blade shining inches from my face.
And then it’s over, and he’s cumming, his cock pulsing inside me hard enough to set off another round of mini orgasms inside me. I slump down, too wrung out to prop myself up.
He gathers me into his arms, stroking the hair out of my eyes. For a moment, he cups my cheek with his big hand.
Then he pushes me to my knees. I sink onto the thick Persian rug that covers the tile, narrowly avoiding kneeling on my fallen heels. Victor’s cock bobs in front of my face, shockingly dark compared to the paleness of the rest of him, huge and hard and slick with my own essence. I open my mouth, but he steps back and sets the knife handle at my lips.
“Lick,” he orders, gathering my hair in his hands. Arousal surges through me, thundering in my ears, and I lean forward and extend my tongue. I lick up the smooth handle, tasting myself. When he pushes, forcing my head back, I relax my throat and allow him to penetrate me with his knife all the way to the heel.
My eyes flare with slight panic, and his own hooded ones grow heavy in response. Sadist. I ignore the needy throb in my already well-used pussy and dig my fingers into the folds of his pant legs, my senses swimming with him. He’s fucking my mouth with the knife he used to kill David only hours ago. And I’m doing my best to choke it down.
Finally, he releases me, sliding the knife out of my mouth. He swipes a thumb across my lower lip, and I remember I’m wearing my favorite color lipstick. Dark red, the color of spilled blood. Too bold for regular use and too bold for a bride. My own tiny act of defiance.
Victor murmurs something in his native tongue, soft and crooning like a lullaby. “Good girl.” He slides a hand up my cheek, and I fight not to press into it, to accept his approval. I need to remember what I’m doing here.
Seduce him. Survive.
Never surrender.
His cock is inches away from my face. Makes my insides cramp just thinking about it invading me. I’m glad I’m on birth control.
If I plan to seduce him, I better start now. I reach for his cock, and he tugs me back by my hair. “No. Not here. I’m not through with you.”
He hauls me up by my arms and tosses me over his shoulder. My dark hair tumbles over my face, my eyes flashing to my wary reflection before he flips the light and carries me from the room.