TWENTY-ONE
Nastasya
W hatever my father had Ivan doing these past years, it sure hasn’t made him any prettier to look at. I sulk with arms folded, one leg slung over the other, and glare at the asshole. He sits on the armchair opposite, legs wide and thick arms crossed over his barrel chest.
I tried to leave our estate yesterday after the brute arrived and found he’d already briefed the guards at the gate to keep me contained. Naturally, I waited until the brick wall of muscle was preoccupied with one of his ten protein-packed meals per day and ran.
I made it as far as the garage before the nutcase tackled me to the polished concrete floor. My gaze drops to the bruise on my shin where I collected a steel storage box on my way down. It’s the least of my worries, given the bruises that still paint my shoulder and the cut that heals on my leg. But it’s the premise of the fucking thing.
Who the fuck tackles a woman half their size? He could have flicked one of his solid fingers and knocked me over with the breeze it created. The jerk had no reason to put his hands on me.
As much as it pains me to say it, I miss Marcus.
“Do you plan to do this all day?” I snap, eyeballing the clean-shaven man-monster.
Rumor has it that Ivan was admitted to a mental institution at the age of nine by his poverty-stricken parents. Not only did they alleviate themselves of a rather large expense, but they received payment for the part their son played in an experimental treatment program. One look at the firm set of Ivan’s brow over hauntingly dark eyes, and I’d say the institute failed.
Or maybe they succeeded? If you’re sane, to begin with, do treatments turn you mad?
Hang around this silent asshole long enough, and I might find out.
“You know, the time will pass quicker if you talk.”
I’m already facing a life with a man who can’t hold a conversation. I don’t think it’d be too much to ask for to have at least one person to bounce ideas off.
Ivan leans forward painfully slow, setting his shirt-clad elbows atop his perfectly pressed slacks. “I find chit-chat unnecessary.”
For a guy who’s supposed to have spent the last ten years state-side, he still has a thick accent. Maybe he hasn’t been here all along? Who’d fucking know with my father?
“I can’t stay away from my work forever.”
“I have instruction from?—”
“My father to keep me here. Yeah, yeah. I know.” I wave the stoic beast off as I rise to my feet. “Can I step outside? Or will that make you develop an unwanted tic?”
He doesn’t so much as twitch a goddamn smile. “You may go outside as long as you stay within the gates.”
“Joy.” I pair the single-word answer with a roll of my eyes. “Whatever will I do with so much freedom?”
“Lana arrives soon. You should wait for her.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Wait? You mean watch my life pass by? Just as I have the last twenty minutes?” I give two shakes of my head, lips pressed into a line. “As swell as our bonding has been so far, I’d like to put our relationship building on pause for now.”
“Men do not appreciate a smart mouth.” There’s no ill intent in his comment; he truly believes he helps by clearing that little factoid up for me.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I wander to the picture window and then tug out my phone.
I’ve managed to put out a few minor fires and reassign my staff to cover the more social aspects of my role via email and Messenger. But there’s only so long I can have them throwing together run-of-the-mill events before my reputation as a premier company suffers. This house arrest shit needs to stop.
I need to be married—now. My hand drops to my side while I take a moment to absorb the obvious: marry Benito, get out of here, and get my freedom back.
There’s no official date until we can decide on the venue—hell, I don’t have a goddamn ring—but from what the De Santis’ said the other night, I’ll be standing at the altar within the month. It’s too long. I lose precious momentum the longer I’m here, the urgency of not only my work but the matter of figuring out who killed Caroline halving with every week that passes.
I’m midway through drafting an email to Papa detailing how I can expedite the wedding to take place within the week when the key piece to the puzzle materializes before my very eyes.
I let the phone hang in my palm while I lean forward a fraction and squint. As though that’ll hide the hulking great vehicle circling the drive. The Land Rover pulls to a stop at the peak of the pretentious arc beside our modest entrance, tinted windows making it impossible to see inside from this distance. I’m surprised the damn guard let him in.
Ivan rises from his seat behind me, heading for the door with quick strides. I clutch the redundant phone and leap across the carpeted floor to beat the juggernaut to the exit. He utters a single grunt when my shoulder collides with his chest, stepping aside to let me barrel out the front entrance first.
My fucking father has beaten us all to it. Where the hell had he been hiding?
“Why is your filthy fiancé here?” Papa mutters out the corner of his mouth when I arrive at his side.
“I don’t know. But I’m certain it’s not to see you.” I glance down at my modest yoga pants and crop T-shirt, a little tainted from this morning’s workout. It’ll have to do.
The driver’s door opens, and my brain and heart hold their collective breath. Amazing. Benito dresses equally as casual in black jeans, an off-white tank, and an open black check shirt over the top. But the disheveled state of his typically styled hair has blood racing to rather specific parts of my anatomy. He looks stupidly dreamy with his pouty lips and soulful eyes.
Made men aren’t dreamy. Not unless you have a penchant for nightmares.
“I don’t recall inviting you to my home,” Papa taunts, attempting to get Benito to speak.
It won’t work.
I launch across the space between us, obsessed with how his attention fixes to me, not my father. Piercing blue eyes follow my steps, Benito’s chin tilting down as I get closer. I pull up before him and reach out to set my palms against his chest without a second thought.
The goddamn man smirks. I’m ruined.
“What are you doing here?”
He places one hand on his chest. Trust me?
“Of course.”
He pats the hand again, eyes widening to implore me to understand.
I frown, hands balling with my frustration at not being able to understand his gestures.
Benito lifts the same hand to my face, palm cupping my cheek before he dots his thumb against my lips. I’m lost in the dangerous sea of his gaze when he leans down and gently steals a kiss with a promise of utmost care.
“Why are you here, Benito?” Papa stresses as he moves from the entrance, Ivan keeping a close eye on him.
I don’t know how much my new protection detail knows, but one look at the notorious killer’s face, and it’s clear Ivan hasn’t a shred of respect for the man I’m set to marry.
“Gennaro didn’t tell me you needed to see Nastasya.” My goddamn father places himself in such a way that Benito is forced to take a step away from me to offer his host the appropriate respect. “Does he know you’re here?” Paranoia peppers Papa’s gaze as he scours the landscape behind Benito.
My fiancé merely sighs. He looks away from Papa, meeting my gaze before reaching out to take me by the hand. A gentle tug, the jerk of his head—he wants me to go with him.
“I need to get changed.” I gesture to my workout attire. “I don’t have my purse.”
He shakes his head and closes his eyes briefly, ignoring my seething father. You don’t need it.
“Where are we going?” He wants me sweaty and without anything but what I currently have on my person.
That goddamn hand to his chest again.
“Would you stop asking that?” I sigh. “The answer is yes. Always yes.”
The smile that splits Benito’s full lips is nothing short of stunning. I’ve made him happy, and that’s made me happy.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Papa tilts his head higher.
The lack of control in this situation must be maddening for him. I fucking love it.
“He wants me to go with him.”
“No.” Papa extends one arm and gestures for Ivan. “No fucking way.” He jerks his head to tell Ivan to hurry up. “I might have promised her to your family, but she’s not yours to pick up and play with when you goddamn please.”
Benito raises a single eyebrow as though to say, “Isn’t she?”
What the hell does my father think he’ll do once we’re married? The second I get that ring on my finger, Papa’s control over me vanishes. He’s scared. The goddamn jerk fears losing the one person he has left—I’d guarantee it.
The Iron Jaw does have feelings.
“I’ll be back tonight, Papa.” I glance at Benito. “Isn’t that right?”
My silent soldier exhales heavily, seemingly annoyed with the promise. He nods anyway.
“Fine. But Ivan goes with you.”
Benito drops my hand to wave his arms in a cross over himself. No way.
Papa grins. “Until you find her attackers, I need assurance she stays safe.”
Benito lifts a firm thumb straight to the center of his chest. I’ll protect her.
“And you think I’ll believe that you can?” Papa scoffs before his features grow unsettlingly hard. “I don’t trust you or your family, mudak .” He spits on the ground beside Benito’s feet.
I ready myself to intervene should this stand-off get physical.
I needn’t worry. A beat passes while Benito collects himself and then turns to face me. He runs his fingertips along my jawline and then drops the same hand to retake mine. I take two steps toward the Land Rover with him before Ivan intervenes.
The brute moves forward to cut us off at the passenger-side door.
I feel the twitch in Benito’s hold before I notice the stiffened set of his shoulders. With his free hand, he places a palm against the kachki’s chest and fends off the approach. Ivan grips Benito by the wrist.
I release my grasp, expecting my fiancé to be on the ground in the next heartbeat. What I don’t see coming is how Benito manages to manipulate the bigger man to have Ivan shoved up against the side of the Defender. The vehicle rocks with a solid thud, Benito’s forearm to Ivan’s throat.
The men’s noses are a mere inch apart.
The tension in the air chokes the oxygen from my lungs. I stand in shock, mirroring my father’s reaction, waiting to see what happens next. I pray it doesn’t resort to guns.
I don’t need another death to deal with.
“I come too,” Ivan presses, thick and throaty.
Benito’s lip twitches into a snarl. He releases Ivan from the hold, waiting until my detail takes a step away from the car to shove the Russian killer toward the house. Ivan stumbles. Aw, shit. I take a step back. The smile on Papa’s face is ridiculous, like watching a kid drawn toward the schoolyard fight. I sidestep when Ivan whirls on Benito, his thick arm locked and loaded, ready to lay my fiancé out. The crack of flesh-on-flesh echoes off the house as I duck, but Benito’s uppercut catches Ivan first. Papa’s pet retaliates quickly, managing to get my fiancé into a headlock. One flex of his muscular arm, and Ivan will break Benito’s neck.
“Cut it out!” I lunge toward the mess and smack Ivan repeatedly on the back of his close-shaven head. “Both of you.”
I’m caught in the chaos when Benito manages to get his foot between Ivan’s legs, pulling the man-mountain to the ground.
They wrestle and grapple, landing pot-shots on one another before the crack of a pistol permeates the air.
Everyone freezes, all eyes on Dmitry at the front door. “Enough!” He strides toward the two men, cutting Papa a disparaging look as he passes. “This is ridiculous.” With a hand on the back of Ivan’s shirt, he urges the assassin off Benito.
The look in my fiancé’s eye when he rises to his feet is nothing short of murder.
I reach out and temper his anger with my hand on his neck. Benito’s jugular vein pulses fast and firm beneath my touch.
“This isn’t going to resolve anything,” Dmitry scolds. “What’s the issue?”
“I must go with Nastasya,” Ivan explains, wiping blood from his lip. “But the mongrel won’t allow me.”
Benito tenses beneath my touch. I step closer and wrap my arms around his middle, attaching myself to his side like an anchor. Heated eyes stay trained on Ivan and my father, yet Benito moves his arm to curl it around me.
Such a tiny gesture that means so much.
“Why does Ivan need to be with her when she’s with her husband-to-be?” Dmitry asks Papa, gesturing to us as he does. “You expect Ivan to be there to oversee every kiss, every touch?” Our esteemed spy laughs. “A bit perverted, do you not think? If you can’t trust the man, then why the fuck would you marry off your only daughter to him?”
I wait with bated breath for Papa’s reaction. Dmitry is the only man who can stand up to my father without fear of violent retribution, but even then, he does it sparingly—and for good reason.
Papa steps forward, his flat palm striking Dmitry across the left side of the face. “You fucking come out here and tell me how to protect my daughter?”
“I tell you how to be reasonable,” Dmitry bravely answers. He doesn’t even give Papa the satisfaction of touching where he’d hit him.
“Do you wish to die?” Papa snaps, shifting his focus to me.
I frown, clutching Benito tighter. “What the fuck, Papa?”
“If you go with this man—unprotected—then that’s what’ll happen to you.” He glares at the seething Italian beneath my touch. “Their filthy kind are all words and no action. They don’t know how to fight like real men.”
A short huff leaves Benito’s lungs.
“Dmitry’s right,” I stress. “What the fuck do you want Ivan to do? Oversee us consummating our union to ensure Benny doesn’t get too rough in the bedroom?”
The shit-stirrer chuckles against my side. I relish the rare sound.
“Fine.” Papa throws both hands in the air. “Have it your way.” He switches gears to Benito. “If she comes back with a single scratch on her, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Fingers pinched to his mouth, Benito blows my father a kiss, finishing with his middle finger unfurled.
God, I’ve missed his brazen attitude.
My father commands the room wherever he goes. He’s built his reputation carefully over the years, ensuring his name appoints the appropriate amount of fear before he needs to do a thing. And yet, here he is, belittled by the man I promise to marry.
It’s poetic, and it’s perfect.
I push up on my toes and lean close to Benito’s ear. He cocks his head to the side to welcome what I have to say. “I told you you’re still the same as I remember.”
He turns his head before I pull away, a soft smile on his lips. “Mm-hmm.”
Not a word. Barely a sound. But it’s the most erotic and captivating thing I’ve ever heard.
Satisfaction from the lips of a devil.