Chapter 8 Anika #2
“Looks like we left an impression, brother,” one of the twins observes.
Michelangelo’s smirk widens as he unleashes a grin that makes my heart flutter.
If only he knew just how deep of an impression our chance encounter at that gala had been burned into my memory.
“You can call me Miko. These are my brothers Gio, Raf, and Sandro,” he adds, gesturing to each brother in turn.
They give nods of acknowledgement, then turn inward, as if to resume a conversation they paused long enough to meet me officially.
But Miko’s eyes remain on me, studying me closely, and after a pause, he reaches up to lightly brush his fingers across my bruised cheek.
The jolt of electricity that passes between us makes me gasp, and I jerk back despite the sudden, not-at-all-unpleasant warmth that floods my body.
I don’t know quite what to make of his almost tender touch, or the blatant disapproval written across his face—as if my bruise personally offends him.
“Did that happen yesterday?” he asks, a hint of what I could almost mistake for remorse tinging his deep baritone.
He’s asking if I got hurt during the attack, and it does strange things to my pulse to think he might care to take responsibility—not that he had anything to do with it.
But I’m not ready to air my dirty laundry for some stranger.
I don’t want to give him ammunition, to give him a glimpse of how low my husband has brought me.
If he realizes I’ve been treated like a dog for the past year, what’s to stop him from deciding to carry on that legacy?
“Something like that,” I say stiffly, reluctant to divulge the intimate details of my marriage—even to the man responsible for my abuser’s death.
The fact remains that Miko didn’t do it for me.
He killed Pyotr to satisfy his own ambitions, and I have no doubt he would do the same to me in a heartbeat if it suited him.
Miko withdraws his hand, his blue eyes darkening into a storm as he sits back in his chair.
Behind me, Chastity quietly fills a plate with food, and my stomach growls noisily, giving away my hunger, as soon as the mouthwatering smell reaches my nose.
“My men said you refused to eat the dinner I sent up last night,” Miko states, his strong brows lifting pointedly as he glances toward my audible hunger pains.
Pressing my lips together, I look down at the plate Chastity sets before me, but I don’t touch it.
“Eat,” Miko commands, and the authority in his voice makes my heart skip a beat.
Oddly, it’s not an entirely negative physical response, though I’ve spent the last year learning that it’s dangerous to ignore orders from men like him.
But his voice doesn’t hold any of the goading challenge to disobey him that lay beneath Pyotr’s commands—as if he was just waiting for me to refuse so he could punish me for it.
So the rush of adrenaline that floods my veins makes me feel stronger, bolder rather than the typical weak and shaky nerves I’m plagued with.
Miko sounds as though the idea of someone rejecting his instructions hasn’t even crossed his mind.
I can see why.
I don’t doubt that people’s inherent fear of the violent behemoth of a man ensures immediate obedience at all times. Even me, right now, as I jump into action rather than shaking like a leaf.
Tentatively, I take up my fork and spear a strawberry slice.
They wouldn’t drug the food that’s been set out for everyone, right?
Not to mention, after hearing how they handled the Novikov staff, I’m more inclined to believe the brothers are at least attempting to make this a peaceful transition of power.
And I trust that Chastity wouldn’t knowingly give me something harmful.
My anxiety has put my stomach in knots, making each bite agonizing to swallow. But I don’t stop, because I can feel Miko’s eyes on me, watching closely as I pick at the food on my plate.
In the silence that settles between us, his brothers’ conversation catches my ear, piquing my interest.
It’s about the fifth and currently absent Chiaroscuro brother, Leo, who for all intents and purposes sounds like he doesn’t mean to reclaim the throne his father left to him, though he was the official heir.
Apparently, he took his pregnant wife to some undisclosed location after the family home was burned to the ground and he has no plans to return.
Leo and his wife wanted out of this life—and took the opportunity to do so in the aftermath of the violence.
I note with mild interest that the brothers are speaking in Italian, no doubt to avoid giving me any sensitive information—a sure sign that they don’t trust me.
Too bad for them I can understand their conversation perfectly, though they don’t seem to realize it.
Not that I blame them for being wary after what my husband did to their family, but it reminds me that, even if Michelangelo has treated me respectfully so far, we are not on the same side.
“My brothers and I will be using this house as our headquarters for now,” Miko says, directing his words toward me and recapturing my attention, “until we have the numbers to reclaim our family home. With the Bratva in upheaval over the loss of your husband, it’s a perfect opportunity to fill the vacuum the Pakhan left behind. ”
I glance up at Miko through my lashes, intrigued that he would bother telling me anything about their plans when I’m the widow of his enemy. I hold his gaze as I slowly chew my breakfast and swallow. “A logical choice,” I state cautiously.
“For your protection, I intend to keep you fairly secluded inside the house—until we can arrange a small public ceremony, where I’ll take you as my wife.”
Cold, prickling anxiety trickles down my spine, and I swallow painfully as I fight hard to maintain my composure.
“And when will that be?” The thought of marrying a man who could prove as cruel and violent as Pyotr sounds like a death knell in my head.
I can’t do a second round of the year I just endured. I won’t survive it.
“Within the week,” he states as calmly as if we were discussing the weather. “If you have any other questions, now would be the time to ask them.”
Setting down my fork with a sharp clatter, I suppress the onslaught of emotion threatening to choke me, and I raise my chin in defiance. “Why can’t I leave?” I demand.
The table goes still once again, Miko’s brothers glancing between us. Miko studies me in silence for a long moment, his penetrating gaze raising goosebumps across my flesh.
It’s not a lecherous gaze, appraising me of my worth based on the curves of my body.
But somehow, it feels all the more intimate because of that—as if he’s peeling back the layers to expose my very soul.
Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers as he gives me a mild expression.
“Our union will shield you from the ugly fate most widows face when their Pakhan is disgraced,” he states bluntly, making my insides knot.
“If I let you go, you would most likely end up dead in a ditch within days—and that’s if our soldiers didn’t decide to take out their anger on you in a much more brutal way after what your husband did.
Right now, I’m the one who can provide your best source of protection. ”
I squirm in my seat as the threat settles heavily between us. I don’t know if he’s just saying it to scare me, but suddenly, I’m far less inclined to find out.
“And if these men want to hurt me so badly,” I murmur, struggling to speak past the iron fear closing around my throat, “what makes you think that marrying you could keep me safe?”
The cold flash of steel in his eyes makes my pulse quicken, and the air vanishes from my lungs.
“Because no one would dare touch what’s mine,” he growls, sending a shiver down my spine.