Chapter 9
KATYA
“There is a guest to see you, miss.”
The heavily accented voice of Misha’s housekeeper, Yana, interrupts my Navasana pose, and I lower my legs back to the yoga mat. “Who is it?”
I hope it’s not Svetlana. I’m trying to keep her as far from Misha’s toxic reach as possible.
“Mr. Andriani.” Her lip curls like the name leaves a bad taste in her mouth.
Scorpion.
My body tenses, instantly undoing all the good accomplished by the last forty-five minutes of practice.
The last time I saw my future husband, he was walking away from me.
I haven’t heard anything from the Andriani camp all week while I endured a manic rush to prepare the details of the wedding from hell.
I instinctively want to reach for a weapon, but Misha isn’t stupid enough to keep anything sharp in the gilded prison he’s arranged for me to inhabit until I do his bidding.
So I force a smile for Yana, who has a habit of looking at me like I’m the gum stuck to her shoe. “Show him in, please.”
She nods and disappears from the doorway while I get to my feet, mentally preparing myself for what’s about to happen.
Misha’s not at home, and I doubt he would have arranged a meeting between my husband-to-be and me without his presence.
My brother doesn’t trust me. He’s not wrong in that.
He shouldn’t trust me, because I’m putting my theatrical skills to use.
I’m good at pretending.
I feel Scorpion’s presence before I see him.
My body reacts like the air becomes charged with electricity and if I make a wrong move, I’ll get zapped.
He’s wearing a navy suit that fits his body as if it was tailor-made for him.
And it probably was. His dark hair is tousled and swept back from his forehead.
The stubble of perpetual five-o’clock shadow on his sharp jaw makes me wish I could feel it rasping against my skin.
His ice-blue gaze travels over me like a caress, and I’m suddenly aware I’m wearing leggings and a sports bra. I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin.
“What, no handcuffs or duct tape this time?” I ask.
He moves into the room as if he belongs here, playing with a cuff link like he’s bored. “I save that for first dates.”
“The Tinder options must be slim if you have to resort to kidnapping,” I toss back at him, moving across the private, state-of-the-art gym Misha had installed in his penthouse, despite the fact that there’s a perfectly good one in his building a few floors down.
I grab my water bottle and take a deep swig. I didn’t hydrate properly when I first woke up this morning, and it’s starting to show. My routine has been all kinds of messed up ever since Misha forced me out of my apartment and into his place.
I guess brother dearest is afraid I’ll run away. Little does he know, it’s not before the wedding that I’m planning to run. It’s after.
Scorpion watches me drinking in a way that makes me too aware of what my lips are doing, wrapped around the straw of my water bottle.
“We both know I don’t need to use dating apps.”
I stop drinking. “I’m sure the women are just falling at your feet.”
The thought sends a sharp stab of something through me. I don’t want to think about all the skeletons in his closet and the women in his bed. I don’t want to know anything about him, really. Lord knows I don’t want to become his wife in a few short days.
“Women do have a tendency of ending up on their knees around me,” he quips.
That puts a sour taste in my mouth.
“I’ll just bet they do.” I shove the straw between my lips and continue chugging.
He prowls closer to me, trailing an inked finger over a leg press machine. “What’s the matter, cara mia? Jealous?”
I swallow. “Just like I’d be jealous of someone who has head lice.”
He laughs and pats his heart. “Ouch.”
Scorpion Andriani wears smug arrogance the way some men would a cologne. It’s the kind of confidence that says he knows he has enough good looks and money to have half the city eating out of his hand.
I set my water bottle back down. “So. What brings you here? I can’t imagine that you’ve come to practice yoga with me.”
He smirks. “I can’t pay a call on my fiancée just because I feel like it?”
I wish the smirking made him less hot. But since his taking me hostage didn’t seem to diminish the effect he has on me, I’m pretty sure nothing will make him a turnoff. It’s annoying. Good thing I’m determined.
I give him a look. “Please. Your middle name is ulterior motive.”
He moves even closer to me, invading my space. “Actually, it’s Gabriele.”
“Scorpion Gabriele Andriani? Your parents didn’t do you any favors, did they?” I wrinkle my nose, determined not to back down, even though he’s so close I can smell his cologne and I can practically feel the heat of his body burning into mine.
Or maybe it’s just hot in here.
“My first name is Lorenzo,” he corrects coolly. “Scorpion is my nickname.”
I’m not going to ask how he earned it because I can connect the dots.
“Which do you prefer?” I ask instead and then instantly regret the question.
It feels too intimate. Too…wifely. And I have no intention of being this man’s wife for longer than absolutely necessary. It doesn’t matter what name he goes by or why.
“Everyone calls me Scorpion.”
“Lorenzo, then.” I give him my brightest smile, determined to irritate the hell out of him.
To torment him any way I can until he gets tired and sets me free.
His eyes narrow to ocean slits. “You can call me Lorenzo if you’d like, but I’m used to only hearing my name when a woman is screaming it.”
“Because you’re murdering her?” I guess, moving past him to put some space between us.
His cologne is enough to give me a pheromone high. A man like him has no right to smell so delicious. He should be banned from buying anything but cologne that smells like a cheap, used dryer sheet.
“In a sense,” he tells me, completely unapologetic.
I’d love to slap the smug expression off his face.
Not just because his humblebrags are making me think about what it would be like to be in bed with him.
He reminds me of a thrill ride. I bet he’d turn me inside out, fucking me wild and hard and so good it steals my breath. I’d like to slap him for that, too.
“I have to admit, it’s weird, this dynamic.” I gesture between us, then pick my water bottle back up. “I’m not used to being free to walk out of the room when you’re being an asshole. Usually, I’m cuffed or chained to a bed.”
“That can be remedied when we’re married,” he says smoothly. “If it’s what you like.”
“Why are you here again anyway?” I take another sip of water to distract myself.
“Why are you here?” he counters. “You haven’t been to your apartment since we got back from the cabin.”
“You mean since you released me after holding me hostage against my will for two days, kidnapper?” I cock my head at him, belatedly taking in the full ramifications of everything he just said. “Wait a minute. Have you been watching my apartment?”
He stares at me, saying nothing.
“You have been watching my apartment.” I start pacing, all the de-stressing magic yoga worked on me completely obliterated by his presence and the knowledge that he’s been stalking me.
“You’re my concern now,” he says, as if that makes it right.
“We’re not married yet,” I snap, my voice harsh.
Harsh because I don’t want to think about the fact that I’ll be married to the dangerous stranger currently invading my space.
The one who earned his deadly nickname, who kidnapped me and held me against my will, who pointed a loaded Glock to my head, who has probably violated every one of the Ten Commandments, some of them more than once.
The one who is a vicious Mafia enforcer who would kill me the second I was no longer useful to him.
“But we will be, soon enough,” he says dispassionately, as if he is totally unaffected by the life-altering wedding we’re both facing against our wills. “You’ve read the contract, haven’t you, hellcat?”
I don’t bother to tell him that everyone calls me Katya because his words make my blood go cold. “There’s a contract?”
Of course there’s a contract. Now that he mentions it, pieces of the night he brought me back to Misha return, washing over me like a trickle of water from a broken showerhead.
One drop at a time. There was a stack of papers in front of Misha.
And his lawyer, Vlad, was there. I should have known my brother wouldn’t leave anything to chance.
The marriage contract is probably more legally binding than any document I’ve ever signed, even though my signature wasn’t required.
Misha has the best lawyers money can buy and all the power being Pakhan brings with it. It doesn’t matter how he ascended his throne. He’s there now, and no one can unseat him unless they kill him before he kills them.
“So you haven’t seen it, then,” Scorpion is saying, his voice knowing, like it’s what he expected.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that it takes me a couple of seconds to comprehend. He’s talking about the contract. The supposed marriage contract. The one binding me to him until death do us part.
It’ll be a hell of a lot sooner than that.
I’m about to ask him what the contract says. Not that I trust him to tell me the truth, but my own brother didn’t bother to show me, even though he’s playing God with my life. But then Scorpion pulls a thick, folded packet of papers from inside his suit and extends it to me.
“You might want to take a look. Specifically, the clause concerning issue.”
I blink, still struggling to make sense of everything. “Issue?”
“Offspring,” he says succinctly, shoving the folded document into my chest when I fail to accept it.
“Children?” I snatch the contract from his grasp, appalled.
Misha has reached a new low.
I’m not surprised, of course. I expect anything from him. He’s a tyrant and a sociopath, as ruthless as they come.
“We’re being forced to have kids,” he explains. “At least one.”
I sway.
My plan didn’t account for this.