Chapter 42
IVAN
As I walk into the room, my breathing slows. It’s such a wholesome picture, the three of them cozy, my girls loved. If I’m not careful, I’m going to get used to this.
Gabriella’s legs are stretched out, her shirt untucked from her jeans, the top buttons loose and falling open and revealing more skin than she usually does. I’d like to tease my way down every little button and unwrap her like a gift.
“I’ll read them one more story,” I say, focusing on the moment. From the look of Katya’s and Irisha’s eyes, they’re ready to doze off.
“Okay.” Gabriella closes the book, gives each girl the obligatory kissy-kiss-kiss, and scoots off the bed.
“Don’t go far,” I say as she walks past, suppressing the need to touch her.
“Okay. Goodnight, girls. Sleep tight.”
We wrap up the story and I relax a minute, making sure the girls fall asleep.
What a fucking day. I’ve been a good boy, backing down from my new habit and giving Gabi space.
I might be that fucker, but I’m not going to stalk a woman while she’s dealing with her period.
I kept an eye on her only through the usual channels where Yuri or Milana are invariably in the picture, fucking with the aesthetic of my future wife playing with my daughters.
Gabriella has coaxed my sister back to life, and for this, I’ll be eternally grateful.
All the way to the Pakhan’s quarters, I argued with Milana, explaining why her marriage into Il Consiglio is our best chance for survival.
She gave me shit all the way, almost blowing up in a full-on tantrum.
But when I shared the wedding news with the Pakhan, and he only faintly squeezed our hands in blessing, Milana was finally resigned to her fate.
I rule now, and whatever I decide for my sister is law.
Our Papa never approved of Boryslav in the first place. Bullet dodged.
I bet Milana won’t sleep a wink tonight. Friday is around the corner. As a final security measure, I’ve upped the guard until then. If she wants to run, she’ll be heading straight to the basement for the rest of her stay under my roof.
There’s an arranged marriage as a concept, and then there’s the reality of being stuck in one. I haven’t given my sister the same grace I allowed myself this second time around.
Yep, I’m that fucker.
I’m handing her over on a platter, just like my first wife got handed over to me.
But Luca Scalera will play nicely. I have his little sister.
My mind fills with Gabriella and how to actually ask her.
I’m not sure why I have the burning need to propose, but it’s probably driven by my experience the first time around.
I met my first wife at the altar, our fates decided by others.
I’m not entitled to more, but somehow, I want this to be different.
At least we’ve had time to get to know each other, and she’s wriggled straight into my daughters’ hearts. If I don’t watch out, my own walls could crumble when it comes to her. Reminder: this is a business arrangement, and the end goal is sons. I only need two, and then I’d set her free.
I scoot down the bed and walk to the corridor, closing the bedroom door behind me. The security gate still stands open, but so does Gabriella’s door. I spot her sitting in her wingback, her Bible in her lap.
“Come have a drink with me,” I say, holding out my hand.
Earlier, she didn’t pull away as we walked from the garden into the house, and it encouraged me. She’s warming up to the idea.
“Okay.” She stands, puts the Bible on her nightstand, and straightens her shirt with nervous fingers. “I don’t really drink…and I think Milana might have drunk you out of house and home.”
I smirk. “I have my own stock.” Instead of taking her hand in mine, I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her down the stairs. “This way.”
“Where’re we going?” she asks when we reach the first floor and I take a turn in a direction she wouldn’t have gone yet.
“My office.” To remind myself this is a business proposal, nothing more. It’s bad enough that I’ve been obsessively stalking her through my security cameras, I can’t afford to develop feelings for a woman who’d prefer to have me at arm’s length as soon as she’s served her purpose.
Fuck. I’m an idiot. She’s already crawled under my skin, on her way to my dark, decrepit heart. I’m trying to fool myself, just like I did with Darya, until I realized how fucked up she was.
But I can’t go down that path. This marriage will work and it will be on my terms.
I have her by the hand now and I open the door to my office at the end of the corridor. It used to be Papa’s, and I still see him sitting behind the desk, hands calmly folded, in charge. Nothing ever shook him.
Or maybe some things did, and I was just too young to realize it. What do we really know about the people in our lives who we got to know from a kid’s perspective, slowly inching our way through life to adulthood while they were living it? Not much.
Gabriella gasps. “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”
It’s one of the few rooms that wasn’t subjected to the barrage of bullets that hailed down on this house.
Papa bought it on auction and imported the old wooden cabinetry from Russia, from one of the noble Russian houses no less, and reassembled it here.
It’s a miracle it’s still intact with row upon row of leather-bound and gold-embossed books in Russian.
A great nation of literary geniuses. Papa read them all.
“Here. Sit down.” I let go of her hand as she sits in the chair facing the desk, then close the window shutters, providing us with privacy. When I switch on a reading lamp, it casts the room in an antique glow, reminiscent of slower times.
I hover at the side cabinet where I keep some booze.
Whisky, vodka, brandy, every hard liquor a man loves to toss down on a tough day.
Nothing suitable for a barely legal drinking-aged convent girl who doesn’t really drink.
And I don’t want her drunk, just fake-happy.
Maybe it would be a real happy. Who knows.
I pour two glasses of neat whisky, because the vodka I have would burn a hole straight through her stomach, and I can’t have that. I hand her a glass, and we each take a few contemplative sips.
She grows bold and drinks deeper, but coughs and splutters, trying to be suave about it. I bite down on my lip to hide a smile.
“Marry me?” I ask as she looks up, eyes watery from the whisky’s punch.
She sniffs. “Just like that?”
“How else?”
I asked, didn’t I? It strikes me this isn’t very romantic, so I take the glass from her, put it with mine on the desk, and drop to my knees in front of her.
I reach for her hand, press a kiss to her trembling fingers, and ask again, “Marry me?”
She giggles. “Just like that?”
Blyad’. The alcohol hits this one fast.
“How else?” I repeat. I’d have expected a yes by now.
“Are my brothers behind this?”
“Of course.”
“And I don’t have any say?”
“Say what you want to say now.”
She hesitates, tries to retract her hand. “I can’t marry you.”
“Why not?”
I let go of her hand and settle both of mine on her thighs, relishing the shudder running through her as I splay my fingers, playing dirty already.
“I—”
You don’t know me. Her words to me ring like a far-off warning bell, but I ignore them.
“Gabriella. This is the way our worlds work. This is how we survive. We get along, the girls adore you, I need sons. Milana is marrying your brother Luca to guarantee your safety. It doesn’t get better than this. Not in our worlds.”
She sucks her lip, and it hits me then: my fairy tale girl was looking to marry for love. And that’s the one thing that’s never part of this equation. This is business.
“There’s much more to a marriage than love, moya ptichka,” I say softly. “We have everything to make it work.” My hands slide higher to her hips as I lean in and tug her to me, forcing her legs to open and hug my sides. “We have this.”
An undeniable sexual attraction.
“Ivan,” she murmurs, her hands on my chest, hovering for a second, probably wanting to push me away.
But then, she slides them over my pecs, squeezing as she feels me, her fingertips tracing the shape of my shoulders, the rounded slopes to my biceps, trying to circle her hands around my arms. She did this when I kissed her, too, feeling my muscles, touching my skin, exploring like she was born to do.
At the memory, I press her even closer, aligning her sweet pussy with my hardening cock. By the blush on her cheeks, the sudden shortness of breath, she’s wanting this. I bet she’s been thirsting for this.
That stalled session in the shower, when she didn’t get off as she clearly wanted to. Fuck.
Now all I want is to make her come.
I’m a fool. The need to make her come has been front and center for days now. I want her to succumb to me, allow me to pleasure her with my hands and tongue.
I might ask her to marry me just like that, but when it comes to sex, I plan to treasure her, make her feel, and make her love every minute of being with me.
She’ll be begging for my cock every private moment we have, and I will fulfill every desire my sweet virgin has.
She might have some now, but she’ll discover more along the way, and I’ll make sure we explore every route leading to her pleasure.
She will be my wife in every sense of the word, love or not.
I will make her fall in love with me. It doesn’t matter if her love is a one-way street, unrequited. I’ll make her feel as if she has everything she needs.
As she leans into me, I brush her hair aside and kiss her, from the corner of her mouth to her ear, rolling the lobe with my tongue, making her snatch at her breath.
Her fingers dig into my hair as she clings to me, her head falling to the side, opening her neck to me.
I take my time. She smells so good, her skin tastes like sweet fall sun, and as my hand travels up her side to her breast to cup the perfect round, her nipple is hard under my palm. She pushes into my hand with a moan as my lips suck and press against that most sensitive spot beneath her ear.
I don’t stop but travel south, my one hand now fumbling with her shirt’s buttons, eager to take her breast in my mouth, my cock seeking the pressure of her sweet virginal pussy.
When she drives into me, rocking wantonly against my cock in a way I bet she doesn’t even register, I groan. “Fuck, Gabriella, I need to make you come. Let me make you come.”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, please.”
So fucking polite. What a good girl.
I smile as I tug at her bra, revealing that perfect pink and pert nipple. My mouth waters, and desire rumbles through my body like a fucking avalanche. And I just can’t help myself. “Knew that word would come out of your mouth soon enough.”
Before she can protest, I cover her lips with mine.