Chapter 5 - Valentin
I see the exact moment Gela’s expression turns from confusion and fear to shock and rage. Her trembling lip straightens up, right along with her spine, and she folds her arms in front of her, the papers crushing as she does.
“Are you threatening me?” She steps forward until she’s glaring up at me.
“What do you think, Valentin—if that’s even your real name—that you’re some kind of savior?
That I can’t survive without you? Those criminals, as you say, knew you too.
And now you expect me to thank you and sign along whatever dotted line you tell me to? ”
Her eyes burn into me. Just this morning, they’d been soft when she batted her lashes at me. Now she looks at me like I’m a monster.
Well, that’s fine by me. She doesn’t get it yet, but Gela Jones needs to be broken of her delusions about running away from this. If she hates me, I can live with her anger, but I can’t let her walk out of here knowing she could wind up dead.
“I don’t expect a thank you.” I step closer to, until I feel the heat off her skin. “I just expect you to sign that marriage license.”
“No way in hell.” She shakes her head.
“It’s the only way you live. I’m not making it up, Gela.”
“You’re insane.” She refuses to see the truth. “I have options. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need your protection.”
“What are your options, Gela?” I cut her off, angrily. She flinches, and I force myself to lower my tone. “Tell me your brilliant plan.”
“I can call the police, and they’ll put me in witness protection. Or I’ll go back to my family in Minnesota. But you can’t expect me to marry you! I don’t even know you.”
I groan in frustration. “The police? Those men you met today own half the Boston PD. You'll be dead before you finish filing the report.”
“You're lying.” Her face pales.
“And as for your family, if you contact them, you put a target on their backs, too. And witness protection?” I shake my head. “For what? You don't even know what you witnessed.”
“Okay.” She begins to look uncertain, and thank god for that because she needs to doubt herself to get out of this mess. “Why would you do that for me? If they’re so dangerous, aren’t you afraid they’ll come for you?”
“If they’ve got deep pockets, I’ve got deeper,” I shrug, and she freezes. “I swear, I’m the only one who can protect you. I’m powerful in the city, Gela.”
“This is insane,” she whispers, going pale as she shakes her head. “This can't be happening.”
“Sign the papers willingly, or I sign them for you because I don’t want your death on my conscience.” I don’t sugarcoat it as I pass her the pen. I know I’m crossing a line here, bringing in a civilian into our world. But if she dies because I hesitated, I won’t be able to live with it.
She just stares at it, her entire body shaking. “It’s either this or you’re dead in a ditch somewhere. Decide.”
I wait with bated breath as she takes the pen, thinking this is it, she’s about to sign. But then, at the last minute, she looks up. “Why do I have to marry you for this? Why can’t you just…hide me away?”
“Because those criminals only respect territory and family. Everything else is off-limits,” I say without skipping a beat. But even as I do, I wonder if I’m being totally honest with myself. Maybe there is another way, but I don’t want to take any chances when it comes to her.
“How do you know this?”
“In my line of work, I need to keep an eye on everyone. Criminals, politicians, other businessmen.” I know it’s a little lie by omission, the way I insinuate I’m not that dangerous.
That I’m just a businessman, but I know Gela won’t exactly stand around and smile at the idea of marrying into the Bratva.
And right now, I don’t need to be honest. I need to keep her safe.
She nods, like she’s soaking in my words. “And this marriage will only be on paper?” Her voice trembles.
“Only on paper,” I agree.
Even though the truth is that the thought of her in danger makes me willing to burn this city to the ground, this forced marriage is as much about keeping her close as it is about keeping her safe.
She looks at me, and I see the fight slowly draining from her as her new reality sets in. “If I sign this... what happens next?”
“It’s not a matter of if you sign this, it’s a matter of when, because you’re signing it no matter what. And then, you come with me, and I keep you safe. We figure out the rest as we go.”
She stares at the paper for a long time, and then, at last, signs where she has to with a trembling hand.
When she finishes, she looks up at me with such anger that it actually makes me reel.
“I hate you for this.”
“Fair enough,” I say with a twist in my heart, taking the paper from her to sign my name next to hers. “But at least you’ll be alive.”
“Some life,” she huffs and turns to walk out the door, like breathing the same air as me might cause her a disease.
I follow her with the papers, and once outside, I hand them to the balding man who's been waiting by the door.
“Let's go,” I say once we’re done, reaching for her arm, but she jerks away from me.
“Don't.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have. But after everything that happened today, wanting her close to me has become a habit of sorts. I respect her wish and lead her to the car without touching her, even by accident. She gets in willingly this time, which is an improvement, I suppose.
“Can we go back to mine so I can grab my things?” she asks defeatedly.
“Not yet. It's not safe if those guys know where you live.” I glance at her. “I'll have someone collect what you need tomorrow.”
“Whatever,” she says lifelessly, and I hate this dull version of her. She turns to stare out of the window, and though she’s trying to control herself, I think I see her sobbing silently, trying to keep it from me.
I want to comfort her, but I know it won’t go down too well. I’ve made her my wife, sure, but winning her trust’s going to be a different matter altogether.
She lets out a little sniffle, and I silently pass over the box of tissues, placing it by her side on the seat. If she notices, she doesn’t say a word. I put on some music, hoping it’ll help soothe her emotions.
But she flinches and gasps when the bass comes on, so I immediately turn it off. Maybe putting on a loud sound wasn’t the best idea after all that happened tonight.
I hate seeing her like this. I wish I could tell her the truth—that I’ve been watching her like a man obsessed, protecting her from dangers she can’t see, wanting her in ways I can’t hide anymore. And of course I’ll never hurt her.
But how do you say that without sounding insane? She’d never believe me anyway.
So I just stay quiet, and she doesn’t say a word as we drive back home.
We drive in silence through the city until we reach the outskirts, where the congested city falls behind to neighborhoods with gated estates.
I could have taken her to the family compound, but bringing her there immediately would be too much. She needs time to adjust to who I am before meeting the rest of my crazy clan.
I turn into the private road leading to my estate and pull up outside the twenty-foot-high wrought iron gates. The two armed men outside don’t waste a second in opening the gates, and as we enter, I notice Gela sit up straighter to peer out of the window at the grounds and mansion coming up ahead.
“This place is... yours?” she asks quietly, turning to me.
“It’s one of my properties. I have an apartment in the city too, but this is safer for you.”
“Jesus Christ,” she stares out again.
The driveway winds around fountains, bushes that cost tens of thousands to maintain, and canopies of beautiful trees I had imported. I slow down on the drive, letting her see it all without missing anything.
At last, we pull up at the double-storied mansion, made entirely of beautiful Italian stone that looks like it’s been pulled out of a riverbed.
I help her out of the car, and I notice her eyes don’t miss a thing. She takes in the house, notices every window and exit. She thinks she’s being sly, but her eyes give away her mind. When she sees the men patrolling nearby, she slows down.
We head up the marble steps to the front door, and we step right in. It’s always open, the main door. I never need to close it, not with so many men around.
But the minute I shut the door behind me, she rounds on me with a fire in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
“Who the hell are you?” she demands, her hands open as she motions to where we are. “And why the hell are you picking out avocados at the grocery store?”
My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead. “Avocados? What the hell, Gela?”
I try not to laugh, but a half-choked sound tears out of my throat anyway.
“Yeah!” she protests. “You don’t need to buy your own groceries, do you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“Were you…stalking me?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Please.” I roll my eyes, even though she’s skirting dangerously close to the truth. “I told you. I have work in the city, and an apartment there. That apartment can’t fit all these guards, you know.”
“Okay. Whatever. But you’ve been lying to me from the second we met, and I want to know exactly who you are, starting with your name!”
God, she’s wild when she’s mad. And utterly obnoxious without a fear in her body. And yet, why the hell am I feeling so alive by that?
“You think I lied about my name?” I step closer.
“Probably. Yeah!”
I walk over to the foyer table, and she follows. I grab a letter, hand it to her. “See? Valentin Yuri. The same name on the marriage papers.”
I know I’ve got her there, because her face falls for a second. “Oh, right,” she mumbles, embarrassed that she’d slipped up, but then it’s as if the next breath she takes reminds her of the fact that there’s still fight left in her.
“And the rest? Your 'import/export business'?” She makes air quotes with her fingers, actual air quotes. “Was that true, too?”
“Yes. In fact, I imported the stones for this house.” I motion around.
“Lovely,” she hisses. “But there has to be more here. You can’t be…this…”
“What, rich?”
“Exactly!” Her furious gaze meets mine, like being rich is a crime.
I hold back a smile, utterly captivated by this anger of hers. All this while, Gela Jones was the sweetheart of the neighborhood. How her colors have changed, right in front of my eyes, and I’m all for it.
“Look, if you’re asking, I’m not like those guys,” I say.
“You killed three men today!” she shouts, stepping closer to me.
“I think one of them was still alive. But look, if I hadn’t done that, they would have killed you,” I remind her, not too gently.
“Look at you. Where do we sign you up for the Nobel Peace Prize?” she hisses, stepping closer, until I can smell her perfume and see the little flecks of black in her brown eyes.
“Try thank you. I’ll settle for that.” I let out a grin at last. God, now that I’ve seen this fire in her, I have no other choice but to stoke it.
She's inches from me now, her chest heaving with annoyance. If we were different people, in a different situation, I'd pull her against me and kiss that rage right off her lips.
“Go to hell.”
“You've already wished that on me once today. Try something new.”
She makes a sound of pure frustration and turns away to pace in panic, curving a hand through that silken blonde hair on her scalp, and the move nearly undoes me.
“This is insane. All of it. I can't believe this is happening.”
I watch her without moving, transfixed. I feel that if I blink, I’ll miss too much. “Believe it.”
She turns back to me with a flare. “Can I at least have some water? Or is that too much to ask from my kidnapper-slash-husband?”
I gesture toward the kitchen, just wanting to see more of her in action. “Help yourself. First door on the right.”
She stalks off, and I let her go. The house is secure, and I doubt she’s foolish enough to try to escape right now, in broad daylight.
But when a couple of minutes pass, and she doesn’t return, I follow her path.
To my shock, the kitchen is empty when I enter. That’s when I notice the kitchen door ajar.
Son of a bitch.
I run through the door just in time to see Gela halfway across the lawn, heading for the perimeter fence. She's fast for someone in heels, I'll give her that.
“Gela!” I shout, but she doesn't stop. In fact, mother has mercy, she runs faster.
I take off after her, trying to catch up. She glances back, sees me gaining on her, and lets out a little yelp of frustration.
A very cute little yelp, at that.
She's almost at the fence when two of my guards notice me chase and intercept her, only to grab her roughly by the arms.
She struggles against them, kicking and twisting like a wildcat.
“Let me go!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “Help! Somebody help me!”
A flare of anger roars to life inside me at the sight of their hands on her. I’m by their side in seconds.
“Get your hands off her,” I hiss, glaring at the guards.
The two men exchange startled looks, but immediately release her. Gela tries to make another break for it, but I catch her around the waist before she can get away.
“That's enough,” I growl into her ear as she struggles against me. “You're only going to hurt yourself.”
“Let me go!” she demands, trying to pry my arm from around her waist.
“Not a chance,” I say, lifting her off her feet and carrying her back toward the house. She kicks and squirms the entire way, but I hold her firmly against me.
“You can't keep me prisoner here!” she protests as I carry her through the back door, through the kitchen, and up the staircase.
“You’re my wife, remember?”
“Not from where I'm standing!”
“You signed those papers! What changed? You decided your life isn’t worth it anymore, or what?” I bellow back, now mildly annoyed at this little flip in her switch.
I kick open a door to the guest room at the end of the hallway and unceremoniously dump her on the bed. She tries to stand, her eyes reaching for the door behind me, but before she can, I step in front of her and walk backward, keeping my eyes on her until I’m at the door, closing it shut.
Then, I key in the lock.
Within seconds, her fists are pounding up against the wood. “You can't do this! Let me out!”
“Get some rest,” I call through the door. “We'll talk in the morning when you've calmed down.”