THE RAISON D’ÊTRE
SIX
THE RAISON D’êTRE
She’s a liability.
When Misha made his end-of-days, gloom-filled remarks, I know it’s these situations he’s talking about.
But even while I was driving up to goddamn Poughkeepsie, toying with the speed limits like they were a suggestion, not the law, to make it in time, I could hear him whining in my head.
I just didn’t care.
There comes a point in everyone’s life when you have to ask yourself, what the fuck are you doing anything for?
Why did you dodge the knife that was aimed at your heart?
Why did you buy that multimillion-dollar brownstone?
Why did you put more guards on her than the president?
Because she’s why I get up in the morning.
Because she makes striving for more than my status quo imperative.
“Wow,” the woman who has no idea that she has my dick in a bind blurts, sounding more alert than earlier.
She held up well at first, but the adrenaline crash was intense.
I hated the necessity of her shedding blood, but the second I saw who she’d been buddied up with, I wasn’t about to take any chances.
I’ll reserve judgment on whether any of this is necessary or not.
“You like it?”
“It’s not what I thought you’d buy.” She peeps at me. “No offense.”
“None taken. If you think this is bad, you should have seen the others that were for sale. At least this has some history to it.”
“You wanted that?”
“Thought you would.”
“You bought it for me?”
That wispy tone… God, when she brings it out, I want to devour her. And the worst part is, she isn’t toying with me. It’s all natural. She was born to tease me out of my ever-loving mind.
“Did you think we’d be rooming with O’Donnelly when we married?”
Her gasp is short. Sharp. Then, she exhales slowly. Shakily.
Talk about two different signals on either side of a single breath.
“You want me to live here while I finish school?” She freezes. “Wait—when we’re married?!”
“How much did you drink at the meal?”
“Asshole!” I relax into my seat at the criticism. “You can’t drop something like that on a girl and not expect her to be surprised.”
“Which part shocked you? The fact I won’t room with O’Donnelly? Or that I bought a house without asking you? Because you can’t be shocked about being my bride, Victoria…”
That earns me a harrumph. “Firstly, he has a name, you know?”
“And I’ll never use it.”
“Secondly, you’re right! You didn’t ask me. Jerk.”
I smirk into the darkness as we pull up outside what I’ve been reliably informed is a “Federal Colonial farmhouse.” Tell me the real estate agents stacked words together and hoped they’d make sense…
What I know is that the building looks like it tried to be a Greek temple and failed, so they stacked some bits of wood on it that make the doorway overly massive with its two grandiose Doric columns, and the upper floor appears to be the property’s low forehead.
The agents, seeing the monstrosity and having zero taste, slapped a three-million-dollar price tag on it.
“It’s pretty.”
And that’s why I bought it.
“Maybe it’s an American thing?” I comment dryly.
She snorts. “You mean, like me?”
That earns her a grimace.
Her being American is a fact I prefer not to be reminded of.
She whacks my arm. “Who turned on the lights?”
“Staff.”
“You have staff?”
“It’s a big house and I don’t see you mopping the Greek Revivalist front stoop.” What the hell does Greek Revivalist mean anyway?
“No. I don’t even do that when you drop body parts on it,” she quips, shoving open the passenger door and standing beside the car as she studies her new home.
Well, her marital home.
I swear the wait is going to kill me.
That kiss earlier—goddammit to hell.
Everything I knew it’d be.
A reminder of her perfection and why, despite my brothers thinking I’m insane, I waited for her.
I didn’t when she was a child because I’m not a monk and I never lusted after her like the perverts that run this country. But the second she turned eighteen and I knew my sins could and would be used against me, like a smart man, I remained celibate.
Nearly three fucking years of using my fist—that kiss told me the wait was worthwhile.
You make sacrifices when joining your blood with a woman like Victoria’s. I don’t regret it or resent it, but I’ll be relieved when it’s over.
“It has character.”
“So it should for the price I paid.”
She tuts. “Don’t be a heathen.”
“In my job description.”
“You didn’t have to buy it.”
“Yes, I did. I knew you’d like it.”
“How? It’s not as if we talked about our architectural preferences, Maxim.”
“The history might not be yours, but I know you’re a nostalgic person.”
“It is mine.” She laughs. “I’m American. Born and raised.”
That earns her a grunt.
“Do the rugs match the drapes?”
Years of English/elocution lessons are thrown out the window as my brain blue-screens. “Don’t you decide that?”
“Huh? Oh. No. I meant is the interior similar?”
“What does that have to do with drapes and rugs?”
“Never mind.”
“It’s traditional. Down to the stone hearth in the kitchen where you can toast bread if you want to and the hardwood floor throughout.” Deciding that I’d better face the residential nightmare I purchased for her, I climb out from behind the wheel too.
“How many staff?”
“Five.”
“Liar.”
“Five,” I repeat.
“Guards?”
Seeing no point in hiding, I point out the three guardhouses.
She whistles. “This place came with three extra properties? How many acres is it set on?”
“Four.”
“Are you going to turn into a dairy farmer, Maxim?” she taunts, but I’ll take it. She at least sounds back to normal, and if teasing me is what she needs, then tease me she can.
“The only thing I’ll milk is you. Of orgasms.”
“Oh,” she keens. “That’s a relief. I thought you might be into hucows.”
“No, but that Veronian I have tucked away is.”
I fasten my sports jacket and round the car.
She automatically slips her hand over my forearm then tugs on it. “You worked hard last night.”
Rather than question why she’s repeating herself, I add, “I work hard every night.”
“But… for me.”
“I work hard every night for you.”
“What?” Her confusion has me clucking my tongue.
“Everyone needs something to strive for. Or someone. You’re my someone.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll never understand you.”
“You keep on saying that, but there’s little to understand. You. Are. Mine. That’s what matters.”
“And you keep on saying that but I don’t know what it means. You blow hot and cold and then tell me you bought me a house. I don’t see you for two years, and then I’m the one who turns up out of the blue, at the brownstone I only knew was yours because I had to ask your damn guards, by the way…
“Then, you show up to help with my initiation when I know you don’t approve, even if you appreciate that it’ll be beneficial for business. I’m your princess and your kitten one minute, but the next you’re advising me to kill someone!”
By the end, she’s breathing heavily.
“Feel better for getting that off your chest?”
“GAH!” She shoves me away. “You drive me CRAZY.”
I smile into the darkness.
Into my silence, she snipes about pigheaded Russians who don’t have the decency to do things that make sense, and I let her blow off some steam.
“Are you bored, Victoria?”
My silken question has her freezing.
Words. Actions. Everything.
In the smallest of voices, she mutters, “No.”
I hum. “Let me show you your home.”
“It’s my home if I furnish it and not a second sooner.”
“It’s your home.”
“I might hate it.”
“Then I’ll buy you another one. But don’t dismiss it out of hand.
I have the air rights to the property so no one can fly drones over it.
There is shelter for our guards to live in comfortably, as well as an exterior fence that’d fry a man like he’s a piece of bacon if an intruder came into contact with it.
“The walls might look like the original colonizers stacked them together, but the insulation has a variant of Kevlar imbedded into it because the previous owner had more money than sense as well as an inherent belief that the government was out to get him, and it’s five minutes away from your school while being on the outskirts so I don’t have to be surrounded by petulant college-aged brats who are smart enough for an Ivy League school but not enough to recognize that the world doesn’t revolve around them or that they’re future cannon fodder. ”
“Wow, that’s one run-on sentence.”
I ignore her to continue, “Now, you can dress it up how you want and I can look for another house if you loathe this one, but it had better be for a damn good reason and not just that you don’t like the color of the floors.”
She whistles. “Feel better for getting that off your chest?”
Despite myself, I laugh. “Brat.”
The gravel of the driveway crunches as she approaches the porch. “Funny, I bet someone called you that once upon a time.”
“I don’t make bets I’ll lose. You haven’t met Nikolai, have you?”
“Nikolai?”
“Veles.”
“Oh. No.” For the first time, unease settles in her expression. “You know him?”
“I call him brother but he’s more like a father. Not that I tell him that. He has enough power over me,” I grouch.
The concession has her reaching for my arm again. “When will I meet him?”
“At the wedding most likely.”
She hisses. “WHEN, Maxim? WHEN?”
“The wedding?” I shrug. “Set a date.”
That earns me a gasp and she spins in the gravel again. “You’re supposed to propose first and maybe, if you’re lucky and don’t keep on pissing me off, I’ll say yes.”
“I’ll drop on one knee right now if you want me to, kroshka.”
“What if I said tomorrow?”
“To marry? Or for me to propose?”
“To marry!”
“I’d say we can hold the service tomorrow but you’ll still have to arrange a wedding in the city.
” When her shoulders slump, I run my fingers along the line of her jaw.
“I’ve made great strides in hiding my role in the Forgotten Boys from the bulk of society, Victoria.
” For you. “Legitimizing my position means that there are expectations.”
“Since when do you live up to those?”
“Since forever. Being a leader involves more give and take than I think you imagine.”
“You want to make a statement.”
“In a way.”
“What statement?”
“That you belong to me. That you’re mine.”
“So, nothing to do with business then?” she drawls.
I tsk. “What did I tell you earlier?”
She huffs. “Yeah, yeah. I am your business.”
“Precisely. I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Are there beds inside?”
“I won’t fuck you. Not until you’re my wife.”
“My body, my choice, jerk.”
“What can I say? I’m a traditionalist.”
“What if I’m not a virgin?”
“It’s still the first night I’ll call you mine in every way under the moon. Nobody will ever take you from me.”
“You want to own me,” she falters.
“No, I want to make sure no one else can.”
Her shoulders slump again. “You rile me up and then say sweet shit. It’s so annoying. Grr, why do I even like you? And don’t ask me if I’m bored. No. I’m not. Jackass.”
I slide my fingers around the back of her neck and haul her into me.
Her arms immediately wrap around my waist.
Unsurprisingly, she breaks down.
Her sobs fuel my rage like little else can, but I hold her through the storm.
Whatever she expected tonight, it didn’t include murder.
That she has the capacity for it comes as no surprise to me. I don’t like what she had to do but I understand the necessity, knowing full well she’s pragmatic enough to understand it too.
She sags weakly into me, the riot of tears having passed. “Is the Harrington whose ear you sent me related to the one I—”
“Yes. Harrington Jr. was a legacy.”
“If father and son are both tied to the Veronians, then why did they have me beat him for my initiation?”
“Curious, isn’t it?” I kiss her temple. “His uncle was who you heard shouting earlier tonight.”
“Why did you send Sr.’s ear to me? All we needed was proof of—”
“Did it make you feel safe?”
“Yes,” she confesses. “I don’t have to know whose body a part belongs to to know that you send them to me for a reason.”
“I’m glad that you came to recognize that, katyonok.” Satisfied, I hum. “Now, as to the why. The ear made a statement. One you backed up tonight. That matters.” When her breath hitches, I stroke my hand over her back. “Meanwhile, I’ll hold onto him for intel.”
“Harrington Sr.’s Brother Theodoric?”
“Yes. As for Jr., he hasn’t earned your tears or your distress. He’ll rot in hell, and you spared a lot of people and animals misery at his hands.”
“When did you become a humanist?” Her faint smile crumbles apart. “What if someone goes to the cops? I-I don’t want to go to jail.”
“You won’t. I’d take you to Montenegro before that happened.”
“You don’t have any power over there.”
“I have plenty.”
“Why Montenegro?”
“There’s no extradition treaty with the US and because the Forgotten Boys haven’t taken over Russia yet. Plus, Montenegro has a beautiful coastline. I think you’d be happy there.”
Her arms tighten around me. “You’re like my guardian demon.”
Pressing a kiss to her temple, I smirk. “I’d prefer to be called your husband, but I’ll take whatever label I can get.”
She snorts and it morphs into chuckles. Not in hysteria. Just exhausted amusement.
“I’m a virgin.”
The abrupt statement has me murmuring, “I know.”
That has her rearing back to gasp at me. “How did you know?!”
“Tonight’s kiss.” There was experience there—but not enough to make me murderous.
“Oh.” She cuddles into me again. “That’s okay then. I thought you might have cameras in my bedroom or something. You don’t. Right?”
“I don’t,” I confirm.
“Do you?”
“I don’t.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“Probably.”
She growls. “Maddening man.”
“Your maddening man.” I kiss her temple. “No cameras. I promise. I can put some there if you’d like. Get them installed tonight so you can find them tomorrow and you can shove distance between us?”
“How helpful of you.” She knocks me with her elbow. “Come on then. Show me this damn house.”
Following her up the driveway, I grin as she, muttering all the while, stomps over to the steps that lead to the oversized front door.
She might be mafia royalty, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love rattling her crown…