2. Tatiana
2
TATIANA
N auseating horror twists in my gut as his words land with crushing force upon my shoulders. Lucian killed my parents to be with me? He’s spent months waging war between our families. He laid a trap knowing perfectly well that I would send my family’s assassin in to kill him, and he used that leverage to force my hand. But then, does that mean…?
“Did you know? About Natasha? Did you know she was an assassin before she came to kill you?” I ask, my voice quivering with fear. Who is this man that’s outsmarted me at every turn? I’ve spent my life strategizing, learning from a father who knew all the ins and outs of this very intricate game we mafia leaders play. And Lucian just manipulated me like it was child’s play.
The slow smirk that spreads across his face makes me shudder violently.
“You see, principessa , I know how to keep secrets too. When given the right… incentive ,” he purrs. “And I have a feeling you’re going to give me all the reason I could ever need to keep that secret locked away nice and tight.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask flatly, though my stomach quivers with the dark suggestion of his words.
“Only that soon, you’ll be my wife, and I think you’ll come to see just how loyal of a husband I can be.” Lucian eyes me up and down once more, his gaze appreciative. Then his attention turns to the young woman who entered the room from the en suite bath moments ago. “Gabriella, I trust you can have my bride ready in…two hours?”
“Yes, signore ,” she says with a polite curtsy.
Lucian gives one final nod, then departs, closing the door snuggly behind him. My ears ring, my body going numb as I stare vacantly at the garment bags. In a matter of hours, Lucian Agosti has turned my world inside out—and I never even saw it coming.
“Do you know what style you would like your wedding dress to be, signorina ?” Gabriella asks, turning her soft, wide brown eyes on me.
“Does it matter?” I ask emotionlessly, feeling the futility of my situation with full force. There’s no getting out of this. No way to back out now. Undoubtedly, Lucian has men stationed at all the exits to ensure I won’t try to leave, and as he said, I agreed to this in front of all his men, all my men. Even Killian King’s Irishmen know what I agreed to do to protect my sister.
I can’t stop this train from rolling. It’s already left the station.
“I just thought…Most brides dream about their wedding day. I thought I could make yours as close to that image as possible,” Gabriella murmurs, color infusing her cheeks.
She’s young and sweet, and for a moment, I’m baffled that someone like her could work for a man like Lucian. Then again, money talks, and from the looks of things, he has plenty to ensure he gets the best help money can buy.
“Thank you, Gabriella. I guess…since it’s so last minute, just pick whichever one would be easiest to alter in time.”
She seems to know exactly which one that is and nods before turning to one of the slimmer garment bags and unzipping it. She pulls out a beautifully beaded strapless bodice dress. Made entirely out of tulle, I can see the ribbing through the pleated top, and the flowing layers of skirt cascade to the floor in a beautiful waterfall of gauzy fabric.
It’s simple, stunning, and with a plunging sweetheart neckline, it will be anything but modest. But I can see why it would be the easiest to alter. The bodice cinches in the back, which will make it adjustable, and the tulle skirt can simply be cut—for a one-day dress, she’ll have to hem the top layer at most. Any other rough edges will blend right in.
“If you’ll just put it on…” she suggests, looking almost apologetic, and I wonder if she understands the full dynamic of this situation.
How could she not?
No bride puts on their wedding dress hours before the ceremony if they’re eager to enjoy the occasion. Like she said, they have a vision, a daydream they come up with early in life and plan for years before the special day comes. Not me. I never intended to get married, and yet here I am.
I slip into the surprisingly comfortable gown and hold the beautiful beading against my breasts so Gabriella can tighten the corset ribbons. Then, as she gets to work pinning and cutting the skirt to the proper length, another woman enters to touch up my makeup.
Standing like a Barbie doll, I let them dress me up and do my hair. Gabriella slides a pair of white pearl-beaded pumps onto my feet. My auburn tresses have been curled and styled to cascade down my back with several locks drawn back from my face to give my veil a place to perch on the back of my head. When Gabriella puts me in front of the floor-length mirror just over an hour later, I’ve been completely transformed.
I hardly feel a thing.
Gabriella guides me from the room, and as soon as I step into the hallway, Lucian’s men flank me, “ushering” me to my wedding ceremony. I’m shocked to find that the compound has a beautiful chapel just off the main house—I don’t even have to walk outside to reach it.
“They’re ready for you,” says one of Lucian’s two men standing in front of the chapel’s high double doors. He presses his ear and murmurs something into a mouthpiece hidden in the lapel of his suit.
On the other side of the door, the hushed conversation dies down as the familiar notes of the “Wedding March” begin. Then the two guards standing at the entrance swing the doors wide.
I gasp at the number of people gathered in the chapel—it must be nearly a hundred of New York’s most elite families. People I mingled with over the years at galas and charity events. It would seem they’ve all forgiven—if not forgotten—the bloody massacre Lucian brought down on our heads at the last event my parents hosted. And now, they turn to watch me with teary eyes, their expressions full of that joyful pride guests can only feel for a blushing bride.
Do they really think I would ever marry Lucian Agosti of my own volition? Does no one see the cruel irony?
It feels like a horrible, ugly joke.
And at the end of the aisle, standing at the altar, is my soon-to-be husband. Don Lucian. My father’s killer. A man who has no right to look so handsome and charming in a black tux. Not when I know the black tar his heart is made of.
With each step, I’m more painfully aware of how alone I am. The father who would have walked me down the aisle is gone. I have no one who will stand up for me. No one to put an end to my misery. This is my fate, and I would suffer it a hundred times over to know that Natasha is safe. Still, I’m ashamed I played so foolishly into Lucian’s hands.
I take the steps up to the altar one at a time, passing off a bouquet of flowers I hadn’t even realized had been placed in my hands, and then Lucian is taking my icy fingers in his surprisingly warm hands. His gaze is molten, his eyes filled with an anticipation that sends a shiver down my spine.
“You look beautiful, Tatiana,” he murmurs as I turn to face him. “I love the dress you chose.”
His eyes fleetingly drop to the generous amount of cleavage my gown creates with my full breasts, and my cheeks flame with embarrassment. I hope he doesn’t think I picked the dress because of how revealing it is. The last thing I intended was to encourage his greedy gaze. Then, for the first time, I wonder if he only gave me options that would show off my body. My natural curves do a good enough job of flaunting my assets on their own. I don’t need a dress to make them more obvious.
But this is Lucian’s fantasy—not mine—and my skin burns to think of how slutty the other dresses might have been that I didn’t even bother taking out of the garment bags.
I honestly don’t even know how I’m allowed to participate in the Catholic ceremony with this much skin showing, but that’s what the wedding turns out to be. It’s all in Latin, and while I’ve been to Mass before, I don’t have it in me to listen to the rambling priest ramble today. I’m still wavering between shock and fury, preferring the numbness that helps me momentarily block out the reality of my situation rather than the seething anger that makes me want to cry.
I say my vows in a haze and exchange rings, hardly taking note of the glittering band Lucian slides onto my finger, then the world snaps into focus all at once as Lucian’s arm snakes around my waist.
My heart leaps into my throat as our eyes meet, and I arch my back to put as much space between us as I can when he pulls me closer. It dawns on me then that this is it. He’s been given permission to kiss his bride. The ceremony is over.
I’m now Lucian Agosti’s wife.
A shudder ripples through me as his long fingers comb into the hair at the nape of my neck. He cups the back of my head, and for the first time, Lucian’s lips find mine.
A jolt blasts through my body, lighting my blood on fire, and I gasp in shock at how soft his lips are, how warm and inviting. He doesn’t violate my mouth with his tongue or turn our first kiss into some lewd display. Instead, it’s shockingly…gentle. And heart achingly lingering.
Unexpected heat floods my core as he dips me back just far enough to make me feel weightless, like I’m floating in a gossamer cloud of fabric. The crowd goes wild as my fingers curl around the lapels of his suit in a death grip of fear that he might drop me.
But he doesn’t, and I’m shocked by how strong Lucian is as he holds me like I weigh nothing. After kissing me just long enough to leave me breathless, Lucian sets me effortlessly back on my feet. Then he turns to our audience, who are all now standing as they cheer wildly.
“Thank you, everyone, for attending this special occasion on such short notice,” he says, his voice carrying across the room as everyone falls silent. “You’ll find a wonderful dinner waiting for you in the grand ballroom with plenty of dancing and music to follow. And while my blushing bride and I would love to celebrate our nuptials with you, tradition demands we leave you to do it on our behalf. We have our own celebration to get to, don’t we, cara mia ?” His eyes glint as he looks at me with dark promise. “It’s time for us to consummate this marriage.”
My stomach drops as the crowd erupts in a fresh round of raucous, jeering applause. I know many mafia families are strict about sticking to tradition—and for many, that would include the bride losing her virginity on her wedding night. But I’m not a virgin, and I can’t believe that Lucian would presume to skip our reception altogether. That archaic tradition of “deflowering the bride” ended centuries ago—at least in Russian weddings. It can’t possibly still be a thing for the Italians. He just wants to have his cake and eat it too. Or maybe he’s just worried I’ll find a way to slip out before he can consummate anything.
Suddenly, my palms are clammy with the thought of being alone with my husband.
“I hope you don’t mind, principessa ,” he says, dropping his voice to a smooth murmur as he gives me a wicked smile. “I thought you and I might have dinner in our room so we could…get to know each other better.”
Swallowing hard, I lift my chin, refusing to show Lucian that I’m terrified. “Fine.”
His smile widening, my new husband takes my hand and lifts it like this is some momentous occasion. The guests applaud, and as we head down the aisle, they launch handfuls of rice high above our heads to shower down on us. I’ve never felt anything more surreal. The happiness of the event mingling with what feels like the last fleeting moments of my freedom. I’m being led to my doom by some black-suited angel of darkness, and no one seems to even see my despair.
My heels strike jarringly against the terra-cotta stones as Lucian guides me from the raucous noise of his personal chapel and back into his luxurious Italian house. When we reach the sweeping white marble staircase with its wrought iron handrail curving to follow the angular steps, he shifts his grip on my wrist. Guiding me upstairs with one hand braced in mine like an anchor, he puts the other on the small of my back.
In the back of my head, I note the gentlemanly way he attends to me, predicting my needs before I even struggle with the inconsistent stairs and my flowing skirts. He won’t let me fall. But when I glance over my left shoulder to look at his face, his expression is that of a still lake, entirely unaware of the hell he’s brought down on my head.
Lucian guides me down the length of the hall to a separate bedroom from before, and when his men swing the doors wide for us, I’m momentarily taken aback. It’s not just a bedroom. It’s an entire suite. With a sitting area, a balcony, and an en suite bathroom. I’m used to the luxuries of Manhattan—where the quality is anything but lacking, but the open grandeur is limited by the building’s walls, even in a penthouse like my family’s.
Here, the suite is like a home within a home—if I could ever bring myself to call this place such a thing.
“You picked my favorite dress,” Lucian murmurs as the doors close with a resounding thud.
And goosebumps rise on my arms as he turns to brush my hair back over my shoulder.
“So simple, so elegant, and yet, so…flattering. Then again, I imagine anything would look good on you, principessa .” Lucian’s fingers trail across my collarbone and down the exposed flesh of my arm—somehow shockingly innocent and dangerously intimate all at once. Then he reaches up to lightly pluck the comb of my veil from the back of my head.
Relief surges through my scalp at the sudden absence of the sharp teeth, but I bite back my groan of appreciation, refusing to let him know he did something right.
“If your plan is to fuck me, then can you get it over with?” I demand, but I can’t seem to jerk away from him like I intended, my statement falling flat as my nerves make me sound breathy. Something about his smooth voice, the soft, fluidity of his Italian accent makes him sound far less treacherous than I know he is.
“I don’t want to fuck you, principessa ,” Lucian purrs as he drops my veil unceremoniously to the floor. His eyes roam me in a way that would tell me that’s exactly what he wants to do.
“Then why did you insist I marry you? You agreed—in front of all our men—that you wouldn’t take control of my family’s territory. So what else could you possibly want?” I’m trembling, shaking visibly now, and I hope he thinks it’s with rage—not the terror and strange hint of longing that’s coiling in my belly at the way he studies me like a work of art.
“You see, Tatiana. I don’t fuck . Anybody. I make love. And I want to make love to you. I want to give you pleasure until you call out my name. I’ll make you feel so good you’ll be begging me for more,” he says, his light hazel eyes darting back up to mine at his final words.
I can see it in the way they dance—he’s teasing me. My stomach plummets as I realize this is just another chess match to him.
“That’s never going to happen,” I promise, stepping forward until I’m mere inches from his dangerously soft lips. I don’t know if it’s the fiery hatred I feel for him or something I’ll never admit to, but the sudden heat that flashes across my skin makes my heart skip a beat.
Lucian is too close for comfort, and he can feel it too, as he drags in a slow, careful breath and holds me captive with his eyes. “Tell me, principessa , what do you desire most in this world?”
“I want to crush you,” I murmur. “To make you feel pain like I’ve suffered. But that would require you having a heart, and we both know there’s nothing in here.” I press my finger firmly against his chest, my nail, still painted the classic red I use, clashing with the virginal white of this occasion.
Lucian’s lips curl into a slow smirk. “You don’t feel my heart beating?” he asks softly. His hand covers mine, pressing my palm against his shockingly firm, muscular chest until I can feel the steady thrum of his powerful pulse. “It beats for you, Tatiana. I’ve wanted this far longer than you could imagine.”
“Yes, since before you killed my father,” I hiss, snatching my hand away.
“He was never going to let you marry,” Lucian observes. “I set you free.”
“ Let me marry? Who says I would want to? And how can you call this free?” I demand, taking a step back as he moves closer. “You took away any choice I could possibly have had.”
The don’s head tips, his expression inquisitive—like he doesn’t actually understand what I’m saying. Can he really think that forcing my hand would be more freedom than the choice to marry no one? I knew refusing to marry would be a lonely life. But it was my decision, my choice so I could become a pakhansha . I chose that life so our family would continue to thrive and our legacy would survive despite my father’s lack of a male heir. It worked for Queen Elizabeth. Why couldn’t it have worked for me? It might have. If Lucian Agosti hadn’t come along and ruined everything.
“How can you say I took away your choice, when you don’t even want to know what I’m offering?” Lucian asks, closing the distance between us once more. This time, he captures my waist with one arm, the other hand combing into my hair so he can cradle the back of my head.
“What—”
My breath catches as Lucian seals my lips with his, and despite my will to fight, I feel my body melting in the wake of his passionate kiss. My fingers tighten around his arms, ready to shove him away, but a traitorous moan escapes me, and suddenly, I feel weak, moldable, incapable of resisting when he holds me so close.
It’s that same physical response I experienced in the chapel—as if my body has completely taken control—and despite all my moral objections, my determination to stay loyal to my family, I feel utterly incapable of resisting his touch.
My chest heaves, my breaths growing ragged as he kisses me with a ferocity that steals my breath away. When my lips part to suck in a lungful of air, his tongue strokes tantalizingly inside my mouth. It’s not invasive or even presumptive. He’s not violating me with his own desire. When Lucian kisses me, it’s with the burning passion of a lover who knows exactly what I want—even before I do.
His tongue is teasing as it traces the inner seam of my lips. Then he lightly bites the swollen pad of my lower lip before pulling back.
I gasp, our breaths mingling as he straightens just enough to meet my eyes. For the first time, I take note of how tall he is—tall and lean and strong beneath his elegant tux.
And while I want to hate him, while I yearn to hurt him with every fiber of my being, I can’t seem to overcome the infernal ache throbbing through my core. I pant, my breasts heaving against his chest as Lucian holds me in a suspended state, not quite swept off my feet but clinging to him so I won’t fall.
Then, against every belief I ever thought I held true, I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. It feels as though I’m betraying my very soul. But I’m so desperate to relieve this pulsing need in my core, I can’t think past this singular moment.
Strong, sensuous hands roam my body, trailing down my clavicle to trace between my breasts. His fingers splay across my back, pressing into my exposed flesh as Lucian feels me freely, raising goosebumps in his wake.
His hands find the swell of my ass, and he squeezes it, pulling me firmly against him. I can feel his cock, thick and adamant, as it presses against my abdomen, telling me just how fully he intends to satisfy me when he claims me for his own. And while the humility of having Lucian Agosti take possession of my body still roils in my chest, I can’t completely suppress the startling desire to feel what this incomparable pleasure he’s promised is like.
Which is why, when he starts to walk me slowly backward, I don’t refuse. As the back of my knees hit the foot of the bed, he gives me a light push. I gasp from the momentary sense of weightlessness as I fall. Then the mattress bounces lightly as I sprawl across it.
“You have the most perfect breasts,” Lucian growls, resting one palm on the mattress beside my hip as he traces the fingers of his other hand lightly over my swollen cleavage, then down the plunging neckline of my dress.
His fingers curl around the exposed ribbing holding the tulle in place, and with a shocking display of strength, he rips the bodice clean in two. I gasp, my gut clenching. He just destroyed a beautiful piece of fashion without remorse, and he continues to shred the gauzy skirt all the way down until I’m clad in nothing but my pearl wedding shoes and the black panties I put on when I dressed for battle this morning.
“I’ve wanted to know what’s hiding under all those layers for so long,” he murmurs, slowly kneeling before me. “You’re even more beautiful than I dreamed, tesoro .”
His words come out on a groan as he hooks my knees over his shoulders and slowly nips his way up my inner thigh, and despite the mortification of being laid bare by a man I detest, I can’t stop the electric arousal racing up my spine.
It shouldn’t feel this good. To have Lucian Agosti’s lips on the most intimate parts of my body. But I think if he stopped now, it might just kill me.
Nothing about this day went as I planned, and I don’t understand how I could go from waging war on this infuriating man to calling him my husband as he kneads my quivering body into submission.
Hot breath washes across the thin fabric of my panties, and I’m shamefully aware of how wet they are. I shouldn’t be turned on right now. It’s demeaning to think I went from the head of my father’s Bratva, the leader of his men, to the wife of my family’s worst enemy in a single day. All because Lucian outsmarted me. I fell for his trap. He won the game. Checkmate.
But shockingly enough, Lucian doesn’t seem overeager to gloat or rub it in my face. I half expected him to force me to my knees as soon as we entered the bedroom. I thought he might demand I give him a blow job to put me in my place and show me what I’m good for.
And the fact that he’s kneeling before me instead, his head pressed between my legs, has my mind reeling. He inhales deeply, as if savoring the scent of my arousal, making my stomach tremble. Then his fingers curl around the edge of my panties as he slowly pushes them aside.
I don’t have time to protest—to even think if I should want this or not. Because his tongue darts out to slide softly up my swollen slit, and intense euphoria crackles through my spine. I gasp, my back arching as my stomach muscles clench, and suddenly, I’m consumed with a burning desire to know just how good he is with his mouth. How well his perfectly sculpted, smug lips can please me.
Lucian hums, the sound low and appreciative as he tastes me more deeply, and the wet warmth of his tongue, somehow soft and strong all at once, makes my core throb. He flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves at the peak of my thighs as he reaches it with the tip of his tongue, and I cry out.
It feels. So. Good.
Then his lips wrap around my clit, and he gently sucks.
My hand flies to his hair, my fingers curling in his surprisingly soft dark locks, and despite myself, I rock my hips forward, against his mouth. Lucian’s hazel eyes dart up my body, meeting mine with a wicked amusement. His look says he knows how good he is—and that he could please me even if I hate him with every breath.
A shudder races up my spine, and I let my head fall back. I close my eyes so I don’t have to think about how vulnerable I feel, completely exposed while Lucian is still dressed to the nines in his black tux. He looks more handsome than any villain has a right to, and his tongue is ungodly talented. That combined with the enticing scent of lemon and vetiver that clings to his sheets makes it impossible to think of anything but my new husband. He’s all around me, consuming me, commanding my body, claiming it for his own.
And as the throbbing pleasure tightens inside my core, I realize I’m about to come.
I pant, my nipples taut and hard as I arch off the bed, and I hover on the edge, stunned by how quickly Lucian could bring me to this point of arousal.
Then two long fingers find my entrance, and he presses them inside me.
“Oh God!” I cry out, my walls tightening around the sudden intrusion, and I topple over the edge into oblivion.
His lips and tongue continue to work their magic, his fingers sliding in and out of my wet channel, curling to find that hidden spot deep inside me that drives me wild. Liquid pleasure gushes from my core as my body grips his fingers, milking them as I wordlessly beg for more.
When Lucian straightens, I dare to open my eyes, and my heart flutters against my ribs. His lips, curled in a soft smirk, glisten with my juices. His eyes burn with unsatiated desire, and his tongue darts out to taste my arousal on his mouth.
My breaths come heavy and ragged as I stare up at him, a victim of my own desire. Because as much as I want to loathe the man spreading my thighs, I can’t help but ache for more.
“You taste so delicious,” he rasps, his smooth voice somehow infinitely more masculine when it’s rough with passion.
“Is that it?” I taunt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it—he’s easily the most skilled lover I’ve been with. Not that I’ve had many to compare to. But none have satisfied me like that—and he hasn’t even started fucking me yet.
“Don’t worry, tesoro . We’re only getting started,” he warns darkly.