9. Lucian
9
LUCIAN
“ I have a nice dry-aged Florentine steak to prepare for tonight,” Daniella confirms. “The potatoes are already in the oven.”
“Good,” I state. “And open one of our reserves. I want the atmosphere to be romantic, intimate, and celebratory.”
“More to celebrate, signore ?” she asks, her round cheeks pulling into a smile as her eyes brighten.
“Besides my new wife?” I tease the matronly cook who’s been serving my family for as long as I can remember.
She chuckles, tucking a stray curl of gray hair behind her ear. “I think you’ve found a beautiful choice, though she seems quite…spirited,” she says delicately.
That makes me laugh. “A very polite way of putting it, Daniella. But yes, actually, I might have just closed on a promising agreement with the yakuza that will solve some wrinkles my dear wife’s spirited nature created in my initial plans. But if this works out, I might start thinking I have a guardian angel watching over my shoulder.”
Daniella’s smile is warm and affectionate, and her eyes twinkle when the front door slams shut with enough force to announce Tatiana’s arrival. “I’ll have dinner ready shortly,” she says.
With a nod, I slip out of the kitchen, stealing one last olive from the bowl sitting on the counter before heading to the foyer to greet my new wife. It’s not hard to see she’s on a completely different level than I am as I step into the entryway.
Dominic is carrying a good-sized suitcase up the stairs to our room—presumably filled with Tatiana’s clothes, and it appears she changed when she went home to pack because her green wrap dress from this morning has been replaced with a deep-blue sheath dress with a boat neck that emphasizes her throat and collarbones. The dress hugs her curves beautifully, stopping at her knees to showcase her strong calves. Nude patent leather pumps finish off the look, giving her a classy, elegant sophistication and unspoken authority.
“Your driver insisted on bringing me back here,” she states coldly.
“I’m rather impressed he managed to convince you actually,” I state, striding forward to wrap an arm around her waist.
Tatiana leans away from me, glaring up into my eyes. It would appear that she’s still prepared to fight me every step of the way—even after the chemistry from last night, and again this morning.
“Well, my driver will be picking me up in the morning, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t make demands about where and when I spend my time.”
“Tatiana,” I say lowly, capturing her jaw between my fingers and lifting her face so she has to look at me. “If you’re going to be my wife, then you will have to accept this as your new house—or I could move in with you, if you’d prefer. But I’m under the impression that you haven’t been spending much time in your former penthouse as it is…” I can tell I’ve brushed on a sensitive subject as her cheeks flush, and her blue eyes narrow further.
“I wonder why I might be avoiding my family home these days. Now that I have no family to go home to because of you.”
“Ah. I see.” A trickle of remorse pools in my stomach as I wonder what it might take for her to even consider putting that aside. More and more, it’s becoming apparent that my perception of Boris’s stranglehold over her life might have been incorrect. That regardless of how overprotective and possessive he might have been about his daughters, they didn’t feel trapped. Tatiana clearly loved her father. And I took him from her.
She jerks her chin, as if to remove her face from my grip, but I keep hold, peering deep into her eyes.
“You might not see it this way now, but someday, I hope you’ll think of this as your home. That I can be your family,” I say softly. My grip on her jaw softens, and I run the pad of my thumb over her full ruby lower lip.
Despite her anger, Tatiana’s breath catches. Her eyes dilate, subtle signs that her attraction is there, hidden beneath her hatred, and I cling to the idea that it will help me turn this relationship around.
“I have a nice dinner planned for us tonight—just the two of us. Perhaps you’ll indulge me and we can enjoy it while you tell me about your day?”
“Fine,” she says flatly. “But only because I’m starving. I didn’t have time to eat today.”
And she walked out on breakfast this morning. I wonder if she’s eaten anything at all since dinner last night.
“Fine,” I tease, my lips pulling into a grin. Then I lean in and steal a kiss before she can object.
Tatiana’s back stiffens momentarily, but she doesn’t push me away, and when I pull back, keeping the kiss brief and chaste, she actually follows me—as if her lips don’t want to leave mine even if her mind refuses to realize it.
With a smirk, I take her hand, tucking it beneath my elbow to walk with her to dinner. She follows, her measured steps striking an authoritative beat against the terra-cotta in her heels. Tatiana’s one of those women with a natural strength in her presence. She was born and raised with the understanding that she deserves respect, and she exudes that even as she grudgingly allows me to lead her into the dining room.
But her steps falter when she sees the intimate setting. Daniella’s done a beautiful job, setting a table for two near the window overlooking the grounds rather than putting us at the larger dining table. A sage green silk tablecloth covers the smaller table, and a single candle flickers at the center, a small vase of flowers tucked against the wall.
A bottle of Chianti already sits breathing in a glass decanter, our lemon and parmesan arugula salads waiting to be eaten. After a moment’s shock, Tatiana keeps walking. When I pull out her chair, she settles into it, and as I sit across from her, I can see the temptation in her eyes as she looks at our starting course.
“Eat,” I insist, picking up the decanter and pouring each of us a glass of wine.
Tatiana does, delicately picking up her fork and spearing some salad. As soon as it hits her tongue, she groans, her eyes closing with appreciation.
“Daniella is a master of Italian cooking,” I state. “I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”
“Is this how you intend to convince me to come home every night?” she asks suspiciously before taking another generous bite.
“Why, is it working?” I tease.
“Maybe …”
Chuckling, I raise my glass of wine, and she reluctantly sets down her fork to mirror the gesture. Lightly clinking our glasses, I watch her as I take a sip of the wine. She does the same. I let her eat her salad in peace, offering her the freshly baked bread along with it before working on my own salad.
When the main course comes in, a thick porterhouse sliced Florentine-style along the bone and served with coarse salt, Tatiana’s eyes widen. Blanched spinach and roasted russet potatoes join the main dish, which Daniella brings in herself, allowing the large slab of meat to be carried by one of her younger assistants.
“Thank you, Daniella,” I say as the older woman gives a humble nod, and Tatiana’s eyes flick in her direction, fresh curiosity intensifying their color.
She watches them leave the room before turning her eyes back to the impressive meal. “How are you even supposed to eat something like that?” she asks, studying it with fascination.
“One medallion at a time?” I suggest, lifting several slices of the perfectly cooked meat onto her plate. “I normally dip it in the salt for flavor, but you might not need it.” After adding a small portion of food to my plate, I demonstrate, then watch as Tatiana follows my example.
The moan of satisfaction she gives as the steak finds her tongue makes my cock start to harden, my arousal awakening before dinner’s even done.
“You’ve never had Florentine steak before?” I ask.
“I’ve never had any kind of steak this good,” she admits, gratefully taking another bite.
“I’m glad you like it.” Not that I had any doubts. I intend to use every one of my best assets to woo Tatiana, and Daniella’s cooking is most definitely one. “So, care to tell me about your day?” I ask lightly, curious if the meal will help Tatiana open up to me.
Her face immediately shutters, her expression tensing. “Why don’t you keep your nose out of my business, and I’ll keep mine out of yours?” she suggests icily. “We can call this an alliance for the sake of the peace our marriage will bring. But so we’re clear, I don’t intend to work with you any more than is absolutely necessary. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust that confiding in you will make this situation any more tolerable. So why don’t you stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine?”
My lips twitch as they creep into an involuntary smile. “Alright. You just seemed stressed, and I thought you could let off some steam.”
“Well, you’re really the only reason I would need to let off steam, so you can stop worrying about my day,” she snaps.
I doubt she meant for the comment to be a window into what happened that’s put her in a worse mood than when I left her this morning, but I suspect that facing her men after having to give in to my demands yesterday wasn’t easy. Bratva men aren’t known for being particularly respectful to women—they certainly don’t consider a woman in power a traditional, or even acceptable thing, as far as I’m aware. So marrying me to protect her sister probably created waves among the men. The thought sends a flash of protective anger through my veins, making my pulse quicken. She wants me to stay out of Bratva affairs, so I’ll do that—for now. But if her men decide to challenge her because of her decision to marry me, then I will crush any thoughts of disobedience on their part. I don’t need to command them to command their respect. And they will obey my wife.
I switch topics, coaxing my wife toward a better mood by keeping the conversation light for the rest of dinner, and when the dessert of tiramisu arrives, it’s impossible for Tatiana to continue fuming. Try as she might to prove she’s impervious to my charms, when it comes to Daniella’s cooking, I know I’ve won her over.
When she sets aside her napkin, silently signaling that she’s finished with the meal, I flash her a wicked smile.
“Are you ready for the next event on tonight’s agenda?” I ask.
“You can’t be serious. I have to get up early tomorrow. I can’t spend every night fooling around with you until dawn,” she states, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her chair.
Ignoring her objections, I stand and offer her my hand. She glares at it for several long seconds, refusing to budge. But I can be patient when I want to be, and as she looks up at me, I simply quirk an eyebrow. With a huff, Tatiana takes my hand, and I haul her from her chair. She stumbles forward on her feet, her palms finding my chest as I catch her waist with my hands.
“Was that really necessary?” she demands.
Appreciating her soft curves pressed against my body, I smirk. “I think so. Come on. I have something I want to show you.”
Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, I guide Tatiana from the dining room and up the steps, past the second floor and our master bedroom until we reach the rooftop door.
“If you married me just for the excuse to push me off a building, you probably should have picked a higher roof,” Tatiana states, her expression guarded as her body language grows suddenly hesitant.
I chuckle. “Maybe I brought you up here to give you the opportunity to push me off,” I tease. Then I open the sliding glass and flick on the string lights hanging between the roof’s eaves. The lights of my infinity pool turn on at the same time, illuminating the tranquil space of my rooftop terrace. Lounge chairs line one side of the pool with a glass patio table behind them. The recessed hot tub sits off to one side, near the far corner of the rooftop and only a short walk from the pool steps.
Tatiana gasps, her lips parting in shock as she takes it in, and for a moment, the tense resistance in her body vanishes. I can see the astonishment on her face—and the temptation. Beyond the ledge of the infinity pool is a black night sky, devoid of the city lights behind us. And while we’re not far enough from the city to completely avoid the light pollution, at this distance, we can still see several twinkling stars along the horizon.
Taking a step forward, as if drawn to the rare glimpse of nature this close to Manhattan, Tatiana almost seems like she’s forgotten to hate me or the marriage I’ve trapped her in. Instead, she kicks off her heels to pad across the flagstone tiles toward the far end of the terrace.
I follow her, kicking off my Italian leather dress shoes and shrugging out of my suit jacket before dropping it onto one of the lounge chairs.
“You like it?” I ask softly, coming up behind her as she stares out across the open expanse of my property to the line of trees beyond.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.
Humming appreciatively, I wrap my arms around her waist, bringing her back against my chest. Pressing my lips against the soft curve of her neck, I murmur, “Let’s go for a swim.”
“Lucian,” she chides, but the breathy sound of her voice makes her resistance far less convincing.
“Say yes,” I murmur, trailing the kisses down to the top of her shoulder.
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” I tease. “You just like telling me no.”
“I don’t even have a swimsuit.”
“You don’t need one,” I promise, scooping her into my arms bridal-style.
“What are you doing?” Tatiana demands, her voice suddenly panicky, her arms flailing as I carry her to the pool’s edge. “Lucian, don’t you dare?—”
A horrified shriek escapes her as I toss her into the deep end of the pool.
Sputtering, she surfaces a moment later, her perfectly tamed hair and fancy outfit waterlogged as she stands and glares at me. “What is wrong with you?” she screams, her mascara bleeding down her cheeks as she wipes at it furiously.
With a wicked smile, I strip out of my dress shirt and jump in after her—still wearing my slacks. She seems stunned by my decision to join her, her blue eyes widening and her hands stilling on her face.
She’s so shocked, she doesn’t even try to push me away as I pull her into my arms. And when I seal her lips with a kiss, her anger melts away. Slowly, her arms wrap around the back of my neck, and heat surges between us as her tongue strokes out to tangle with mine.