Chapter 2
Ivan
Time gets away from me, just like life had gotten away from the man who had the unfortunate luck to cross paths with me. Azrael's on the hunt, itching to put an end to me, which means I've been restricted in my usual activities—the kind that satisfies my bloodlust. I call it "therapy" because it does more for my mind than any fool with a notepad ever could.
Tonight, though, I get my chance: a secure place, a moment to practice my kind of therapy. The man was a nobody, street scum who tried to step into my territory. Normally, I wouldn't waste my time. But oh, how I've missed it.
The blood was sticky on my hands and clothes by the time I reached the altar.
I wanted this done and over with, but I also was a man who never missed an opportunity.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Angel,” I say, wiping a bloody cufflink on the leg of my pants.
I glance up and grin at Angel. Like he had a choice. He's my prisoner.
“He doesn’t have to witness this.” My bride, Vivi Valachi, stands to my left, her cheeks stained with her anger, her eyes filled with her pain, but neither will make me bend.
“Here I was thinking I was offering a kind gesture, allowing you to have your brother at our wedding.” I smirk.
Vivi’s nostrils flare, but she is smart enough to keep her mouth shut. The priest isn’t quite as intelligent.
“Mr. Romanov, is this really necessary?” He points at a battered-looking Angel.
I take a step toward the altar, toward the priest. “Let me tighten your collar, Father; it seems as loose as your lips.” I would tighten it until no air entered his wrinkly lungs.
“Forgive me….” The priest stutters.
I pause on the first step of the altar and glance up at the cross hanging between two stained glass windows. It means nothing to me; there is no God, no salvation. There is just this time in space that we have the control to bend to our will.
I step back beside Vivi.
“Get on with it.” I glare a warning at the priest.
He won’t look at us but starts rattling through our vows.
I don’t bother to pay much attention. My head is caught up in the moment from earlier, when my victim twitched within my grasp, life draining from his eyes. It's a rush like no other. I had an opportunity to repeat it again with the priest, and he would have deserved that kind of ending. I glance at him, and his words pour even more quickly from his mouth, until the marriage is final, and Vivi Valachi is now my wife.
I turn away from the priest without a thank you or a fuck off, and Vivi falls into line behind me.
She’s silent, obedient, as I lead her down the aisle between the empty pews toward the back doors. A snap of my fingers, and a few of my men step forward to collect my hostage, Angel Valachi. Now, there's a man I haven't figured out how to break yet. Angel seems immune to pain. Everything breaks eventually, though. I just need to figure out how to shatter him so there is nothing left.
My men pull the double doors of the church open. No bells signal our union; no wedding guests greet us with cheers. It’s just the cool air that hits my face, a fresh reminder that it's early spring. One of my men waits at the curb with the car idling. I open the door to allow Vivi to get into the car. She hesitates, standing on the sidewalk.
"Need I remind you of the duties of a wife?"
Vivi looks up at me with those wide, frightened eyes. "I understand what is required of me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She’s compliant, and yet a spark of defiance glimmers in the depths of her gaze.
This is why I wanted Vivi. The perfect package on the surface, brimming with secrets and challenge beneath.
What is that old Latin proverb? Something about still waters concealing passionate depths. I first heard it in my boyhood studies, but it never made as much sense as it did after meeting Vivi Valachi.
Vivi Romanov.
I let out a low growl that’s mostly satisfaction. "You understand that getting into a car is the minimum of what I expect from you?"
Vivi pauses, then asks, "What do you expect of me?"
I step forward and take her face in my hands. There's nothing loving about it. My grip is firm, possessive. "I expect absolute obedience."
Her eyes widen even more, but she nods, her head moving stiffly within my grasp. Slowly, she pulls loose and climbs into the car. I slide in next to her, feeling the tension radiate off her body. As the car pulls away and heads toward my house, I notice her eyes darting from the window to the blood on my hands.
I stifle a smile. I guess that might be a bit intimidating for a virgin bride. But intimidation may be exactly what she needs. If she's anything like her bastard brother, she needs to be broken in. Hard.
I lift my hand, the blood on my skin practically glowing under the streetlight streaming through the window. "See this?" I murmur, my voice low. "This is what happens when people defy me."
She stares at the blood, her breath hitching. Good. Fear is the first step to control. I need her to be scared, compliant—and yet, I realize, I also need her absolute trust. There is a difference between obeying because you have no choice and obeying because you have made the choice to trust. That is what I need from my wife.
I raise my bloody hand higher, letting it catch the light again. "Does this bother you, pet?"
Vivi's eyes flicker with something—fear, maybe disgust. "Our world is one of blood."
A smirk tugs at my lips. "A very good response. A trained response, but I wasn’t asking your mother or your nanny; I am asking you."
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. Finally, she whispers, "Yes. It bothers me."
Honesty. Good. "It bothered him too, honestly. The more blood that came out of him, the more he screamed. Death has a way of bringing out the true nature of men. He was weak, crying for me to stop.” I lower my hand. “What is your nature, pet?"
She looks lost for a moment. "I don’t know what you mean."
"Yes, you do. You are a Valachi. Your family has been on top of this bloody heap for two generations. Everything you’ve always wanted has been handed to you on a silver platter. Those days are over. I know you were raised to be a mafia wife, but this isn’t the Italian mafia. Our wives don’t ask questions. Our wives trust and honor their husbands and their ways above their own blood. If you cannot do this, you will be put back in that cage. Is it in your nature to do this?"
Vivi sniffs loudly, trying to stifle a sob, maybe. If it's to make me feel guilty, it fails miserably. Then she turns to me, and there's a boldness in her eyes that I've seen many times before. From her brother. That foolishly brave, determined look that dares me to go further, that welcomes anything I can dole out to them.
I stroke a finger down the curve of her cheek. "Listen to me carefully, Vivi. That fire in your eyes might have served you well in your old life, but here, it will get you killed." I lean in close, so close she can feel my breath on her face. "Obey or suffer. Those are your only options."
Her breath hitches again, but she doesn't look away. That damn stubbornness. It's going to be a challenge breaking her, but if doing so gains me access to her depths, I’m up for it. I lean back, satisfied for now.
"And what if you do not honor me?" Vivi asks, her voice stronger than before.
Yes. I admire her spunk, even as I work to crush it. "Your father is dead. Your brother is a prisoner. There is no one left to fight for your honor, pet."
We ride in silence after that, leaving Manhattan, New York, and heading into New Jersey. Bayonne's docklands give way to the Romanov estate, a luxurious property secluded by great, tall trees. The mansion's windows blaze with light, casting a warm glow against the dark backdrop. Somewhere beyond the house, the waters separating Bayonne from Staten Island lie silent and dark.
The car pulls into the governor’s drive. One of my men opens the door for us. This time, Vivi doesn’t need instruction; she gets out quickly and follows me into the house.
She is a quick study.
A row of staff is waiting, each individual with their gaze downcast. They are only present in case I decide I want something. Vivi hesitates on the threshold, then steps inside. She has no choice but to go up the stairs, as the line of staff blocks any alternative path.
She climbs the stairs, and I follow. I close the bedroom door behind us, and we're alone.
I turn to face her. This is the moment. The first true test of her obedience. She stands there, chin raised, tears threatening but held back, eyes darting to the cage that still stands ominously in the corner of the room.
It stands the height of the room, gold-plated bars reaching to the coffered ceiling, and is triangular in shape, fitted into a corner. It's simple, otherwise, sturdy bars in a standard vertical format with a horizontal bar breaking the monotony midway.
I’ve held Vivi there, painfully close to me, for weeks now. I’ve watched her sleep, listened to her breathe, fixated on how her presence fills this room without her smallest effort.
I’ve been patient, wanting to have my ring on her finger before I took her body, but my patience has run out.
I step closer, my voice low and commanding. "You know what is expected of you, Vivi."
She nods almost imperceptibly, but defiance still burns in her eyes. I can see her weighing her options, knowing full well the consequences of that emotion if she fails to keep it reined in. The cage is a constant reminder of what happens to those who don’t comply.
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She flinches but doesn't pull away. "Remember, pet, this is about survival. Your brother's life depends on your obedience."
She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "I understand," she whispers, though there's no enthusiasm, no submission in her voice—just cold, hard necessity.
I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me. "Good. Now, show me."
Her eyes flicker with something akin to fear, but she starts to move, her actions slow and deliberate as she steps closer. She won’t look at me, but she presses her lips against mine. She's doing what she has to, nothing more, nothing less. I watch her, studying every movement, every flicker of emotion on her face. The kiss is light and without warmth.
I let out a laugh. “That’s it?”
Her cheeks flame, her gaze darts around the large bedroom. She turns, but I reach out and grab her wrist, dragging her small frame toward my large one.
When I release her wrist, she doesn’t move. But the wave of unshed tears is back. I step closer to Vivi, my eyes never leaving her face—my hand slides inside the neckline of her dress. The tension in her body is instant; the way her breath catches when my fingers close around the soft globe of one breast gives me a twisted sense of satisfaction.
She presses her lips tightly together, but not before a small moan escapes.
She's not broken yet, but this is the first step. And as much as she tries to hide it, I can see the cracks forming in that brave facade.
Moving my hand, I guide her to sit on the bed. She's stiff, unyielding, but I press on, determined to break through that barrier.
The blood on my hands against the paleness of her dress catches her attention, and she recoils. I laugh, a low, dark sound. I head to the master bathroom, turn on the faucet, and wash the blood away. As the water runs red, I glance at my reflection. The predator staring back at me is pleased.
When I return to the bedroom, Vivi is still sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at me. I approach her again, my hands clean, and reach out, teasing her skin. My fingers trace along her neck, and I lean in to kiss her there, feeling her shiver under my touch, before straightening up. I hold my hands out for her to see.
“Clean, see?” I murmur, my voice rough.
Her eyes flicker to my hand, and she nods. I begin stripping with deliberate, measured movements, watching tiny microexpressions come and go upon her features. Her cheeks flame when I lower my pants, revealing my eager cock to her gaze. She swallows, but doesn’t say anything.
When I’m naked, I step close and ease her skirt up, slipping my hand between her legs, where her core burns hot. Her breath hitches, and I relish the sound. I want to make her come, to prove that she can’t resist me, that her body will betray her mind.
I don’t break eye contact with her, and surprisingly enough, she holds mine, too. Her gaze wavers with unshed tears, but behind the glistening liquid, I see her want as I push her panties aside and slip two fingers into her pussy.
She’s so fucking tight. My fingers are skilled, and it doesn’t take long until her eyes fall closed and her hips move in an awkward rhythm, her resistance faltering. I tease her, my fingers skilled and patient. I feel her body responding against her will. Her pussy clenches around my two fingers, and I know she is close, so I use my thumb to circle her clit.
Finally, she gasps, her body trembling as she comes on my hand. I smirk, confirming the truth with my finger: she is still a virgin. I’m the first man to bring her to this point, the first to make her feel this way.
"Good girl," I murmur, my voice laced with satisfaction.
I grip her dress and drag it up. There is a moment of pure confusion and panic that takes over Vivi’s features, but as I move to position myself, my throbbing cock ready to penetrate her, she relaxes deliberately. She stares up at me, and we are suspended for a moment, both of us aware that this will change everything.
I’m ready for a change.
I penetrate her, surprised to feel her body arching against mine instead of fighting the invasion. It’s not virginal behavior, but I don’t care. I relish it, savoring the sensation of her surrender, partially withdraw, and thrust again. Vivi gasps, pink lips falling open on an “ohhh” of sound, and suddenly I want to elicit that sound again. I want to give her pleasure, make her shake with it—
But that will never do. Vivi is my wife, not my lover. My possession. Seized by the sudden desire to conquer, to own, to defile …I grip her hips and plow hard and fast. She’s a good piece that I shall enjoy devouring.
Vivi gasps again, but this time in discomfort. Her fingers ball into fists and clutch the blanket on either side of her. Her cheeks are flushed, and when she turns her head to the side, I reach forward and grip her throat, forcing her to watch me. She will never forget who took her body, mind, and soul.
I slam into her, driving home my need to own her completely, and when I finally come and a tear trickles from the corner of her eye, I’m satisfied.
Afterward, I lie next to her, my mind already shifting back to business as she curls up on her side, trying to make herself appear small.
My phone buzzes, and I glance at the message. My men need me. I don’t bother kissing her as I get up, dressing quickly. I leave the room without a word, locking the door behind me.
She’s learning. And so am I.