Mafia King’s Bride

19. Ana

NINETEEN

ANA

Daria’s face says it all as I approach her desk.

Great. Just great.

“Let me guess, he’s pulled another disappearing act?” I ask, my heart sinking. I thought giving Papa some space would make him miss me, but apparently his ego’s gotten so big it’s pushed out any paternal feelings. At this rate, I’ll be collecting social security before he decides to grace me with his presence.

Daria shakes her head, oozing sympathy. “Sorry, hon. I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting. You know how he gets.”

My shoulders slump like they’re trying to touch the floor. “Right. Because heaven forbid Nikolai Petrov face his only daughter.” A spark of defiance flares up. “Maybe I should just camp out here. He can’t ignore me forever, can he?”

I see the pity in Daria’s eyes as she offers me a chair. “If you think it’ll work. Or I could tell you where he is. If you’re feeling brave enough to make a scene?—”

“No, no,” I cut her off, shaking my head so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off. “Can’t embarrass the great Nikolai Petrov. God knows I was raised too well for that.” I laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a wounded animal. “If only he’d been a worse father, maybe I’d have the guts to go all paparazzi on him.”

Daria’s laugh is gentle. “You’ve always been a good kid, Anastasia. Remember how you used to follow him around, arguing your way into meetings? Such a serious little face, even when you had no clue what was going on.”

I collapse into the chair, feeling about as deflated as a week-old balloon. “Yeah, well, he was my hero. I wanted to be just like him.” The irony is so thick you could cut it with a knife. “Fat lot of good that did me.”

“He knew you had a mind of your own,” Daria says softly. “That’s why he let you study law. Figured if he couldn’t keep you out, at least he could channel it.”

A tear sneaks down my cheek, the traitor. I swipe it away, cursing my inability to keep it together. “So why push me away now? Last I checked, I’m still his daughter. Or did I miss the memo where he disowned me?”

“The Bratva and their pride.” Daria sighs. “They’d rather eat glass than admit they’ve screwed up. He used to talk about how badly he wanted you to be proud of him. Now, I think he feels like he’s lost that right.”

“That’s ridiculous! He didn’t have a choice.” My voice cracks and more tears betray me. Stupid tear ducts. I’m starting to think they’re in cahoots with my heart.

The Bratva code. The reason I’m married to a man who makes icebergs look cuddly. All because dear old Papa couldn’t keep his hands off what didn’t belong to him. And now I’m the sacrificial lamb, given to Dmitri Orlov like some sort of twisted peace offering.

“And the kicker?” I laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “I’m actually falling for the guy. Talk about Stockholm syndrome on steroids.”

Daria pushes a cup of coffee into my hands. The warmth seeps into my fingers, grounding me. “I’ll try talking to him again,” she promises. “Maybe he’ll listen this time.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, taking a sip. The coffee burns my tongue, but at least it gives me something else to focus on besides the gaping hole where my heart used to be.

I stand up, my legs feeling about as steady as a newborn giraffe’s. “I should go. Thanks for...you know. Everything.”

Daria grabs my hands, squeezing them tight. The compassion in her eyes nearly undoes me. “You’ll get through this, Ana. And if you need someone, I’m always here.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If I open my mouth now, I’m liable to start bawling like a baby. With one last watery smile, I turn and flee the office.

As the elevator doors close, I lean against the wall, feeling utterly drained. I can’t go back to that mausoleum Dmitri calls a house. Not now. There’s only one place left for me, one person who’ll listen without judgment.

Too bad she’s six feet under.

“Ana.”

I pause as I walk into the living room, and Dmitri, who looks like he’s been waiting for a while, gets up from the couch.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice hoarse from crying.

He frowns. “I’ve been calling you. Where have you been?”

Where have I been? The question sounds so silly in my head, and I scoff. “Why does it matter to you?”

Dmitri walks toward me, but I step back and stretch my hand out, telling him to stay away.

“Don’t,” I call out when he doesn’t listen. “Don’t come closer. I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“Deal with me?” he growls. “It’s past midnight. Your phone is off.”

Rolling my eyes, I reach into my bag and bring out my phone. Switching it on, I thrust it at him. “It’s on. You happy now? I was busy, okay? I’m sure you know what that means, with your fancy pakhan title and your stupid connections and your?—”

My rant is cut short when Dmitri grabs the phone from my hand and pulls me in. My brows crease when he begins to sniff at me. I struggle to free myself, but he refuses to let go.

“You smell like alcohol,” he says, his tone teetering the line between accusatory and concerned.

I say accusatory because I doubt he can summon up concern for me, but the way he looks at me feels weird. Different.

Even with the alcohol flowing through me, I can read between the lines.

“That’s weird,” I murmur.

His voice is soft when he says, “What is?”

“You,” I point with my free hand. “When you asked me out to dinner, I couldn’t tell what you were thinking. You had this poker face,” I mimic it, and it makes me laugh. “But now your eyebrows and lips are all funny.”

When I try to touch his mouth, he lets my hand go and takes a step back, sighing.

“It’s unlike you to get drunk.”

I shrug. “I went to see my father, then I went to see my mom, and I didn’t want to come back here because I hate this place. So, I went to a bar. And I drank.” My lips stretch into a lopsided grin. “It was so much fun.”

Dmitri runs his fingers through his hair. “How did you get home, then?”

How did I get home?

I scratch my head, trying to remember the details, but all I feel is this warm, fuzzy feeling in my head. Like I’m floating on clouds but not quite.

“Where’s your car?” he prompts.

“Ah!” I smack my temple as I remember. “I drove. Slowly,” I drag out the last word, “because I didn’t want to get into an accident. Yeah. I drove here.”

Panic rushes into Dmitri’s eyes for a split second, then he races past me. Seconds later, I hear the door open and slam shut.

I pout. What’s his problem?

He’s sure acting strange tonight.

You’re my wife. No other reason.

Who says something like that? I scoff as he rushes back into the living room, taking me by surprise when he grabs my shoulders.

“Why did you drive after drinking? You could’ve gotten yourself into an accident, or worse, killed.”

My chin juts out defiantly as I reply, “And why do you care? You’ll be free of me if I’m gone, won’t you? After all, I’m just your wife . Anastasia Orlov ,” I spit out.

Dmitri falters at my words, and his grip on my shoulders loosens. “Where do you get that from? ‘I’ll be free of you’?”

“Am I making this up?” I ask. “You sent me flowers and sent someone to take me shopping. When I sat down and asked why you did all that, what did you say?”

His Adam’s apple bobs.

“What did you say, Dmitri?” I prompt, growing angrier by the minute.

He sighs. “I said that you’re my wife.”

“No other reason,” I spit. “That’s what you said. If you did that out of duty, why should you care if I drink and drive?”

A heartbeat of silence passes between us. Then two. Then four. Dmitri doesn’t respond. My heart sinks. I don’t know what I was expecting. He’s the same Orlov I married, after all.

“Ana,” he starts, then stops.

“I’m not mad,” I respond, as my emotions have faded to disappointment already. “It’s just the way it is. I’m tired,” I add, pulling away from him. “I’ll head to my room now.”

As I walk past him, his hand holds my wrist. I stop, but I don’t turn.

“Ana,” he says with a little force, like if he doesn’t hold it together, the dam would break. “Look at me.”

I turn my head and throw him a glance, unwilling to open my heart again. “They’re just words, Dmitri. It’s not hard to string a few together to form a better sentence. I’m tired, please let me go.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls me into his arms, and I find myself staring at his face mere inches from mine. My breath hitches, and my eyelids flutter.

He leans in and gently brushes his lips against mine.

It’s not the kiss that comforted me when I mourned my mother. Or the one we shared when we were naked.

When his mouth claims mine, it’s with certainty. His hands cup my face firmly as he angles his head, taking it further and sending a shiver of desire down my spine. My bag falls on the floor as I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to his firm, muscular frame.

Desire pools in my stomach as his tongue trails down the slope of my neck, his teeth gently scraping against my skin, nipping and soothing with teasing kisses.

His hands run down my body, caressing my arms. A soft gasp slips past my lips when he pulls me snug against his body, my stomach rubbing against his erection. I moan with need when his hands cup my ass, squeezing firmly.

I want him.

This is how Dmitri makes me feel. I go from hating to needing him with my next breath, craving his hands against my skin, my legs wrapped around his body while he fucks me.

“Ana,” he drags out my name with a harsh breath.

I throw my head back when he presses his lips to my neck, inhaling audibly. I can feel that he wants me as much as I need him.

“I want to be deep inside you, your walls clenching around my dick, begging for release,” he murmurs. “Say you want it too.”

I whimper as he slides his hand into my pants, his finger gliding over my sex, making me so wet, I ride his hand shamelessly. I don’t care that we’re in the middle of the living room because all I can think of is him and the primal urge that burns like wildfire.

He slides his finger inside me, and I gasp, but then I’m riding his hand, bucking my hips and clinging to him with my fingers grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

My orgasm rips through me, making my shoulders shudder and my legs shake. Dmitri captures my lips in a punishing kiss, swallowing my choked cry.

As my body turns limp, he lifts me and carries me to the couch, guiding my head to his chest. There’s nothing but silence between us as I try not to think about what just happened.

I prefer to enjoy this contentment, even if it doesn’t last more than tonight.