Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

5. Ivan

5

IVAN

I guide Virginia through the grand entryway of my home, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. After hours, that fucking reception is finally over and I'm ready to rip my tie off and knock back some whiskey to soothe the irritation scratching under my skin.

It's been getting the better of me lately, which is not like me.

The sound of her heels echoes through the cavernous space, amplifying the silence between us. I can't help but notice her eyes widen as she takes in the crystal chandelier, the sweeping staircase, the priceless artwork adorning the walls.

A surge of satisfaction swells in my chest. This is the life I've built, the fruits of my labor and cunning. But as quickly as it rises, irritation floods in to replace it. Her presence here feels like an intrusion, a blemish on my carefully curated world.

Her eyes roam over the elegant furnishings, the art, every curated piece of my open floor plan downstairs. For a moment, I see my home through her eyes - the tasteful decor, the clear display of wealth and power. Pride wells up again, warring with the resentment of having to share any of it.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, her voice soft.

I grunt in response, unsure how to react to her appreciation. It's easier to fall back on cold indifference.

I lead Virginia to the living room, gesturing for her to sit. She perches on the edge of the leather sofa, her posture rigid. I remain standing, looming over her.

"Let's get one thing straight. This marriage is a business arrangement, nothing more." My voice is cold, detached. "There are rules you will follow."

I tick them off on my fingers, my tone leaving no room for argument. "One, we act married in public. Two, you do not leave this house without a guard. Three, you will attend events with me, no questions asked. Four, use only the phone and credit card I've provided. They're in your room."

Virginia's eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't interrupt.

"We will not share a room," I continue. "And don't get any ideas about getting attached. This is purely transactional."

She nods, her face a mask of indifference that almost rivals my own. Almost.

"Are we... are we going to see other people?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. Irritation flares hot and fast, catching me off guard. My jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in my cheek.

"Why? Do you want to?" The words come out harsher than I intend, laced with an edge I don't fully understand.

I'll fuck her when I need to have my own kids. I need a family. But to be her lover, to hold her after, and whisper sweet nothings…Well, she won't find that in me.

And I also don't want her find it in someone fucking else. She's my damn wife, and my fists clench at the idea of another man going near her.

She's mine.

Virginia tilts her chin up, meeting my gaze. "I'm asking if you're going to."

I scoff, but the sound feels hollow in my ears. "That's none of your concern."

The irritation continues to build, a restless energy crawling under my skin. I turn away, pacing the length of the room. Why does her question bother me so much? It shouldn't matter. This is a business arrangement, nothing more.

And yet, the thought of her with someone else...

I clench my fists, forcing the image from my mind. This is ridiculous. I don't care what she does, as long as it doesn't interfere with our agreement.

So why does my chest feel tight? Why does the idea of her in another man's arms make me want to put my fist through a wall?

I spin back to face her, my expression thunderous. "Just follow the rules, Virginia. That's all you need to concern yourself with."

"Ginny," she says, and there's an undertone to her voice.

My head snaps up, seeing the anger there. Does she want to see someone else? Is that her problem? She doesn't want to be shackled to me and only me?

It's not like I fucking asked for this, but I faithful man. I don't see the appeal of the dramatics of the women the other Bratva entertain. I get off, but now…

Now, I've got a wife that no one could compare to.

And no one else is going to fucking touch her.

I grit my teeth. "You're my wife, Virginia . And you'll learn that I won't let you traipse around like your father did. I promised to protect you and I will, so you will listen to me."

I've already had her things brought here, so there's nothing more she needs from me. "The house is yours. Feel free to look around. There's food in the kitchen if you need it and your room is stocked. "

And turn on my heel to leave. I'm done with this conversation, with her presence, with this whole fucking charade.

"Aren't you going to give me a tour?" Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and defiant.

I keep walking, not bothering to turn around. "Figure it out yourself."

"How hospitable of you," she snaps, sarcasm dripping from every word.

I pause, my hand on the doorframe. Her tone grates on my nerves, but there's something else there too. A spark of... interest? I turn slowly, eyeing her.

Virginia stands tall, chin lifted, eyes blazing. Gone is the demure bride from earlier. In her place is a woman who looks ready for battle.

"You want a tour? Fine." I stalk back towards her, closing the distance in three long strides. "Kitchen's that way. Library's down the hall. Your room's upstairs. Happy?"

She doesn't back down, meeting my gaze head-on. "Ecstatic."

We stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. I find myself wondering what it would take to crack that composed exterior. To see what's really hiding behind those defiant eyes.

The thought catches me off guard. I shouldn't care. I don't care.

And yet...

I turn away abruptly, needing distance. "Goodnight, Virginia."

As I stride out of the room, I can feel her eyes boring into my back. The weight of her gaze follows me down the hall, leaving me unsettled and irritated in equal measure.

I have to get out of this fucking house.

I stride into the warehouse, the familiar scent of metal and oil filling my nostrils. Lev's already there, leaning against a stack of crates. That smirk that's been on his face — the one that's really fucking out of place — is gone at least.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he drawls.

I grunt in response, not in the mood for his bullshit. "Let's get this over with."

We start discussing the latest shipment, going over routes and payoffs. But as Lev talks, my mind keeps drifting. I see flashes of dark curls, hear the echo of heels on the floor.

"Ivan? You with me?"

I blink, realizing Lev's staring at me expectantly. "What?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I asked if you wanted to increase security on the docks. What's got you so distracted?"

"Nothing," I snap, too quickly. "Just tired."

Lev's lips curl into a knowing smirk. "Ah, the joys of married life keeping you up?"

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to punch that smug look off his face. "Fuck off." When did he become this much of a pain in the ass?

But his words have conjured up an image of Virginia, perched on the edge of my sofa, eyes flashing with defiance. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought.

"Come on," Lev presses. "How's the blushing bride settling in?"

"She's fine," I growl. "Can we focus on business?"

But even as I force myself to concentrate on logistics and profit margins, she keeps creeping back into my thoughts. The way she looked in that wedding dress, the soft curve of her neck, the scent of her perfume...

I curse internally. What the fuck is wrong with me? She's a complication, nothing more. A necessary evil for the good of the Bratva. So why can't I get her out of my head?

"Earth to Ivan," Lev's voice cuts through my thoughts again. "Seriously, man, what's going on with you?"

I run a hand over my face, frustration bubbling up. "Nothing. I'm fine."

But I'm not fine. I'm off-balance, unsettled. And I hate it.