Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

9. Ivan

9

IVAN

I t's late as I stride into the kitchen, my body tense from the day's events. The metallic scent of blood clings to my skin, and I don't usually mind but the way the blood is trying on my skin and flaking off is irritating me.

I like control. And that bastard got his damn blood all over me. I need to wash it off. Now.

I'm at the sink, scrubbing my hands raw when I sense someone else in the room. My muscles coil, ready to strike. Immediately, I expect it to be a retaliation for what I just finished up, but then I notice the slim figure and soft footsteps I know well.

It's just Anya.

I turn, eyeing her warily. "What are you doing here?"

Anya leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Spending time with your wife. Something you're not doing."

I huff, turning back to the sink. "Back off, Anya. It's an arranged marriage."

"Ginny's lonely, Ivan."

My jaw clenches. I grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white. "Virginia is well taken care of."

Anya rolls her eyes. "You know, if you were actually around, maybe this marriage wouldn’t have to be just an obligation."

Heat rises in my chest. Who the hell does she think she is? "Get out."

"Come on, Ivan." She steps closer. "Even Lev has found happiness with his wife, and we both know no one ever expected that to happen."

I scoff, but she's right. Still, I don't like people fucking around in my personal life. And Anya knows this. I have boundaries — ones that no one seems to fucking respect.

"I. Said. Get. Out," I snarl at her.

"You'll get your head out of your ass at some point." Anya shrugs, not phased in the slightest. Little sisters were created to be the bane of every man's existence I swear. "I just wanted to help."

I whirl around, fists clenched at my sides. "I don't need your help. This is my life, my marriage. Stay out of it."

Anya holds up her hands, backing away. "Fine. But she doesn't deserve this and you know it. I just…" She sighs. "Just be better than this, okay?"

As she leaves, I slam my palm against the counter. The sting barely registers through my anger. Who does Anya think she is, meddling in my affairs? This marriage is business, nothing more. I don't need her or anyone else telling me how to handle it.

I glance at the doorway where Anya stood moments ago. Her words echo in my mind, despite my efforts to push them away. Lonely. Obligation. I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts. It doesn't matter. This is how it has to be.

I storm into my study, already on edge from the conversation with Anya. The second I step inside, I freeze. What the fuck?

My eyes scan the room, taking in the changes. The curtains are different. Lighter. There are fucking throw pillows on my leather couch. And is that... a vase of flowers on my desk?

Rage bubbles up inside me, threatening to boil over. This is my space. My fucking sanctuary. And she just waltzed in here and changed it without a second thought?

I hear footsteps behind me and whirl around. Virginia stands in the doorway, her eyes wide. "I thought I heard something-"

"What the fuck is this?" I snarl, gesturing to the room.

She flinches at my tone, but quickly recovers. "I... I thought it could use some brightening up."

I take a step towards her, my voice low and dangerous. "Why the fuck did you touch my stuff?"

As I move closer, I notice what she's wearing. A tiny tank top that clings to her curves, shorts that show off miles of smooth, dark skin. My body reacts instantly, desire slamming into me like a freight train.

I clench my fists, fighting for control. She has no right to look this fucking good while standing in my ruined study. No right to make me want her this badly.

"I'm sorry," she says, lifting her chin defiantly. "I didn't realize it would be such a big deal."

I inhale sharply, nostrils flaring. The scent of her perfume hits me, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to grab her and show her exactly what kind of 'big deal' this is.

"This is my space," I growl, stepping even closer. "You don't touch anything in here without my permission. Understood?"

There's a flash of something in her eyes as she stares at me. Defiance? Interest? I can't tell, and it infuriates me further.

I turn away, unable to look at her anymore. If I do, I might lose the tenuous grip I have on my control. And I can't let that happen. Not yet.

I know I have to fuck her. She's my goddamn wife. But I can't do that if I can't maintain my control while doing it. And right now, I know that those shorts alone have me close to snapping.

Getting her naked would be my fucking reckoning. And I need to figure out how to stop it before I go there with her.

And then her voice breaks through my thoughts, anger lacing it. "I thought I could go wherever I like in this house."

I clench my jaw, struggling to maintain control as Virginia's words hit me like a slap in the face. I turn to look at her, hinger eyes flash with anger, and I feel my own temper rising to match hers.

"Not here," I snarl, gesturing wildly at the room. "This isn't your fucking playground." My voice is low, dark. I don't ever yell, but it's such a deep rumble that I see the hair on her arms start to stand up.

Virginia steps closer, her chest heaving with barely contained rage. "And what am I supposed to do? Sit around like a pretty little doll while you run off doing God knows what?" Her eyes track down my body with disgust, and I hear the underlying message behind that.

Doing God knows who.

It's clear I'm not the only one who has thought about our marital duties. And fuck if that doesn't stir up more lust — and consequently more anger — in me.

How the fuck has this girl got so deep under my skin.

Her defiance ignites something primal in me. I want to shake her, to make her understand her place. But another part of me, a part I desperately try to ignore, admires her fire.

"You're my wife," I growl, looming over her. "You do as I say."

She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound that grates on my nerves. "Your wife? Is that what I am? Because from where I'm standing, I'm nothing more than a prisoner that you took to appease your boss!"

Her words hit closer to home than I'd like to admit. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to grab her and... what? I'm not even sure anymore.

"You have everything you could want," I hiss through gritted teeth. "What more do you need?"

Virginia's eyes narrow, and she jabs a finger into my chest. "Freedom! The ability to make my own choices! To actually feel like I'm living my life instead of just existing around yours!"

I grab her wrist, my grip firm but not painful. "You don't understand the world you're in now. These rules are for your own protection."

She yanks her hand away, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, of course. Because I'm just a helpless little girl who can't possibly take care of herself, right?" She shakes her head. "You thought you could just sign a contract for your Bratva and then stuff me away like an object."

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building. "That's not what I-"

"Then what?" she interrupts, her voice rising. "What am I supposed to be in this marriage, Ivan? Because right now, I feel like nothing more than a glorified houseguest who can't even make simple decisions about decorating!"

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I open my mouth to retort, but find myself at a loss. The fire in her eyes, the passion in her voice - it's intoxicating. And infuriating.

"You want to be a wife?" I spit out, stepping even closer. "Then act like one. Learn your place in this world."

Virginia doesn't back down. She meets my gaze, unflinching. "And what place is that? Silent? Submissive? Sorry, but that's not who I am."

And I see that. I always thought she was an airhead. I expected someone who would lay around watching shows or going shopping, trying to spend the ungodly amount of money I've amassed as a bachelor over the last 34 years.

Instead, I got something that drives me wild.

And I shouldn't fucking like it.

When I don't answer, she lets out an aggravated huffs. and storms out, tears of frustration glistening in her eyes. I'm left behind standing in my study, a maelstrom of emotions churning inside me. Her words echo in my head, each one a sharp jab to my carefully constructed walls.

I run a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. Fuck. This isn't how it was supposed to go. I didn't expect to feel... anything for her. She was supposed to be a political pawn, nothing more. But the fire in her eyes, the passion in her voice - it's stirred something in me I thought long dead.

I sink into my chair, my gaze falling on the vase of flowers she'd placed on my desk. Such a small thing, really. But it represents so much more. Her attempt to make this cold house a home, to carve out a place for herself in my world.

Anya's words from earlier come back to me, hitting differently now.

Ginny's lonely, Ivan.

You know, if you were actually around, maybe this marriage wouldn’t have to be just an obligation.

I scoff, but the sound lacks conviction. Is she right? Have I been so caught up in my own resentment that I've failed to see what's right in front of me?

I think back to our wedding day, how small and vulnerable she looked walking down the aisle. How she flinched at my cold tone during our vows. How she tried to fucking leave during the reception. Christ, what kind of man am I?

This doesn't have to be like this. The thought comes unbidden, a whisper of possibility I've been stubbornly ignoring. We're stuck in this marriage, yes, but who says it has to be a prison for either of us?

If Lev can fucking turn his marriage around then why can't I? Even Nikolai has been about to create a friendly type of relationship with his wife.

I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes. The image of Virginia in those tiny shorts flashes through my mind, and I feel a surge of heat that has nothing to do with anger. She's beautiful, smart, and far stronger than I gave her credit for.

It's part of the reason I refuse to call her by that ridiculous nickname. Ginny is a clueless little girl. But Virginia… She is my sexy and fiery wife. And maybe...

No. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the dangerous thoughts. I can't afford to get attached. In my world, attachments are weaknesses, and weaknesses get you killed.

But as I sit here, surrounded by the small changes she's made to my sanctuary, I can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there's another way. A way that doesn't leave us both miserable and alone.