Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

10. Ginny

10

GINNY

I shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy from a restless night. My breath catches when I spot Ivan leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand. What's he doing here? He's usually gone before I wake up.

Averting my gaze, I make a beeline for the fridge. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll disappear. No such luck.

"Go get dressed," he barks, his voice rough. But there isn't an edge to it, almost like he's trying to be nice about it.

I freeze, hand on the refrigerator door. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Be ready in thirty minutes."

Turning slowly, I meet his steely gaze. "Where are we going?"

"Into the city," he grunts, setting down his mug with a sharp clink. "Thirty minutes, Virginia."

Before I can protest the use of my full name or the sudden plans for the day, he stalks out of the kitchen. I glare at his retreating back, tempted to throw something at him. Instead, I let out a frustrated sigh and trudge back to my room.

What the hell is this about? In the week since our wedding, Ivan's barely acknowledged my existence. Now he wants to play happy couple on a city outing?

I rifle through my closet, muttering curses under my breath. What does one wear for a mystery trip with their infuriating Bratva husband? I settle on a sundress - casual enough for comfort, but dressy enough for whatever I'm getting dragged to.

As I apply a light touch of makeup, my mind races. Am I getting dragged to some kind of Bratva event? Or maybe he's finally decided to get rid of me and make it look like an accident.

I snort at my own paranoia. If Ivan wanted me gone, he wouldn't need to drag me into the city to do it.

An hour later, I step out of the car, blinking in the bright sunlight. Ivan's hand hovers near my lower back, not quite touching me as he guides me towards... a quaint brunch spot? My eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the little building tucked away in Manhattan.

"This isn't what I expected," I murmur, more to myself than to him.

Ivan grunts, already pulling out his phone. "What were you expecting? A firing squad?"

I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to snap back. As we're led to our table, I can't help but notice how heads turn to watch us. Ivan's presence commands attention, even in this laid-back setting.

The hostess seats us at a secluded corner table with a view of the bustling street. Ivan is leaned back, his posture relaxed as his fingers fly across the screen of his phone. Not looking at me, but for the first time not looking like he's ready to commit murder.

Though I suppose that comes with territory of being a brigadier. That's what Anya told me he was. A senior brigadier, an important made man right below the Sokolovs themselves. Apparently he's best friends with the guys, too.

I fidget with my napkin, unsure how to navigate this unexpected situation. "So..." I start, desperate to break the awkward silence. "Do you come here often?"

Ivan's eyes flick up briefly. "Sometimes."

And just like that, the conversation dies. I sigh, reaching for the menu. At least the food looks good.

Our waiter appears, all smiles and charm. "Good morning! Can I start you off with some coffee?"

"Please," I say, grateful for the distraction.

Ivan doesn't even look up from his phone. "Espresso."

As the waiter hurries off, I find myself studying Ivan. His jaw is clenched tight, brow furrowed in concentration. Whatever's on that screen has his full attention.

The coffee arrives, and I wrap my hands around the warm mug. "Thank you for... this," I say softly. "It's nice to get out of the house."

Ivan's fingers pause over his phone. He looks up, really looks at me for the first time today. Something in his expression softens, just for a moment. "You're welcome."

My heart does a strange little flip. Is this... progress?

But then his phone buzzes, and the moment shatters. He's back to furiously typing, leaving me feeling oddly bereft.

The waiter returns to take our order. I choose a stack of blueberry pancakes, while Ivan absently requests an omelet, his eyes never leaving his screen.

As we wait for our food, I find myself people-watching through the window. Couples stroll by hand in hand, friends laugh over shared jokes. My chest aches with a sudden, fierce longing.

"Your pancakes, miss," the waiter announces, snapping me out of my reverie. "And the omelet for you, sir."

I dig in, savoring the burst of sweet berries on my tongue. To my surprise, Ivan actually sets his phone down and picks up his fork. He takes a bite, then glances at my plate.

"Good?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I nod, swallowing quickly. "Very. Want to try a bite?"

The words are out before I can stop them. I brace myself for a cutting remark, but instead, Ivan hesitates. Then, to my utter shock, he reaches across the table with his fork and snags a small piece of pancake.

As he chews, I could swear I see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. A fucking smile. "Not bad."

I stare at him, momentarily speechless. Is this the same man who's been giving me the cold shoulder for days? The same Ivan who exploded at me for rearranging his study?

His phone buzzes again, and his eyes dart down. But he only types out a response before setting it to the side and going back to eating quietly.

Is this who he could be? The man that Anya swears is really her brother? Because if it is, I wouldn't mind being his wife.

After brunch, we step out onto the bustling sidewalk. I hesitate, unsure of our next move.

"Where to?" Ivan asks, surprising me.

"Um..." I blink, caught off guard. "Well, there's this little bookstore I love just a few blocks from here."

Ivan nods, gesturing for me to lead the way. As we walk, I can't help but sneak glances at him. His posture is still rigid, but there's something different about him out here. Less... menacing, maybe?

He's definitely still alert, but it's almost endearing the way he's watching out for me. He keeps me tucked away from the street, that hand hovering over my back, his body half a step behind me like he's shielding me from any threat.

At the bookstore, I lose myself in the stacks, breathing in the comforting scent of old paper. When I emerge with an armful of novels, I find Ivan browsing the Russian literature section.

"Didn't peg you for a bookworm," I comment.

He shrugs. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Virginia." And then he takes all the books from me and buys them without questioning me.

We hit a few more of my favorite spots - a quirky art gallery, a hidden garden tucked between skyscrapers. Ivan's phone buzzes constantly, but he only checks it briefly, typing out messages intermittently, before tucking it away again.

As the afternoon wears on, I notice Ivan... relaxing? It's subtle, but his shoulders lose some of their tension. He even talks. Like actually talks with more than one sentence at a time.

We end up at a tiny café, squeezed into a corner table. I cradle my latte, watching Ivan over the rim of my mug. He's typing on his phone again, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Let me guess," I say, unable to help myself. "Coordinating a hit on the mayor?"

Ivan's head snaps up, eyes narrowing. For a split second, I think I've royally fucked up. But then... his lips twitch. A smile - a real, genuine smile - breaks across his face, transforming his features.

My breath catches in my throat. He looks... handsome. No, more than that. He looks human.

And my heart does this little flutter. It's brief, but it's enough to make a gasp catch in my throat.

"Please," he scoffs, but there's no bite to it. "The mayor's not worth my time. I'm clearly orchestrating the downfall of the entire city."

I laugh, a mix of surprise and relief bubbling up inside me. "Ah, of course. How silly of me."

Ivan's smile lingers, softening the sharp angles of his face. And now my heart does a strange full-on flip in my chest. For a moment, I can almost imagine us as a normal couple, sharing an inside joke over coffee.

But then his phone buzzes again. His eyes dart down to it, and I don't mind. It might even be good because then I can catch my breath.

Still, as Ivan turns his attention back to whatever urgent Bratva business demands his focus, I can't shake the warmth blooming in my chest.

Maybe, just maybe, there's more to my husband than I thought.

Leaving the café, Ivan guides me back to the car waiting for us. As I slide into the passenger seat, I find myself hyper-aware of Ivan's presence behind me. He shuts the door softly, going around to slide into the driver side. The leather seat creaks softly as he settles in, his cologne – a sandalwood scent I'm getting addicted to — filling the enclosed space.

I turn my head, pretending to watch the city blur past the tinted windows. But my eyes keep drifting back to him, stealing quick glances when I think he's not looking. His hand flexes against the wheel, his wedding glint in the sun, and I clench my thighs together.

There is something so rawly masculine about the way he drives. Especially with his sleeves rolled up, showing off his veins and tattoos. That paired with the silver band that screams he belongs to me — one I didn't even know he actually wore — is doing something to me.

Who is this man? The Ivan I thought I knew was all hard edges and cold silences. But today... Today I saw glimpses of someone else. Someone who smiled – actually smiled – over silly jokes about Bratva business. Someone who patiently followed me through my favorite bookstore and art gallery without a single complaint.

My chest feels warm, a strange fluttery sensation I can't quite name. It's unsettling, this softness creeping in where there should be nothing but resentment and fear.

I sneak another look, studying his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the stubble peppering his skin, the ink that complements him in a way I didn't know tattoos could. In the fading afternoon light, he looks... Fuck, he looks too good. It should be illegal to look this good.

Ivan's eyes flick up, catching me staring. I quickly look away, heat rising to my cheeks. Damn it.

"Something on your mind, Virginia?" His voice is low, a hint of amusement coloring his tone.

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "Just... thinking about today. It was... nice."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. It's not a full smile, not again, but it's something. Something that sets my heart off. "It was."

We lapse into silence again, but it feels different now. Less tense, somehow. I fidget with the handle of my shopping bag, mind racing.

How am I supposed to make sense of this? The Ivan who brought me to brunch and actually listened when I talked about my favorite books – how does he fit with the man who exploded at me for rearranging his study? The one who laid down those cold, impersonal rules on our wedding night?

I steal one more glance, catching the exact moment a text lights up his phone screen. His entire demeanor shifts, shoulders tensing as he reads whatever message just came through. Just like that, the walls are back up.

The warmth in my chest twists into something sharper. Confusion, maybe. Or disappointment.

I'm not sure which is worse.