Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

14. Ginny

14

GINNY

I find myself drawn to Ivan's study more and more these days. The door stands open, an unspoken invitation I can't resist. Right now, I'm curled up on the plush leather sofa, pretending to read a book while sneaking glances at him.

Ivan sits behind his massive desk, phone pressed to his ear as he speaks rapid-fire Russian. His brow furrows in concentration, and I admire the sharp line of his jaw. When did I start noticing these things about him?

He catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. I quickly look back at my book, cheeks burning. God, what is wrong with me?

"Virginia." His deep voice startles me. I look up to find him watching me, the phone call apparently finished. "You've been on the same page for twenty minutes."

I snap the book shut, flustered. "I was just... thinking."

"About the attack?" His tone softens slightly, and I'm struck by the concern in his eyes.

"No, actually." I pause, surprised by my own honesty. "I was thinking about you."

Ivan's eyebrows shoot up, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his expression. Surprise? Interest? But it's gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Me?" He leans back in his chair, studying me. "And what exactly were you thinking about me, Virginia?"

The way he says my name no longer irritates me. Instead, it stirs something up inside of me. But I'm not ready to go there, not with him, not yet. No matter what his sister has to say. So I answer with a quiet, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Ivan's eyes narrow slightly. But he doesn't push. He lets it drop, something that surprises me.

Granted, everything about him has been surprising me. He's been pulling me in like gravity, making me feel safe and reassured.

And I think he knows it, too. That must be why he is home, so his little wife doesn't completely lose it. It can't possibly be more than that…

I can't help but notice the changes in Ivan lately. It's subtle, but unmistakable. Like right now, as I pretend to read my book, I catch him watching me. His gaze lingers a moment too long before he turns back to his work.

My heart races. What does it mean?

Later that evening, as we sit down for dinner, Ivan pulls out my chair. His hand brushes my lower back as I take my seat, and I want to lean into it. It's such a small gesture, but so unlike him. And yet, with each touch, I want more.

"Thank you," I murmur, meeting his eyes.

For a moment, I see something soften in his expression. The usual hardness melts away, replaced by... warmth? It's gone in an instant, but it leaves me breathless.

Throughout the meal, I find myself hyper-aware of every movement, every glance. When our hands accidentally touch as we reach for the salt, neither of us pulls away immediately. The contact is electric.

"How was your day?" Ivan asks, his voice low and surprisingly gentle.

I blink, caught off guard by his interest. "It was... fine. Quiet."

He nods, a small frown creasing his brow. "If you need anything..."

The offer hangs in the air between us. I'm not sure how to respond. This caring version of Ivan is new territory, and I'm both thrilled and terrified by it.

As the days pass, these moments accumulate. A reassuring touch on my shoulder when I seem stressed. The way his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when I make him laugh — and God, when did I start trying to make him laugh? How he seems to gravitate towards me in a room, always keeping me within arm's reach.

It's intoxicating and confusing all at once. Part of me wants to lean into these changes, to see where they might lead. But another part of me is scared. What if I'm reading too much into things? What if this is just another game, another way to keep me off balance?

I catch myself watching him more often, trying to decipher the enigma that is Ivan Kozlov. My husband. The man I'm supposed to hate, but who's slowly becoming someone I might actually care about.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

I can't sleep. Every shadow seems to loom larger, every creak of the house setting my nerves on edge. I've been jumpy all day, the memory of that attack still too fresh in my mind. Before I realize it, my feet are carrying me towards Ivan's study.

The door is ajar, warm light spilling into the hallway. I hesitate for a moment before pushing it open. Ivan looks up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face.

"Virginia? Is everything alright?"

I shake my head, not trusting my voice. Ivan's brow furrows, but he doesn't press. Instead, he gestures to the couch. I sink onto it gratefully, drawing my knees up to my chest.

We sit in silence, the only sound the scratch of Ivan's pen on paper. Gradually, my racing heart begins to slow. I find myself watching him work, admiring the strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes as he focuses.

When did his presence become so... comforting? I used to dread being alone with him, but now... now I seek him out. The realization should terrify me, but instead, it feels right.

Ivan glances up, catching me staring. His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. Then, to my surprise, he sets down his pen, the soft click echoing in the quiet room.

"Come here, malyshka," he says, his voice low and gentle, a stark contrast to his usual commanding tone.

Confused but undeniably curious, I uncurl from the couch and approach his desk on unsteady legs. My heart races, unsure of what to expect.

Before I can ask what he wants, Ivan reaches out, his large hand grasping my wrist. With a gentle but firm tug, he pulls me onto his lap, the sudden movement making me gasp.

I stiffen for a moment, shocked by the sudden intimacy. My mind reels, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. Why would he do this? We don't touch each other, not really. We've started to find common ground, a type of friendly interaction. My mind races as I try to piece together what's happening.

But then Ivan's strong arms wrap around me, and he tucks my head beneath his chin. The warmth of his body envelops me, solid and reassuring. I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my back, a soothing rhythm that begins to calm my frayed nerves.

"Better?" he murmurs, and I love the way that his voice rumbles through my body.

I let out a shaky sigh, feeling the tension drain from my body like water. Slowly, I allow myself to relax against him, melting into his embrace. The scent of sandalwood surrounds me, oddly comforting in its familiarity.

"Yes," I whisper, surprised by how true it is. My voice is barely audible, even in the silence of the room. "Better."

And it is. Maybe I spent too long sheltered, thinking whatever I wanted about the kind of men like Ivan. I never thought I could trust a Bratva man, and maybe I shouldn't. I don't know what he does when he's gone all hours of the night and I know he won't tell me. It should set me on edge…

And instead, I let myself sink into him. I let my husband comfort me.

I'm not sure when I do, but I must finally fall asleep in his arms. I only realize this later when I wake up alone in my own bed.

My body is still warm from the memory of Ivan's embrace, and the disappointment hits me like a punch to the gut. I reach out, half-expecting to find him beside me, but my hand meets only cold sheets.

Sitting up, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to recapture that feeling of safety I had in Ivan's arms. It's not the same. I want him here. I want his touch, his presence, the solid warmth of his body next to mine.

My mind drifts to that moment when I kissed him, just a soft brush of my lips against his. It was barely anything, but God, it lit me up inside like a firework. I've never felt anything like that before, never experienced such a rush from something so simple.

I press my fingers to my lips, remembering. The spark I felt then has only grown, kindling into a flame that threatens to consume me. I want more. I want to know what it would feel like to really kiss Ivan, to lose myself in him completely.

The realization leaves me breathless and confused. This isn't how it's supposed to be. I'm meant to hate Ivan, to resent this arranged marriage and everything it represents. But the lines are blurring, and I'm not sure I want to stop it.

The only thing that is slowing me down is my head screaming at me to think. He is Bratva. I can't trust him. He's spent the last five years showing me the kind of person he is, treating me like I'm not worth his time. And the second he's nice to me, I can't just fall down at his feet.

My emotions are leaving me whiplashed at this point.

But every interaction we have seems to chip away at the walls I've built around my heart. His rare smiles, the gentle way he touches me when he thinks I won't notice, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes – it's all combining to create an image of a man I never expected to exist.

I'm falling for Ivan Kozlov, and I don't know how to stop it.

Worse, I'm not sure I want to.