Till Death Saves Me (Forced Mafia Marriages)

24. Ginny

24

GINNY

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I open the door to find Anya standing there. Her presence is a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of emotions I've been grappling with lately.

"Hey, girl," she says, breezing past me into the living room. "Where's my charming brother?"

"Out," I reply, following her. "Some meeting or other."

"Good. I wanted to talk to you." Anya plops onto the couch, eyeing me with a mischievous glint. "So, spill. What's going on with you two?"

I feel heat creep up my neck. "What do you mean?"

She rolls her eyes. "Please. The tension between you two could power half of New York." She points a finger at me. "I saw it when he-" She stops, her expression faltering, but then she clears her throat. "The other day. Something's changed."

I busy myself arranging throw pillows, avoiding her gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh," Anya says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm actually the Pakhan."

I throw a pillow at her, which she catches easily. "Shut up."

"Come on, Ginny," she presses. "I've never seen Ivan so... I don't know, relaxed? And you? You're practically glowing."

I sink into the armchair across from her, sighing. "It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" Anya leans forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. "But you've fallen for him, haven't you? You finally got to see who he really is."

My silence is apparently answer enough. Anya lets out a triumphant whoop.

"I knew it!" she crows. "Oh, this is too good."

I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Anya, please."

"Nope, no way," she says, grinning. "I'm going to enjoy this. My stoic brother and his arranged bride, falling in love? It's like a damn Hallmark movie."

I peek at her through my fingers. "You're terrible."

"I'm delightful," she counters. "And you love me."

I can't help but laugh. "God help me, I do."

As our laughter subsides, I remember something. "Hey, how are you feeling? After... you know."

Anya's smile falters for a moment before she waves her hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle. Now, back to you and Ivan..."

I shake my head vehemently, trying to dispel Anya's assumptions. "You're reading way too much into this. Ivan and I... we're just figuring things out."

"Figuring things out," Anya says, wiggling her brows. "That's better than at each other's throats, right? It means there's something there..."

I roll my eyes, but my heart's not in the argument. Truth is, I've mostly come to terms with my feelings for Ivan. The idea doesn't terrify me anymore.

But I'm not ready to share that with anyone, not even Anya. What Ivan and I have is still so new, so fragile. I don't want to talk to him about it, just in case. I think I can handle holding it close to my chest, letting him fuck me and make me feel like he really wants me as his wife.

And keep putting off the inevitable. When he tells me that he said not to get attached. That he isn't.

When my heart is shattered.

"Whatever you say," I quip, desperate to change the subject. "Now, are we going to watch this movie or what?"

Anya lets it drop, but the knowing glint in her eye tells me this conversation is far from over.

Hours later, I hear the front door open and close. My body instantly tenses, every nerve ending suddenly alert. I don't even need to look up to know it's Ivan.

"Hey," his deep voice carries from the entryway. "I'm home."

My breath catches in my throat. Home. When did this place start feeling like home?

I force myself to act casual as I call back, "In the living room."

I hear the water cut on in the kitchen, and I know what he's doing. But it doesn't really bother me. After seeing him in action, his violent nature only draws me in further.

Ivan appears in the doorway, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. My eyes trace the movement of his hands, the strong line of his jaw. God, he's gorgeous.

"How was your day?" I ask, proud that my voice doesn't betray the riot of emotions swirling inside me.

He shrugs, crossing the room to pour himself a drink. "Same old." I can tell based on his cracked hands, though at least they are scrubbed already.

I nod, hyperaware of his every movement. The air feels charged, crackling with unspoken tension. As Ivan settles next to me, his knee brushes against mine. Even that slight contact sends a jolt through my system.

I completely forget Anya's even in the room until her voice cuts through my Ivan-induced haze.

"Well, I should head home," she announces, standing up.

Ivan's arm slips around my waist as he turns to her. "What, you never want to see me anymore? Just come over to steal my wife?"

Anya rolls her eyes dramatically. "Please. You're much more boring in comparison, big brother."

My cheeks heat at the implication, but I can't help the warmth that blooms in my chest. Ivan's grip tightens slightly, and I lean into him without thinking.

"I see how it is," Ivan grumbles, but there's no real heat behind it.

Anya swoops in, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "Don't worry, I still love you. Even if you are a grumpy old man."

As she passes behind Ivan, she catches my eye and makes an exaggerated swooning face, complete with batting eyelashes and clasped hands. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Once Anya's gone, I turn to Ivan. "How about a movie night?"

He raises an eyebrow. "A movie night?"

"Yeah, you know, where normal people watch movies and relax?" I tease.

Ivan's lips quirk up in that half-smile that never fails to make my heart skip. "Alright. A movie. Your choice."

We settle on the couch, and Ivan immediately pulls me close. I curl into his side, relishing the solid warmth of him. His arm wraps around me, his hand absently tracing patterns on my hip.

As the opening credits roll, I can't help but marvel at how comfortable this feels. How right. Ivan's steady heartbeat under my ear, the gentle rise and fall of his chest – it's more soothing than any lullaby.

I tilt my head up to look at him, only to find his eyes already on me. The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.

"What?" I whisper.

Ivan shakes his head slightly, a soft expression I've never seen before crossing his face. "Nothing," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Watch your movie, malyshka."

I snuggle closer, a contented sigh escaping me. As the movie plays on, I find myself paying more attention to the man holding me than the screen. Each breath, each small movement, every quiet chuckle at a funny scene – I catalog it all, storing these precious moments away.