18. Mikhail

"Now?" Viviana looks from me to the priest and back again. "You want to get married right now?"

"I don't see the need to wait."

Anatoly and Raoul are standing in the back corner of the sitting room. The two of them wrangled a priest and got City Hall to fast-track a marriage certificate in the last twelve hours. Their job is done here, but Anatoly will never forgive me if I don't let him stand in the room as my best man.

Raoul would deny it to his dying day, but he feels the same way.

"I'm wearing a pair of ripped jeans and smell like chlorine," Viviana points out. "That could be a reason to wait."

"Unless you've changed your mind about the consummation, I don't see why your appearance should make any difference at all to me."

It doesn't make any difference to me either way. Bending her over the sofa and taking her from behind would be easier in what she's wearing now. Some fancy dress with layers of tulle and lace would just get in my way.

"You—" She glances at the priest and then lowers her voice. "You asshole. Can we at least pretend that this is official instead of some under-the table, backdoor deal?"

Anatoly snorts at the buffet of potential dirty jokes sitting in front of him and Viviana tosses him a glare. When she turns back to me, she's composed, but barely. "When I was engaged to Trofim, there was an engagement party. I had six months to prepare for a wedding."

"Was six months enough? Were you ready to marry him?"

"That's not the point," she huffs. "This is happening too fast. I haven't had enough time to?—"

"You've had six fucking years, Viviana," I growl, cutting her off. "Tonight, we're doing things at my pace."

Her hazel eyes flare, but she doesn't panic. She doesn't beg.

Instead, I see the mafia princess in her as Viviana presses her shoulders back, lifts her chin, and turns to the priest. "Forget whatever speech you have prepared and skip to the vows. I want to get this over with."

My father really had no idea exactly how good of a match Viviana was.

Not for Trofim. He would have beat this defiance out of Viviana until there was nothing left of her. He never would have let this stand. But it's only because my brother would have looked weak standing next to a woman like Viviana. A terrible pakhan would only look worse next to a proper queen.

And that's exactly what Viviana is.

The feeling settles over me as the priest skips straight to the vows, just as Viviana ordered.

And when I stand in front of the woman who has weaseled her way into my thoughts for the last six fucking years and call her "my wife," some primal urge I've never felt before rises up in me.

When I vow to protect her and cherish her, I'm not lying.

Viviana is mine.

"This is my solemn vow," I recite at the end, holding her delicate fingers against my calloused palm.

Viviana rolls her eyes and repeats her own vows through gritted teeth.

A large part of me wishes sex was on the table. The only thing that would make her defiance better is knowing the way she'd melt beneath me later. It's been six years and I can still feel the way she pulsed around me. Hear the way she moaned my name.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest says, clapping his book closed like he has an Uber to catch. "You may now kiss the bride."

I want to do a whole lot more to the bride than kiss.

Which is a problem.

This marriage is a business arrangement. Just like it was going to be with Helen. I stood over my first wife's grave and swore I'd never have another family.

So I won't. Not like that. When Viviana isn't around, I won't think about her. I'm not going to fuck her or fantasize about her. She's here only so I can keep my son close. So I can have an heir without being a monster about it the way my father was, the way Trofim would have been.

She doesn't mean anything to me.

Viviana licks her lips and I force my eyes away.

"A kiss isn't legally binding, is it?" I ask.

The man frowns. "No. Not strictly. It's a matter of tradition, but most people?—"

"We are not most people." I offer Viviana my arm and she takes it. "We're done here."

As we walk out together, I hear Anatoly dramatically fake-sniffling behind us. "What a beautiful wedding."

As soon as we make it into the hallway, Viviana rips her arm away from me. "Don't touch me."

"I take it you don't want a first dance as husband and wife?"

"No first dance," she confirms with a scowl. "But if there's cake, I'd love to shove some in your smug face."

"No cake. Sorry to disappoint."

"Yeah, right." She turns and walks away, her golden braid flipping over her shoulder. "Disappointing me is probably how you get it up. I bet you're hard as a rock knowing how much I hate being married to you."

I shouldn't let her talk to me like this. I should hate the way she pushes and fights and resists.

I should turn around and go back to my office and let my new wife live out the rest of our marriage in her own wing of the house. Preferably with a brick wall between the two of us.

Instead, I shift into place behind her, whispering into her ear. "Me being hard as a rock has nothing to do with how you feel about our marriage. You just look that good walking away from me."

I watch a blush spread to the tips of her ears even as she refuses to slow down or turn around to face me. "Are you going to follow me all the way back to my room?"

"Just giving you a chance to reconsider your decision about not having sex. Personally, I have a lot of frustration I could burn off."

"You should try bottling it up way deep down inside," she says flippantly. "I hear that's great for your health."

She's only steps away from the door to her room when I grab her around the waist and flatten her against the wall. "For your sake, you better hope I live a long, healthy life. Otherwise, Dante is going to inherit the Bratva sooner than anyone expected. Do you think he's ready to fend off attacks on his life between recess and lunch?"

She tries to push me away, but I pin her wrists to the wall. "That's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be," I growl. "Hate me all you want; I don't fucking care. But if you really think I'm not doing you and your son a favor, you're not as smart as I thought you were."

Her hazel eyes burn through me. By the looks of it, she has a good deal of frustration she could stand to work off, too.

Her pupils expand when I press my hard frustration against her stomach, but she schools her face into a frown. "Careful, Mikhail. I think you almost gave me a compliment."

"Not a compliment—a warning. If you play this wrong, Viviana, you aren't the only one who will suffer. You have Dante to think about."

She strains away from the wall, her body arched against me even while her wrists stay firmly against the wainscoting. "I know I have Dante to think about! He's all I've thought about for the last six years. You're the one who isn't thinking about him! Ripping him out of school and turning his life upside down doesn't scream ‘stability.'"

She smells like vanilla and chlorine. Strands of blonde hair curl against her heaving chest.

I lean my weight into her, forcing her flat against the wall again. My erection is pinned between us, throbbing against the heat of her skin.

"What exactly is ‘stable' about living in an apartment you can't afford under a fake name?"

"Love," she fires back. "I love him, which is more stability than I ever got growing up. Having someone who cares about you is better than any big, lonely mansion."

I hate Agostino Giordano for what he did to his daughter, but I can't help but admire the way Viviana rose from those ashes. I thought she was fiery before, but the way she is ready to go to the mat for our child? I've never seen anything like it.

"Lucky for you, Dante will have both here. A big mansion and two parents who want what's best for him."

Viviana tries to pull back, but there's nowhere to go. Instead, she fidgets, effectively grinding her body against me. If she realizes what she's doing, it doesn't show. She's too busy trying to kill me with her eyes to know she's actually killing me with her hips. "You don't know what's best for him. He needs to be back in school. He needs to see his friends—his peers."

"The only reason he was in that school to begin with is because you stole him away from the world he was born into. Those civilians will never be his ‘peers.'"

"Spoken like a typical, haughty Novikov," she mutters.

I ignore her for her own sake. "Until things settle down, I'm hiring a tutor for him. He'll be more comfortable here."

He'll be safer here, at least. Until I know who the fuck killed Trofim, I'm not going to put Dante at risk by sending him out into the world.

"You can't take him out of school. He has friends. Socialization is important at his age."

So is his life, but Viviana either doesn't understand the risks she took keeping Dante away from me for so long or she's in deep denial.

"There are plenty of people to talk to here."

"Maids don't count."

"Who's haughty now?" My fingers tighten around her wrists. I can feel her pulse thundering against my hand. "Between the two of us, the maids, his tutor, and Raoul and Anatoly?—"

"Just what he needs: more chauvinistic assholes as role models."

"He'll have plenty of people to talk to," I growl, ignoring her in an effort to keep hold of my control that is slipping away a little more every time she opens her mouth. "And when he's ready, we'll send him to a private academy."

"When you are ready, you mean," she challenges, dragging her body against mine again. My cock twitches as she stretches to her toes, her lips less than an inch from mine. "Because this has nothing to do with me or Dante. This is all about you, Mikhail. It's all about what you want."

"If this was about what I wanted, we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation!" I shove away from the wall before I do something stupid.

For all Viviana's talk, I see hurt flicker across her face.

She thinks I don't want her—as my wife, here in my house. Maybe she even thinks I regret Dante. That I wish I'd never touched her that night in the bridal suite.

But if I had what I wanted, we'd be in Viviana's room right now. Her clothes would be in shreds on the floor and that pouty mouth of hers would be wrapped around my cock.

Instead, Viviana's lips flatten together. "Fine. Go to bed on your wedding night alone, Mikhail. Since that's what you want."

She storms into her room and slams the door in my face. A second later, she slides the lock home.

Good.

It's for the best that we keep a locked door between us. Out of sight, out of mind.

I don't have to think about the soft curve of her hips or the warmth of her thighs. If I can't see her, there's no reason to imagine her neck arching as I fill her. The way I know she can moan my name…

For both our sakes, I hope the lock is strong enough to keep me out.