Page 28 of Forced Union

I glance at Arianna as we approach the massive iron gates, an ornate K between two eagle’s heads sitting at its center. They swing open, and her lips part in awe. Despite her treachery, my chest warms. I have to admit, even in the pre-dawn light my ancestral home is a sight to behold. Its late eighteen hundreds Gothic revival style shows in its high, sharp peaked roofline. The house sits upon a hill, its sinister form giving the idea of an impenetrable fortress. Which is exactly what it is—massive, fortified, and surrounded by acres of woodland.

I’m satisfied to see a guard already stationed at the gate. He waves us through.

“What is this place?” She finally speaks.

“The Kozlov family estate, and my childhood home.” I get out of the car and come around to her side to open the door. “Come. They’re expecting us.”

“They?” She grabs her bag from the floor.

“The caretaker and his wife, who is also the cook.”

“Oh.” She slides out of the car, her impenetrable mask firmly back in place.

I keep my own suspicions and anger at bay. This isn’t the time or place for that conversation, but we will be having that discussion. Soon.

The rev of a motorcycle draws my attention as it comes up the driveway. Maks drives right up to us before killing the engine. His shaggy blond hair windblown.

“How’d it go?” I ask.

“As expected.” Which means the guy was dealt with and won’t be coming back. “Hey, do you recognize this guy? Nothing on him other than a Russian passport.” Maks shows me the man’s identification. I take a good, long look.

I make a mental note to look further into these mystery Russians. They could be responsible for Uncle Vadim’s death. At this point, they seem to be trying to move in on my territory. First my men beaten and left at the club, now coming after me. I will get to the bottom of this.

“Never seen him before. He could be a hired assassin.” I throw an accusatory glance at Arianna, who flips her hair over her shoulder, ignoring me again. My gaze narrows. I turn back to Maks. “Send his picture to all of our men, see if any of them recognize him.”

“Consider it done, Pakhan.”

I grab Arianna’s upper arm and haul her toward the entrance, irritation crawling up my spine.

My wife thinks she wants me dead right now? Just wait until I bend her over my knee and punish her perfect ass, then she can fucking hate my guts.

CHAPTER 12

Arianna

Dimitri manhandles me up to the arched, double front doors. Even though he’s been trying to hide it, I can tell he’s livid. But I’m not sorry for what I did. His entire building burning to the ground would have served him right for ruining my life. Unfortunately, his place was much more difficult to set on fire than I expected. Mostly because it was so sterile. The damage will be minimal.

And at this point, I can’t rely on my dark knight to save me from this wretched man. If he was going to appear, he’d have done so already.

I’m left on my own to deal with Dimitri Kozlov.

He just doesn’t get it. I want him to let me go, to contact his lawyer and have them draw up divorce papers. I want as far away from this life as I can get, not to get sucked further into it.

If he’s unwillingly to let me go, then I’ll force him to do it. One day at a time, I’m going to make his life hell. Then, maybe, he’ll wake up some day and realize that I’m not worth the effort and the headache. He can find some other woman to be his trophy wife. Plenty of women would probably be glad to fulfill this role, just not me.

I want a man who will be a good husband, and eventually father. A civilized, sophisticated man. That is absolutely not Dimitri Kozlov.

The door swings open, and we’re greeted by a couple in their mid-sixties. Dimitri introduces them as Kir and Nina, the estate’s caretaker and cook. A thread of guilt tangles in my chest. It’s because of my actions that they are up before dawn having to get ready for our arrival. If only I could spare everyone around us while taking out my wrath on Dimitri.

As soon as we’re in the foyer, Dimitri, barefoot and shirtless, wanders off with them, discussing specifics about our stay, and I’m left to my own devices.

Spinning, I head toward the exit, where a guard blocks my path. He shakes his head, staring me down. Right. I’m still a prisoner.

Annoyed, I turn around and venture further into the mansion, taking in the green marble flooring, ornate trim, and high ceilings. Most of the furnishings are antiques by the look of them. I’d guess eighteen hundreds to early nineteen hundreds. Painted portraits hang on the wall in the foyer and the nearest sitting room, I also spot them decorating the stairway walls.

This… is not exactly where I imagined Dimitri growing up. There’s so much lush culture in these two rooms alone. How did someone like him come from a place like this?

The mansion practically screams old money, sophistication, and nobility. All things that Dimitri Kozlov certainly is not.

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