Page 99 of Forced Union

And he’s to blame for all of it. He’s going to pay for it, too. Over and over until his mind and body gives out. Hell, I might even take his soul.

He spits a mouthful of blood and a couple of teeth onto the floor. “You can’t break me, son. You don’t have it in you. You’re soft—too much like your mother. She only lasted a couple years after your were born because she was weak.”

I slam my fist into him again. “Don’t you even fucking think about my mother, you worthless piece of shit.”

“See? I’m still in your head and under your skin. You can’t shake me.” He laughs, revealing a bloody smile. “I’ll always be with you. You’ll think about me when you’re alone, you’ll hate me, but you’ll never be rid of me. I shaped you into who you are today.”

“Shut the fuck up!” This time I knock him out.

Fury rushes through my veins. He’s right, he is in my head, fucking with my mind. The fact that I’m here, punishing him, instead of going to my wife says it all.

I glance at Maks. “Torture him all you want, but keep him alive.” I scrub his blood from my hands in the wall-mounted sink. “I’ll be back later.”

“You got it, Pakhan. I’ll take care of him.”

Konstantin stirs and Maks takes over.

“You’ll never be rid of me!” Konstantin hollers at my retreating back. Clenching my teeth, I ignore him. He’s not nearly as important to me as Arianna. I have to get my wife back.

“She doesn’t want to see you. Now get the fuck out of my sight.” Mr. Pontrelli bars the door, his glacial stare pinned on me. “There’s no way you’re getting into my house. Leave my daughter alone.”

Holding my hands up, I back off. We’ve been around and around about this for the last ten minutes. He’s not letting me in. End of story.

“Tell her I stopped by,” I say, stepping backward to my motorcycle.

Mr. Pontrelli sneers and slams the door.

I’m not getting to her through the front door, but I do need to see her, to talk to her. She’s suffering, all because of my deranged father, and I need to make it right. My palms tingle with the urge to hold her and sooth away all of her fears. I shouldn’t have stayed away this long.

Hold on, I’m coming for you, malyshka.

My motorcycle revs to life and I drive away from the Pontrelli’s house, only to kill the engine around the corner and park. Dusk will be settling over the city in a couple of hours. I check in with Maks, then walk the neighborhood until my feet bring me back to the Pontrelli’s front gate.

Half hidden behind a bush, I wait for the cover of night, then sneak onto the grounds. Having spied on the place before, I expertly avoid their security cameras and quickly make my way to the back of the mansion, where I scale the climbing rose trellis up to Arianna’s bedroom window. It’s unlocked—I’m going to have to speak with her about safety. Sliding it open, I duck inside.

The room’s dark and quiet. An untouched dinner tray grows cold on her bedside table. She hasn’t eaten tonight. That very thought has my blood roiling with anger. Arianna loves food. She’d only go without if she was in extreme distress.

I type out a quick text to Maks reminding him to keep Konstantin alive. That man hasn’t suffered nearly enough yet.

As I move toward the bed, which is a jumble of comforters and pillows, I finally spot her angelic face resting on the pillow. Even in sleep her features are twisted with misery. Which is so unlike her.

Oh, my sweet kisa. I’m here.

Settling on the bed, I scoot toward her and she stirs. Her eyes open wide with terror. Her lips part. I clamp my hand over her mouth before she can scream and tug her body against mine.

“Shh, kisa, it’s me. I’ve got you. Everything’s all right.” I hold her close, sweeping her hair from her face. “Don’t scream, malyshka.”

Once I feel her nod, I remove my hand from her mouth and switch on the bedside lamp.

Her eyes are red and puffy like she’s been crying for hours. Her silky hair’s a knotted mess, hovering around her face in wild waves. But it’s the gut-wrenching wariness in her eyes that undoes me. She’ll barely meet my gaze.

I tighten my hold on her stiff body. “What’s going on? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

The silence stretches for so long that I’m beginning to think she won’t answer. I continue to stroke her hair, even though she refuses to relax against me. What did I do wrong?

“I… I can’t do this,” she whispers.

My heart twists. “Do what?”

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