Page 4 of Vows in Violence

“He doesn’t have to witness this.” My bride, Vivi Valachi, stands to my left, her cheeks stained with her anger, her eyes filled with her pain, but neither will make me bend.

“Here I was thinking I was offering a kind gesture, allowing you to have your brother at our wedding.” I smirk.

Vivi’s nostrils flare, but she is smart enough to keep her mouth shut. The priest isn’t quite as intelligent.

“Mr. Romanov, is this really necessary?” He points at a battered-looking Angel.

I take a step toward the altar, toward the priest. “Let me tighten your collar, Father; it seems as loose as your lips.” I would tighten it until no air entered his wrinkly lungs.

“Forgive me….” The priest stutters.

I pause on the first step of the altar and glance up at the cross hanging between two stained glass windows. It means nothing to me; there is no God, no salvation. There is just this time in space that we have the control to bend to our will.

I step back beside Vivi.

“Get on with it.” I glare a warning at the priest.

He won’t look at us but starts rattling through our vows.

I don’t bother to pay much attention. My head is caught up in the moment from earlier, when my victim twitched within my grasp, life draining from his eyes. It's a rush like no other. I had an opportunity to repeat it again with the priest, and he would have deserved that kind of ending. I glance at him, and his words pour even more quickly from his mouth, until the marriage is final, and Vivi Valachi is now my wife.

I turn away from the priest without a thank you or a fuck off, and Vivi falls into line behind me.

She’s silent, obedient, as I lead her down the aisle between the empty pews toward the back doors. A snap of my fingers, and a few of my men step forward to collect my hostage, Angel Valachi. Now, there's a man I haven't figured out how to break yet. Angel seems immune to pain. Everything breaks eventually, though. I just need to figure out how to shatter him so there is nothing left.

My men pull the double doors of the church open. No bells signal our union; no wedding guests greet us with cheers. It’s just the cool air that hits my face, a fresh reminder that it's early spring. One of my men waits at the curb with the car idling. I open the door to allow Vivi to get into the car. She hesitates, standing on the sidewalk.

"Need I remind you of the duties of a wife?"

Vivi looks up at me with those wide, frightened eyes. "I understand what is required of me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She’s compliant, and yet a spark of defiance glimmers in the depths of her gaze.

This is why I wanted Vivi. The perfect package on the surface, brimming with secrets and challenge beneath.

What is that old Latin proverb? Something about still waters concealing passionate depths. I first heard it in my boyhood studies, but it never made as much sense as it did after meeting Vivi Valachi.

Vivi Romanov.

I let out a low growl that’s mostly satisfaction. "You understand that getting into a car is the minimum of what I expect from you?"

Vivi pauses, then asks, "What do you expect of me?"

I step forward and take her face in my hands. There's nothing loving about it. My grip is firm, possessive. "I expect absolute obedience."

Her eyes widen even more, but she nods, her head moving stiffly within my grasp. Slowly, she pulls loose and climbs into the car. I slide in next to her, feeling the tension radiate off her body. As the car pulls away and heads toward my house, I notice her eyes darting from the window to the blood on my hands.

I stifle a smile. I guess that might be a bit intimidating for a virgin bride. But intimidation may be exactly what she needs. If she's anything like her bastard brother, she needs to be broken in. Hard.

I lift my hand, the blood on my skin practically glowing under the streetlight streaming through the window. "See this?" I murmur, my voice low. "This is what happens when people defy me."

She stares at the blood, her breath hitching. Good. Fear is the first step to control. I need her to be scared, compliant—and yet, I realize, I also need her absolute trust. There is a difference between obeying because you have no choice and obeying because you have made the choice to trust.Thatis what I need from my wife.

I raise my bloody hand higher, letting it catch the light again. "Does this bother you, pet?"

Vivi's eyes flicker with something—fear, maybe disgust. "Our world is one of blood."

A smirk tugs at my lips. "A very good response. A trained response, but I wasn’t asking your mother or your nanny; I am asking you."

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. Finally, she whispers, "Yes. It bothers me."

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