Page 133 of Merciless Queen

“Don’t know what you called me, but either way, the feeling’s one-sided.” Any previous sentiment Imayhave had this week, any positive emotion whatsoever relating to his calls and texts, any meager form of a connection I didn’t mind in the moment—gone. Long fucking gone.

“Meanswife.” Then, in a move so quickly I don’t see it coming, he cuffs my wrists and tugs me between his legs. He releases one to rest a palm on my back, pinning me in place. “That’s what you are.”

“What’s Italian fordivorcee?”

Zeno smirks but replies,“Divorziata.”

“That’s what I want to be. What’ll it take to make it happen?”

“You have the document. You know what my terms are.”

“They’re impossible. What’s Italian forwidow?”

He chuckles, the sound reminiscent of the breeze over his lands. “You don’t give up.Vedova.”

“Keep it up...” I jerk my wrist and lean back, putting weight into his hand. “...and that’s what I’ll be.”

“You’re a liar, Volkov.” Mischievous green sparkles in the overhead light, and it takes a languid blink to reset my brain from falling for his tricks—again. “You’d have done it by now, if you wanted to. You’d have put a bullet through my head before coming over.”

“I’m not armed.” My teeth grit with the blatant lie.

“You’re always armed.” He sweeps from my back to the edge of my halter dress, fingers creeping upwards. Heat blossoms across my skin, my body involuntary jumping with his gentle caress, and based on his smirk, he knows it too. He finds the holster strapped to my thigh, and the gun within it, before tapping it to make his point. “You wouldn’t be walking the city unprotected. You’ve chosen not to end my life.” He straightens, getting closer to me. So close, I can smell the alcohol on his breath, mingling with mint and something else I can’t place.

“Maybe I don’t want to leave Serafina brotherless.”

“Very kind.” Sarcasm rings through his words, and I’m busy trying to come up with something else to say, something that’ll make him go away, when he reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small, black velvet jewellery box.

Every fibre of my being urges me to run away. Far, far away from whateverthatis. What he’s offering. The physical representation of the documents forged. A symbol no one else could ignore.

Zeno’s legs tighten by my waist and he spins, taking me with him so quickly, I stumble. Suddenly, my back is pressed against the bar and I’m trapped within the confines of his legs. Over his shoulder, waitresses pretend not to watch.

“Zeno,” I hiss. “Let me go. People are watching.” Seems like such a minor thing to worry about when he’s holding a motherfuckingring box.

“And?” His head dips to my shoulder with a deep inhale and an even deeper sigh. “Fuck, I’ve missed you. More than you realize.”

He pulls back so abruptly, he makes my head spin for a whole other reason, before flicking open the box and showing me the large diamond inside.

“No.”

He dislodges the ring from its holder, casting the box off to the side and offers it to me. I lean as far away as I can, as though the slim gold band contains poison.

“Bought you a ring to make it official.”

Every eye in the room is on us and my plans to hide the marriage fly out the window because of him. Because this ring is a giant flashy sign that saysI’m married.

“Throw it away. Shove it up your ass. Just…get it out of my sight.” I knock his hand away. “I’m not the woman you should be romancing.”

His grip tightens as he straightens, coming closer. So close, I wonder how he’s still on the barstool, and how I’m still managing to breathe. The edges of my vision fade, the bar disappearing until I’m left with nothing. Nothing but the sight of him, the smell of him, the feel of him.

“Then tell me why I can’t get you out of my head.”

For the same reason I can’t get you out of mine.

I turn away. “You’re lying so I give up fighting with you.”

“And if I’m not?”

This conversation reminds me of the one just had with Anastasia. Only this time, I have a response. “It’s punishment for Papa’s actions.”

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