Page 53 of Forced Marriage Vows

“Adrian Rossi,” I reply. “The fucker got me in the face before I could react.”

We had a meeting with the Italians today to discuss the upcoming mayoral elections. Considering our respective influence in the city, both organizations have a huge stake in who ends up winning. We were trying to find common ground with respect to our candidate when Rossi got bored and decided to pick a fight.

The subject was, of course, Igor’s elusiveness and Rossi’s belief that I’m not doing enough to catch him. I got angry that he was interrupting the meeting and told him to fuck off. I thought he was leaving until the bastard turned around and socked me in the face.

On the way home, Ivan made a point to tell me that I could have handled the situation better, especially considering Rossi’s volatility. I get it, the man’s mother was brutally murdered. But if he tries that shit with me again, I’ll cut his hand off.

“He punched the Pakhan?” she asks, visibly shocked.

A thrill rushes through me at the sound of her addressing me like that. It’s nice to hear.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Isn’t that, like, super disrespectful?’

“It is.”

“And you’re not angry?”

He ended up apologizing—he was forced to do so by his Don, but what matters is that he did it. It’s getting out of control, though, and I’m not okay with that.

“Of course I am. I’m fucking enraged, but my anger’s not going to do me any favors right now. Rossi never should havedared to strike me, but I’m not in a position to retaliate. He has the full weight of the Cosa Nostra behind him. And I’ve yet to establish full control of the Bratva.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. “Because of my father.”

“I can’t really be Pakhan until he’s found,” I tell her.

She nods, rubbing some ointment on my cheek. It takes a long moment before she speaks.

“You know I know where he is, right?”

“Yes.”

“But I can’t tell you.”

“I know, baby. I wouldn’t ask you to, either. Rossi wants your father dead. And I’d never let you be put in a situation where you’d lead him to it.”

She exhales softly. “Why not?”

“You know why, Anastasia.”

“Shouldn’t you be over it by now?” she asks, mildly frustrated. “You did it. You said it yourself, one of the reasons you wanted to marry me was because you wanted to fuck me. And now you’ve gotten that. I just don’t know what else you want.”

I make sure to keep my gaze locked on hers as I say, “Everything, Anastasia. I want everything.”

She swallows, vulnerable brown eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me to kiss you,” I urge.

She places a hand on my shoulder, her fingers tightening over the material of my shirt.

“Kiss me, Mikhail.”

Everything else disappears when her eyes meet mine. I brush my lips against hers, testing, waiting to see if she pulls away. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but then she responds and something shifts. Her hands slide up to my neck, pulling me closer, and I deepen the kiss, my grip tightening around herwaist as I press her back against the counter. Every inch of her fits perfectly against me, and the taste of her… fuck.

“Anastasia,” I murmur between soft, unhurried kisses, “here’s what’s going to happen. First, I’m going to slide my fingers into you, and I’m going to fuck you with them until you’re screaming my name.”

Her fingers tighten around my shirt, a shudder going through her. When I look into her eyes, they’re wide and dilated with lust.

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