Page 56 of Trapping His Darling

Viktor’s father continued to drink heavily, his flushed face showing his addiction to spirits.

I quietly moved over to a bookshelf to peruse the titles. Only a few of the old, leather-bound books were in English. Of course, the ex-fiancée had to invade my space.

She leaned against the mahogany desk, and flicked her eyes up and down my gown. “You are not good enough for him.”

“I agree.” I shrugged. “He is definitely the better half.”

“You need to leave him. This world is too dangerous for someone not raised in it.”

I giggled. “You think he’d let me leave?” Gawd, this bitch was naïve as fuck. I could feel Viktor’s eyes on me even as we spoke. I could smell his cologne as he inched his way closer.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because he’s a possessive bastard.”

She tsked. “No matter. I will handle this.”

What happened next, though, made me realize I would truly be tied to Viktor until death did us part.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Viktor

That fuckingItalian whore reached for a letter opener.

All I knew was that my wife was being threatened, and I wouldn’t stand for it. A surge of primal anger coursed through me, my hand snapping out instinctively, wrapping around Isabella’s throat.

There was a distant, gurgling noise, but the haze of rage clouding my mind would not allow me to control my impulses.

“Viktor. Thank you, but I can fight my own battles.”

Tiffany’s soft lull of humor pulled me back from the dark void I had descended into.

I regained my focus and realized the woman before me, my mother’s doppleganger, was gasping for air. Her lips were turning an alarming shade of blue.

Growling, I released my grip, letting her crumple in a heap at my feet, and spat on her. She coughed and struggled to catch her breath.

My father rushed past me, crouching by Isabella’s side with concern. “I’ll have someone escort you home and deal with this situation.”

“The Don will hear about this,” she croaked, her voice weakened but defiant, her threat lingering in the tense atmosphere like a storm on the horizon.

My godfather and a guard came to her aid, helped her to her feet, and promptly escorted her out of the room. My father’s seething anger was palpable as he rose to his full, imposing height.

“Follow me,” he barked, before spinning on his heel and striding out of the room.

Motioning for Tiffany to stay put, I trailed behind my father, my steps measured, playing the role of the dutiful son. We entered his office, and he slammed the door shut behind us.

“You want to end up like Alexie, is that it, boy?” he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. He then marched to his desk and sat down. I could see him writing out a large check, probably to pay the Italian woman off, in hopes of appeasing her.

“Besides disrespecting my wife, Isabella moved to stab her.”

“You need to divorce that woman,” he insisted, his voice unyielding. “The Italian girl will forgive this and sweep it under the rug. Then we can move on with our business.”

“Tiffany is probably already pregnant.”

My father’s face contorted in disbelief as he glared up at me. “There’s no fucking way in hell you got thatsukapregnant.”

I said nothing. I didn’t need to.

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