Page 34 of Twisted Vows

1. Stay within the designated areas of our house unless otherwise approved.

2. Pasha or a guard will accompany you at all times outside the property.

3. Inform me of your movements in advance.

4. No unapproved guests.

The note crinkles in my hand, the sharp black letters staring back at me. My pulse thuds in my ears, drowning out the quiet of the room.Don’t be surprised.

I quickly admonish myself for the explosion of feelings. So what if I let him see the parts of me I’ve always kept hidden?

It’s a game between us, and I lost the bet.

My fingers tighten on the paper. A man like Maxsim Volkov will never see me as anything more than a tool.

I squash the part of me that wanted to believe he could be different. Slamming the paper onto the tray, the coffee cups rattle. The man can go straight to hell.

As if on cue, he strides in, perfectly put together. Cold and business-like. The impatient expression on his face suggests last night was nothing more than a formality.

A knife twists deep inside me—and I hope he doesn’t confuse my show of emotion last night with weakness. Because, likeevery Bianchi woman before me, I will slit a fucking throat with tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Good,” he says, barely glancing at me. “You’re awake. We need to discuss your schedule and security protocols.”

I blink and silently remind myself that anger is better than tears, better than grief, and far better than disappointment. “My personality wheel went for a pin this morning, so watch what you say next.”

Setting the tablet down on the desk, he finally looks at me. His blue eyes are ice, cutting right through me. “That’s something I’ll never do.”

I slide out of bed, yanking the sheet with me to wrap around my body. Not because I’m modest—I simply don’t want him to see the skin he touched last night. I don’t want him to think he still has access.

“This is how you’re starting our first day of marriage?” I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “With rules?”

But it’s not just the rules that bother me—it’s him. The way he looks at me. Cold and calculating. Like I’m a problem to be managed instead of a person.

Maxsim arches a brow, as calm as ever. “Would you rather I let you wander Boston unprotected and unaccounted for? The Cartel is sniffing around our operations, Ari. This isn’t a game.”

“A game?” My voice rises. “Do you think I’m stupid? I don’t need a leash, Maxsim.”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you alive,” he says, his voice like a whip, “then yes. You’ll have a leash.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It’s bitter and loud enough to make him stiffen. “You really think you’re saving me, don’t you? All this—” I wave a hand at the note on the tray. “Means nothing. You are just another man wrapping chains in velvet and calling it protection.”

His jaw tightens, the only crack in his control. “And you’re reckless. Impulsive. You don’t understand the stakes here—”

“Oh, please,” I interrupt, stepping closer. “How many times have you survived being kidnapped by the Cartel?” His jaw ticks, and I laugh quietly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Ari—”

I put my hand up. “Spare me the lecture. I’ve been surrounded by men like you my whole life. Controlling, cold, and so afraid of losing power that you’d smother anyone who gets too close.”

The air between us crackles, charged and dangerous. His voice drops to something low and dangerous. “And you think you’d survive out there without me? You think you could handle what’s coming?”

I meet his glare head-on, refusing to back down. “At least I’d die free.” Anger burns through me, and I can’t stop the memories from creeping in—the weight of his hands on my skin, the way he looked at me like I was something fragile and precious. Like hesawme.

It was all an act. A moment of weakness he’s already erased from his mind?

Maxsim’s nostrils flare, but his voice stays calm. “That’s the problem with you, Ari. You think you’re invincible and don’t see the danger until it’s too late.”

I grab the crystal vase off the nightstand before I can think twice. The weight of it feels good in my hands, solid and cold. Without hesitation, I hurl it straight at his head.

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