Page 42 of Brutal Promise

Fuck.

I practically inhale my cappuccino and return to the bedroom. I peek inside the closet to find my pink paisley dress. I designed and made it for my senior project. It’s practical and can be dressed up or down, depending on the occasion.Hmm…maybe Dmitry and I have more in common than I thought.He has excellent taste in clothes, and he’s meticulously groomed.

He’s practical. I’m the poor version of him. I find heels on a shelf that match the magenta pink in my dress. They have red bottoms! Seriously? Is there anything that is off-limits to him? These shoes are divine! They easily cost a month’s rent in the city!

I open the built-in cedar-lined drawers to find bras and undies. Everything is my size, so he’s very observant.No,I tell myself,he checked all your clothing. Well, not him but his soldiers.Ugh.

As I slip into my dress, I wonder what he was working on last night. From the undercurrents between Kirill and Dmitry, I can tell the two are as thick as thieves and go way back. What I can’t figure out is why Dmitry is visiting and why he’s helping me? It’s not exactly tourist season when one would expect to have visitors flying into town.

Dmitry enters the room and tugs on his matching suit jacket. “Are you ready to go?” His eyes sweep over me like a landmine detector.

I finish applying a light-tinted cream to my face and dust on the bronzer. A sweep of pink lipstick is the color of an over-ripened watermelon, and it punctuates the fact that I’m done with my makeup, like always.

“Almost. Thank you for the shoes.”

“As I said, you have a standard to uphold.” His cold tone takes me by surprise.

It appears I’m his fuck toy, a whore by night and arm candy by day.

What role will I play once we’re married?

“I think we need to talk about this marriage thing. We need rules.”

“Rules? Interesting. I don’t take orders from women.”

“Not orders, it’s a conversation, in case we get stuck together in this fake marriage. You never mentioned if I can go back to my life when this fiasco is over.”

I hold the doorframe for balance as I slide a foot into a shoe. The inside of it is soft like butter.

“I’ll think about it. But I never said anything about fake.”

I bend to lift the second shoe, sliding it onto my other foot. I straighten and smooth my dress, knowing his eyes are on me.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with a softness to his voice. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

With three long strides, he’s in front of me, close enough to smell his musk and the notes of sweet tobacco. When I refuse to look up, he places two fingers under my chin and tilts my head back. I refuse to meet his gaze and close my eyes. I can’t face him. I can’t be vulnerable. I can’t risk being left again. If I fall for him, it will destroy me.

“I don’t say words I don’t mean.” His deep, deliberate tone conveys the seriousness of his words.

My breath catches in my throat. I’m nervous. My stomach churns. I feel exposed because he knows my body better than me, and he reads my mind like a football playbook. I’ve never had a long-term relationship. We’re heading into a potential lifetime commitment, and I barely know him. He was thoughtful enough to make me a cappuccino and serve me in bed. This freaks me out and impresses me at the same time. How does he know I love cappuccino? His attention to detail would make him an excellent detective.

“I know.” I open my eyes and meet his. I find his are warm, soft, and even kind. I can’t be vulnerable. “Can we go now?” I change the subject because if I dwell on his words, I will only set myself up for disappointment.

He turns abruptly. I follow behind him, my heels clicking on the tile floor.

At the door, he makes sure the way is clear before we enter the hallway. In the elevator, the forced proximity is overwhelming. I feel trapped, and my heart races.

He turns to me. “I love the design of your dress. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” I reply, unsure how he knows stuff he shouldn’t. Does he know who my mother is? Would he keep that information from me if he did? Does he have an ulterior motive for rushing into marriage? Arranged marriages still happen, especially in the mafia world. Women are treated as possessions, used as needed, and dispensed with like an old prescription bottle. Take two pills as needed and dispose of the bottle after the expiration date.

“What are you thinking about? You’re too quiet.” His deep voice commands an answer.

“How did you know I have a passport?”

“I’m a great hacker. It’s one of the reasons I started working security for my brother after the accident with my leg. I oversee the books and launder funds. Besides, anyone can do what I did. Few can do what I do now.”

“And what exactly is that?”

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