Page 47 of Fatal Bonds

The minister clasps his hands, a smile spreading across his face in genuine joy. “With this ring exchange, you have given your consent in marriage. Before your friends and family, you are now joined together in this most sacred commitment. May you be blessed with a lifetime of health, wealth, love, success, and happiness as you continue to support one another. May your love and connection grow exponentially over the years, and may your life together flourish as you walk the journey of it hand in hand. By the power vested in me by the State of Chicago, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Heat crackles up my spine as I take Lindsey’s hand, pulling her close. Our eyes lock, her lips parting as her back bows, and our bodies mold together. My cock swells against my thigh, eager for her even if this marriage is just a smokescreen to pacify Lucian. One arm wrapped around her waist, I cup the back of Lindsey’s head, her silky hair soft against my fingers, and I lean in slowly to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Someone wolf whistles as Lindsey’s grip tightens around my biceps, and I tear myself away from her before I lose control.

Reluctantly releasing her, I pull the paperwork from the inner pocket of my coat.“We have a license to sign as well.”

“Of course,” the minister says, gesturing toward the podium just left of the altar. “I keep a pen here?—”

Unfolding the paperwork, I smooth it onto the podium then hold it flat for Lindsey to sign. She does it quickly, her hand jerking through the motion of her signature. Lucian’s there to watch as I take the pen and sign my name beside hers. Lucian and the officiant sign as witnesses, then the minister collects the papers, folding them carefully along their original lines.

“I’ll submit this today,” he confirms, then offers his hand to me and Lindsey. “Congratulations, Mr. And Mrs. Yashkov.”

With a nod, the minister departs, leaving us with Lucian.

“Yes, congratulations,” the Italian says, his lips twitching at the corners as he extends his hand as well, taking Lindsey’s first before grasping mine. As we shake, he pulls me closer, grasping my elbow and leaning forward so only I can hear. “This marriage better last, Yashkov,” he warns. “All our fates ride on your new wife staying silent.”

With a final nod, he releases me, he and his men departing abruptly. His final words were a veiled threat, but Lucian has a point—if I’m wrong and Lindsey betrays us, he and his men could quite literally lose their heads.

20

LINDSEY

The ring feels heavy on my finger as I sit silently in the back seat of the Escalade, surreptitiously studying the diamond. The center diamond is massive—maybe even three carats, if I had to guess—the halo pear cut is sophisticated and elegant, with the main jewel surrounded by smaller glistening stones and set in a delicate platinum band. I can’t imagine Maks had time or the inclination to go out and buy the ring yesterday. It looks like a statement piece—the kind of ring a man might buy the love of his life before he proposes, or maybe on a tenth anniversary—not a random bit of costume jewelry meant to convince a mobster I’ll stay quiet. I’ve never owned jewelry this bold or beautiful, and it makes my pulse race just to see it decorating my finger.

“It was my mother’s,” Maks says, his deep voice sending a shiver up my spine.

I tense, my fists clenching as I bury my hands in my lap. I hadn’t realized I was that obvious about admiring it. “It’s stunning,” I admit, glancing at him beside me.

His lips curve in a soft smile. “My father always did enjoy grand gestures—especially for my mother. I hope you don’t mind. It was what I could come up with on short notice.”

“I’ll take good care of it until I can give it back,” I assure him, my heart fluttering at the weight of its significance. Wearing it suddenly feels like a serious responsibility.

Emotion flashes across Maks’s face—so quickly I can’t quite read it before it’s gone. He gives a single nod of acknowledgment, then turns to watch the cars outside his window. The rest of the ride back to the penthouse is as painfully silent as it was on the way to the church, and as my discomfort builds, I can’t help but wonder if he already regrets marrying me. He doesn’t look very happy about it.

His driver opens the car door for me, and as I step out, Maks is there to walk me inside. He doesn’t place his hand on the small of my back, and I feel the absence of his touch in the bitter cold that sinks through the fabric of my dress, like an inverse print of his warm palm. I don’t even know that I want him to touch me, and yet, the fact that he doesn’t creates an aching inside me that knots my stomach.

“I didn’t plan anything special for dinner,” Maks says as we cross the lobby together. “But Lenka’s cooking, so I’m sure it’ll be good.”

“Her meals are always exceptional,” I assure him with a tight smile as we step onto the elevator.

The doors slide closed behind us, leaving me and Maks alone again, and the weight of my new title as his wife feels awfully surreal. All our interactions since yesterday have been strained, uncomfortable even, and stiffly formal. I don’t know if it’s because of what I did, what he did to me, or how we’ve left things after, but I get the feeling that he’s been avoiding me since Lucian came barging into his penthouse, and now, just talking about what’s for dinner on the night of our wedding makes me fidget. In all the time I’ve spent with Maks these past few months, nothing has felt less than natural—until now.

The penthouse hums with quiet expectation as we step off the elevator, and I hold my breath at the unnerving sensation that everything is different—even though it looks exactly the same. Someone came to replace the vase of flowers while we were gone, and the fresh bouquet is a beautiful blend of pastel pinks, blues, and yellows. The smell of searing meat makes my mouth water as we head through the living room toward the kitchen, both drawn by the tempting scent.

Lenka looks up with a smile, and her eyes grow round as she takes in my dress, then her gaze flicks down to the massive rock on my ring finger before she finds my face again. “You look lovely, Lindsey.” She glances curiously at Maks, her lips parting like she wants to say something else before she thinks better of it.

“Thanks, Lenka.”

I shift my attention to my new husband and fight the shudder that ripples through me when I find him looking at me. It’s not hard to read the meaning behind the heat in his eyes, the way they travel slowly down my body. He wants me—and the realization sends heat radiating through my body before I even have time to consider what it means. I want Maks too—I always want him. From the moment we first met eyes, I’ve been drawn to him.

But I’m still confused about what I want to do. I shouldn’t give in to my attraction to him, because he’s given me every indication that he doesn’t want me in a permanent sense. He only married me to get the Italians off his back. We might have exchanged rings and signed the papers, but Maks isn’t reallymyhusband at all—not if the vows we shared today have any relevance to the title. We promised a lifetime of commitment, and I know that’s not what Maks wants.

I’m not sure I should want it either. I have a baby to think about now, and getting as far from Maks as I can might be the best way to protect our child—mychild. He’s all but said so himself about when it comes to my safety, so why wouldn’t that apply to my baby? Besides, I still don’t know what to think about him punishing me like he did yesterday. I can handle the pain—to be perfectly honest with myself, I even enjoy being tied down and spanked. The rough sex and threats of punishment turn me on far more than I knew they could before Maks. But I really didn’t like the way he deprived me of an orgasm—when I didn’t know if he would ever let me come. It felt more like psychological torture than foreplay or the kind of punishment he’s given me before.

Heat climbing into my cheeks, I drop my eyes, unable to stand the way he’s looking at me. It’s setting my skin on fire, but I’m terrified to see what comes next. “I think I’ll change before dinner,” I murmur, wrapping my arms defensively around my stomach.

“Of course.” When I glance up at him through my lashes, his eyes shift lazily from my face, and his fingers dig at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the tie around his throat. “Lenka, I think I’ll have a chilled vodka before dinner.”

As he heads toward the bar seating along the island, Lenka flashes me a look of confusion before she turns back to the kitchen to pour his drink.

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