Page 19 of Bloody Vows
"With a ring in my hand." I pull the diamond from its box and reach for her left hand. She tries to snatch it away, but I'm faster, catching her wrist and holding it steady. "This is what marriage looks like in our world, Simone. You know that."
"This isn't marriage. This is ownership." She glares at the ring as if it’s poisonous. “You want to chain me up and make me crawl for you.”
I smirk, my cock twitching at the image. “Don’t give me ideas, Simone.”
“You—” She tries to snatch her hand away again, but I don’t let go of her delicate wrist. I slide the ring onto her finger, and it fits perfectly, just as I knew it would. The diamond catches the light and sends sparks across her olive skin, and something primitive and possessive surges through me at the sight of my ring on her hand.
Mine.The word echoes through my mind like a mantra.Mine, mine, mine.
She stares down at the ring for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out on her face. Part of her appreciates its beauty, its obvious value, the way it transforms her hand into something even more elegant. But the larger part of her sees it for what it is—a chain, just as she said, beautiful but unbreakable.
"I hate you," she whispers, but she doesn't try to take the ring off.
"You don't know me well enough to hate me yet." I release her wrist but don't step back, keeping her trapped between my body and the desk.
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"It's supposed to be honest." I let my gaze travel slowly down her body and back up, taking my time, making sure she knows I'm looking. "I'm not one of those sophisticated Italian boys you're used to,banphrionsa. I'm not going to wine and dine you and pretend this is some romantic courtship."
Her lips press together, her eyes narrowing. “I haven’t been courted by anyboys,” she hisses. “And I never expected romance. So what is it that youaregoing to do, Tristan?”
I lean in closer, until my mouth is almost touching her ear. "I'm going to make you mine in every way that matters. I’ve put my ring on your finger, and I’m going to make you my wife at the altar. I’m going to take you to bed and put my baby in your belly, and you’re going to enjoy it, Simone. You’re going tobegfor what I can do to you. For the way I can make you feel. I’m not elegant, Simone. I’m something rougher. Something you’re going to fuckingcrave."
She shoves against my chest with both hands, and this time I let her push me back a step. Her face is flushed, whether with anger or something else, I can't tell, and her breathing is uneven.
"You arrogant bastard," she snarls. "You're nothing but a barbarian," she adds, and there's real disgust in her voice now."A crude, brutal animal who thinks he can take whatever he pleases."
"Maybe." I smooth down my jacket, making a show of being unaffected by her words. "But I'm the barbarian who's going to keep you alive. I'm the animal who's going to protect what's yours and make sure no one else can take it away from you."
"By taking it away from me yourself."
"By making it ours." I move toward the door, then pause and look back at her. "The wedding is in two weeks. I look forward to seeing you at the altar, Simone." I let my gaze linger on her one more time, taking in the way the ring sparkles on her finger, the way her dress clings to her curves, the way her mouth is slightly parted in shock. "I suggest you start getting used to the idea."
I leave her standing there in the office, staring after me with a mixture of fury and disbelief on her beautiful face. But as I walk toward the front door to meet Konstantin and my father before we leave, I can't shake the image of how she looked with my ring on her finger.
Perfect.Like she was made to wear my jewelry, to carry my name, to be mine in every way that matters.
My arousal is insistent, almost painful. I hardly hear what my father and Konstantin are saying, too focused on that memory of Simone, on the fact that I have to wait fourteen whole fucking days before I can touch her again. I can't stop thinking about the way her skin felt under my fingers when I put the ring on her hand. The way her breath caught when I leaned in close. The way her pupils dilated even as she was telling me how much she hated me.
She’s not immune to me, and she’ll admit it, eventually.
I've had plenty of women over the years. Beautiful women, women who knew exactly how to please a man and were eager to do so. But none of them ever made me feel like this—desperate, possessive, almost out of control with need.
It's dangerous. I should be focused on business, on the practical aspects of taking over the Russo operations and integrating them with my own interests. I should be thinking about profit margins and territory disputes, and strategic alliances. I should be listening to my father and Konstantin’s advice, taking in all of it that I can before I’m handed the reins on my own.
Instead, all I can think about is what Simone will look like on our wedding night. Whether she'll fight me or submit. Whether she'll pretend to be cold and frigid, or surprise us both by begging for more.
Back at the hotel, I try to throw myself into work. There are calls to make, meetings to schedule, a dozen different moving pieces that need to be coordinated before I can officially take control of Simone's inheritance. But my concentration is shot, my mind wandering every few minutes back to the sitting room of the Russo mansion and the woman I left there wearing my ring.
By evening, I'm wound so tight I feel like I might snap. I need to burn off this restless energy, need to get Simone Russo out of my head before I do something stupid—like go back to the mansion and claim what’s mine before the ink is dry on the paperwork and the vows are said.
Jerking off hasn’t helped ease my lust or my restlessness. So instead, I change into workout clothes and head to the hotel's gym, thinking that maybe a punishing session with the heavy bag will help me regain some perspective.
The gym is mostly empty, which I’m glad for. I don’t want to cross paths with anyone right now, in the mood I’m in. I wrap my hands and start working the bag, letting my frustration and confusion flow out through my fists. Left hook, right cross, uppercut—the familiar rhythm should be soothing, should help me find my center again.
But even as I pummel the leather, I can't stop thinking about her. The way she looked at me like she wanted to murder me. The defiance in her eyes and the warmth of her skin. The way my ring looked, glittering on her hand, proof of my ownership.
Proof that she’s mine, now. That she will be.
