Page 9 of Bloody Vows
"What we want," I repeat. "Of course.”What I want.I wanted power, and it’s being handed to me as we speak. “I’m part of thatwe. And I want her. As my wife.”
"Your wife, yes. But that doesn't mean you have to actually care about her. Marriage in our world is business, Tristan. Don't forget that."
“It’s not about caring. It’s about desire.” I think my father is bloodless, sometimes, that he’s never felt lust in his life. I can’t imagine how he made three children—my brother, me, and my sister. Mechanically, I suppose. He wouldn’t understand if I explained that meeting Simone has made me want more than her inheritance. I want to be the one who can reach into that fire and touch it without getting burned. I want to make her moan for me, scream for me—I want to make her bend without breaking her. I want her begging me to put her on her knees. Pleading to be allowed to submit to me.
My cock thickens just at the thought, desire thrumming through my veins. Waiting until my wedding night is going to take effort. I want her now, tonight. Patience has never been my strong suit, and it’s good that we’re not staying here at the mansion. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from going to her room if we were.
Finnegan grunts, looking back at Konstantin. "The wedding needs to happen quickly, before word gets out about what Giovanni did. The longer we wait, the more complicated things become. Bury it under something else. A big wedding. Tristan’s takeover."
Konstantin nods. “I gave her twenty-four hours,” he reiterates. “By tomorrow night, she’ll be dead or betrothed.”
“And then a week until the wedding,” my father emphasizes. “Two weeks at most.”
My jaw tightens. Two weeks feels like too long to wait to get to have Simone in my bed, under me, melting for me. Proving that she’s not immune to my lust for her, no more so than any other woman.
“Two weeks,” Konstantin says. “That’s enough time to allow her to prepare. Like you said, it should be a big wedding. A spectacle. And in the meantime, we can handle the business aspects of the transfer of power.”
“What about the other men?” I ask, my jaw tensing. I’d happily kill them all for the way they looked at her—as if one of them had a right to her—but I know my father is going to say they’re necessary. That we need men who know the ins and outs of Giovanni’s businesses in order to make them our own. "Konstantin will handle them. They'll fall in line or they'll fall, period." My father stands up, straightening his suit jacket. "We should head back to the hotel.”
I nod, knowing I should leave now, and leave Simone to her thoughts. But something in me tugs me back toward her, demanding that I see her again. After all, if she were to say no…
That won’t happen.She won’t choose death over marrying me. It’s an impossible outcome.
“I’m going to go speak to Simone before we go,” I tell him. “I’ll meet you out front.”
My father grunts. "Don't get too attached, son. If this goes sideways, if she becomes a liability instead of an asset, you'll have to make hard choices. Be ready for that."
I watch him walk from the room with Konstantin and Damian, startled by his last statement and knowing I shouldn’t be. My father is, as I’ve thought before, bloodless. Cold. He’d marry me to Simone and have her killed right after if he thought it would be best for the takeover of Russo’s domain. But I have absolutely no desire to see Simone dead.
I want her alive, and mine.
He leaves me alone in the living room, surrounded by the ghosts of Giovanni Russo's ambitions and failures. The man clearly had expensive tastes—everything in here screams money and power, from the rugs to the furnishings to the art on the walls and the antiques on shelves, freshly dusted. But for all his wealth, for all his influence, Giovanni died alone in a shitty safe house, betrayed by his own greed and stupidity. It's a cautionary tale, one I intend to learn from.
I won't make his mistakes. I won't let my ambition blind me to the dangers around me. And I won't underestimate the woman who's about to become my wife.
It takes me a good thirty minutes to find her in the unfamiliar house. The mansion is expansive and luxurious, all marble floors and high ceilings and rooms that seem designed more for show than comfort. I can hear my footsteps echoing as I walk through hallways lined with expensive art and family portraits. I findSimone in what looks like a library, standing in front of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with her back to the door. She's still wearing her black silk blouse and tailored pants, the fabric hugging her slender curves in a way that makes me jealous of it.
She knows I'm here—I can tell by the way her shoulders tense—but she doesn't turn around.
"Enjoying the tour?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.
"Nice place," I say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. "Very… impressive."
"It should be. My father spent enough money on it." She finally turns to face me, and I can see the exhaustion in her dark eyes, despite her best attempts to hide it. "What do you want, Mr. O'Malley?"
"Tristan," I correct her. "And I want to talk to you."
"About what? We've already covered the important points. You want to marry me, I don't want to marry you, and apparently, my opinion doesn't matter. I capitulate, or I die. Simple enough, right?"
“Is marriage to me worse than death?”
“I don’t know.” She looks at me coldly from across the room. “I’ve experienced neither. But one is final and ends my suffering, while the other, I think, prolongs it.”
“That’s very dramatic.”
Her lips press together. “You have no idea how dramatic I can be, Mr. O’Malley.”
“I’d like to find out.”
