Page 12 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“My brothers will kill you when they find out you’ve taken me.”

“They’ve tried and failed several times.” He mentioned attempted murder like it had been a meeting at a country club. “I doubt they’ll realize you’re back in Chicago until it’s too late to stop the wedding.”

I smirked at him because I had a failsafe. “Ivan will tell them when I don’t check in.”

“The hacker?” My blood ran cold at the triumph in Dante’s eyes. “I’m afraid he won’t be telling anybody anything.”

“What did you do?”

“He tried to hide you from me.” Dante’s hand speared through the hair at the nape of my neck, drawing me close enough that his lips brushed mine when he spoke. “I told you—anybody who fucks with what’s mine dies.”

“No.” Ivan didn’t deserve that. All he’d ever done was try to help me, and look at what his loyalty had gotten him, what my escape attempt had done. I felt a hollow pain in my chest.

“Be careful who you confide in, Olesya,” Dante warned. His fingers massaged my scalp, a cruel dichotomy to his words. “Nobody is beyond my reach.”

He toyed with my hair before releasing me. It was then that I felt his warm palm on my bare thigh.

Bare thigh.

I looked down, shocked to find myself in a white, long-sleeved cotton nightie, complete with lace embellishments. It was modest, save that it only fell halfway down my thighs, which meant it barely covered anything when I sat. Dante’s tan hand was a stark contrast against my pale skin.

“Dante.” I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my voice even. “Where are my clothes?”

“They were destroyed,” he said simply. He watched his hand creep higher up my leg and chuckled when I slapped him away as he got too close to parts he had no business touching.

“And who dressed me?”

The smirk on his face said he knew I was really asking who had undressed me. “I did.”

“No.” I pushed away from him, steadying myself against the nightstand. I felt violated. “You had no right to remove my clothes!”

“You’re going to be my wife.” His jaw was set in a hard line as he stared me down. “And it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve seen you without clothes, Olesya. I’ve been inside you.”

The memory made me gag, and I slapped a palm over my mouth.

“I don’t remember you complaining about it,” he said drolly. “In fact, you were rather enthusiastic, begging me to do it again.”

“That was before you turned into the biggest asshole I know.” I closed my eyes, remembering how he’d rejected me. “Never again, Dante.”

“We’ll see about that.” He stood, straightening his suit. He must have changed because there wasn’t a trace of mud on the black fabric or his black leather shoes.

“Where are you going?” I asked when he reached the door. Why did I care?

He hesitated, looking back at me. “You don’t seem that eager to be in my presence at the moment.”

“That’s because I hate you,” I spat back.

He nodded once. “I’ll leave you alone then. Get some sleep, piccola fantasma.”

Before I could speak again, he’d moved through the doorway and closed the door behind him. Then I heard the unmistakable click of a lock.

“No,” I whispered frantically, rushing to the door and turning the knob. It didn’t budge. There wasn’t even a lock on the inside. “No, no, no! Dante! You can’t lock me in here like a prisoner!”

I heard his dark laughter fading down the hallway and kicked the door, only to pull my foot back when pain shot through my toes. Fuck.

Spinning around, I stalked toward the windows. I could see the front drive, the fountain artfully lit in the center. I didn’t care about the scenery. It was nothing I hadn’t seen before. I pushed on the window, trying to lift it. No luck. He’d locked me in my room.

It wouldn’t do any good to scream and lose what was left of my voice. After a cursory look around the room and the attached bathroom, where I took care of business and found basic toiletries to wash my face and brush my teeth, I climbed back into bed.

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