Page 96 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“My seed belongs here.” He pressed his fingers into my soft flesh, the thin lycra swimsuit stopping him from penetrating me. “Deep inside. Until your belly grows with my heir.”

Panic welled in me as I realized he might have time to rape me. His determination was worse than Ilya’s. I felt relief when his hand left my crotch, only to feel renewed horror when he reached inside his swim trunks and withdrew his ruddy erection, stroking it against my stomach.

My muscles rebelled, and I gagged, bile trapped in my throat from the pressure of the hand still holding me captive.

“So soft,” Ettore grunted, the head of his cock rubbing back and forth across my skin as he fisted it angrily.

I shut my eyes tightly and tried to block out the sounds of his self-pleasure and the long groan of his release as warm, viscous strands of his come shot across my flesh. Tears slipped down my cheeks as he released my throat and stroked where his hand had been.

“Barely even a mark,” he whispered proudly as I slid to the ground, shivering and hugging my knees to my chest, sticky semen on my skin. “Consider my proposal, Olesya. Lives depend on it.”

Ettore tucked his wilting member back inside his shorts and pushed his wet hair off his forehead. He smiled menacingly and held a finger to his lips, then turned and stalked out of the shower, whistling an upbeat tune as he disappeared from view.

Frantically, I stood on shaky legs and poured the rest of the shower gel over my chest and stomach, scrubbing frantically to wash the feel of his touch away as I retched, the acidic bile burning my throat before the water washed it down the drain.

I couldn’t live as Ettore’s mistress. I’d never survive as his wife. But Dante’s life was worth more than mine, and I would sacrifice anything if it meant keeping my husband alive.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I swore under my breath at my father’s directive. “Olesya’s been sick. I can’t leave her right now.”

“Is she pregnant?” My father snapped, eyes narrowed. The thin rays of light peeking through the closed curtains slashed across his shoulder like lightning.

I thought about that for a minute, trying to count weeks. She’d only been back two weeks. It was unlikely and too early for her to show signs. The tone of my father’s voice set me on edge. Remembering his obsession with grandchildren, I opted for the safest answer. “No, can’t be pregnant.”

He visibly relaxed. Odd.

“She’ll be fine while you’re gone,” he insisted. “She’s a doctor and would know if it were anything serious.”

I hated when my father was right. “Still.”

“Daemon DiSanto requested your presence,” he barked, his patience wearing thin. “It’s only the weekend. Get your ass to New York, and you’ll be back to coddle your wife before you know it.”

I ignored his mocking tone, pinching my thigh through the pocket of my suit pants. “I still don’t understand that. Why me?”

“Who the fuck knows?” My father pulled a cigar from the box on his desk, trimmed off the end, then lit the cancer stick, sending puffs of smoke into the air. “He’s closer to your age. Given how much influence he has, I’d send Cosimo if he’d requested it. My guess is he wants an alliance.”

“We’re all married,” I pointed out.

“Cosimo isn’t.”

My brows shot up in disbelief. “You’re not serious. Marrying Cosimo off would be a disaster. He’s not husband material.”

Taking another draw of his cigar, my father shrugged. “We’ll worry about that later. I’m sure we can send her away to avoid an unfortunate outcome.”

The callous manner in which my father discussed women turned my stomach.

“You’ll agree to whatever he wants, within reason,” my father directed. “Go pack. You’ll leave this morning.”

I glanced at the clock, seeing it was just after breakfast. That didn’t leave me much time. I nodded and left his office, racing upstairs to my room. Olesya was either at breakfast or in her office, so I quickly packed a weekend bag and dropped it by the front door before seeking her out.

She was still at the breakfast table, looking up and gifting me one of her smiles as I approached. “Are you joining me? I could eat another pastry with you.”

I shook my head when she pointed to the tray piled high with sweets. “I have to go to New York this morning.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “You can’t go.”

“Are you feeling worse?” I asked, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead. “No fever. You look better than you did earlier in the week.”

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