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There’s a warning in his voice, and I look at him sharply. “Don’t be rude,” I whisper under my breath, a now-familiar fear springing up in my chest. Every time Pyotr has been here, Salvatore has been just-this-side of what seems rude to me—cold and sharp and just a hint of threatening. I’ve been afraid that Pyotr will take it badly, and that he or his father will call off the wedding, feeling insulted.
“Don’t forget your place,” Salvatore returns, his voice low and flat, his gaze still fixed steadily on the Bratva. He nods to Pyotr and then to me. “You may go.”
I feel my jaw tighten. I don’t like being told what to do, ordered around and dismissed, reminded of my place. Slowly, I stand up, and look nervously at Pyotr.
“Of course, your men may watch over her,” Pyotr says easily, from where he’s been standing since he and his entourage walked in. “Mine will come too, of course.”
“Of course.” Salvatore stands as well. The tension between the two men is thick and palpable, and I swallow hard. All I want is to be left alone with my fiancé.
Pyotr takes my hand, and I instantly feel more at ease as his fingers curl around mine. He looks at Salvatore, a hint of challenge on his face, as if to dare him to say something about Pyotr holding my hand. My father didn’t mind such things, but technically, Pyotr shouldn’t so much as touch me.
I see Salvatore’s gaze flick to our joined hands, and the muscle twitch in his jaw. But he says nothing, letting us walk out of the room as he and his guards follow.
I lead Pyotr to the back garden—he knows the way by now, since last summer when we first started courting after the marriage was arranged. But he lets me lead the way, which only makes me like him more. We walk through the house, to the large glass French doors that lead out to the paved walkway, and into the garden that’s beginning to bloom with life. It’s a bright, sunny day, warm with the fresh smell of last night’s rain and new flowers filling the air, and I breathe in deeply, turning to look at Pyotr with a smile on my face.
“I’m so happy to see you. It feels like it’s been an eternity.”
He chuckles, an amused expression on his handsome face. “It’s only been three weeks, dorogoy.”
“I know.” I pout teasingly, walking backward along the path as I lead him further into the garden. Behind him, Salvatore’s personal security and Pyotr’s bodyguards follow, looking ill at ease next to one another, watching us with a scrutiny that I try hard to ignore. There are always eyes on us, and I can’t wait for the day that there isn’t. “But we used to see each other more often. I don’t think we went longer than two weeks, while my father was alive.”
“Your godfather seems to prefer the old ways.” Pyotr catches up to me, his long stride easily eating up mine. He catches me with an arm around my waist, pulling me a little closer than he should, and my heart flutters. This has been the extent of our physical contact—moments where he pulls me close, his hand in mine, my leg touching his as we sit on a bench side-by-side. It’s only made the anticipation that much more intense—I can spend days after we meet, imagining what comes next. What would happen if we were ever alone.
“But that doesn’t matter, dorogoy,” he murmurs, leaning down to whisper in my ear, as if daring to see how far he can push it before Salvatore’s men intercede and warn him away from me. “Soon, I’ll have you all to myself. Less than seven days now, and you’ll be mine. Milaya nevesta.”
Sweet bride. I feel my skin tingle, a flush of warmth filling me as I look up at him. There’s a dark gleam in his blue eyes, one that makes me feel that hot, curling anticipation low in my stomach.
“Mio marito,” I murmur. My husband. I touch his arm just above his elbow, where he’s holding me, feeling the firm muscle under my fingertips. I feel almost dizzy with want. There’s so much I’ve imagined, and so much that I don’t really know yet. Only six days left.
I hear one of the guards, a little further down the path, clear his throat. Pyotr loosens his hold on me a little, allowing a sliver of space between us, but he doesn’t take his arm away from my waist. He grins at me, a mischievous glitter of rebellion in his eyes, and an answering smile spreads across my face.
This has always been what’s attracted me to him—what I’ve been drawn to since our very first meeting. My father knew it would, and he told me as much, when we first spoke after Pyotr and I were introduced to one another.
“It doesn’t matter what Salvatore thinks, either,” Pyotr continues as if reading my thoughts. “Your father wanted us to marry, and that’s all I or the pakhan care about. He arranged the treaty, he and your late father, not your godfather. He simply stood by and advised. We’ll honor the old don’s wishes, not the new one.”
“My father thought we’d be good for one another.” A mafia princess and Bratva heir—the new ruling couple of a joined family. I’ve always been outspoken, disliking the structure and rules of the mafia. Instead of trying to stifle that or force it out of me, my father encouraged it instead. He told me that he would try to find a husband for me who would both benefit the family and who would appreciate my brazenness, someone who could allow me to be an equal with him rather than a subservient bride. “That we’d challenge one another,” I add, glancing at Pyotr. “He said you and your family are strong-willed, and so am I. He felt we’d complement one another, rather than clashing.”
It’s a conversation we’ve had before, but so close to our wedding, I want the reassurance once more that I’m truly what Pyotr wants. And he’s doing a good job of making me feel better, as always.
Pyotr chuckles, turning to face me. “I’m looking forward to having a strong-willed bride,” he murmurs, reaching down to touch my chin. His fingers are a little rough, his thumb sweeping over the edge of my jaw, and a shiver runs down my spine all the way to my toes. My knees feel a little weak, my skin tight, my heart racing faster than it should as I look at his handsome face above mine. I want him to kiss me so badly that it almost hurts. “I’m looking forward to finding out what it’s like to have your will match mine, dorogoy.”
There’s an edge to his voice that I can only interpret as desire. His gaze is dark and hot, and I can feel the world narrow down around us, almost to the point that I can forget that the guards are so close, watching us.
But they are there, and I can’t forget it entirely. More to the point, I don’t want them to report something back to Salvatore that will earn me a lecture, or give him a reason to argue that Pyotr is taking advantage of me, and push back against the wedding. I can wait six more days.
Even if, right now, I feel as if I’m going to die from waiting.
“I can feel how much you want me, dorogoy,” Pyotr murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “Our wedding night can’t come soon enough.”
“It’s not just that.” I look up at him, feeling that shiver of excitement in my veins again. “It’s—this is the last thing that my father wanted. He spent his last six months alive arranging this marriage, seeking out peace between our families, trying to ensure that my godfather would inherit a stronger mafia by creating peace instead of war.” I bite my lip, hoping that he’ll understand, that he won’t think I’m being silly. “It feels like this marriage is the last thing I can do for my father. I can do one last thing to honor his wishes. And I’m hopeful that we’ll be happy, too. I’d like to be happy, after so much sadness these last six months.”
“I have every intention of being happy.” Pyotr smiles at me, as we sit down on a bench opposite the large garden fountain together. “Our marriage will join two families, and we’ll no longer be in conflict with one another. I can’t imagine why your godfather bucks against it in the slightest. It’s been decades since the Italians and Russians haven’t been in open conflict with one another.”
“It’s quite an achievement. My father’s last achievement.” I lean back against the carved stone back of the bench, my fingers still laced with Pyotr’s. “Is there a garden like this behind your house? I still haven’t seen it.” There was some talk, in the early months of our courtship, of my being allowed to visit Pyotr’s family mansion with an escort of guards. But the visit never happened, and Salvatore quickly vetoed that idea the moment he had a say in the matter.
“No garden. I have a penthouse in the city. It’s very luxurious and grand; I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” Pyotr glances at me, and I think I see a small flicker of annoyance at the disappointment I can’t quite hide. “You’ll be pleased with it. You won’t want for anything—I have a full staff, and they’ll be at your disposal.”
“Of course.” I hadn’t thought that Pyotr might live somewhere very different from what I’m used to—a huge mansion outside of the city with sprawling grounds. I’m not sure how I feel about living in the actual city, but I tell myself that the novelty of it will outweigh anything I might miss. And there’s no reason I can’t come back here to visit, if I want to get out of the noise and bustle of the city for a little while. Pyotr would never tell me that I can’t come back home. “I’m excited to see it.”
