Page 12 of The Arrangement

“I’m sure you will be. Apology accepted.”

Anton clicked the safety on his weapon and placed it into the waistband of his jeans. Turning to Ivan, he spoke in Russian, asking his lawyer to handle Viktor when they were gone. All the while, he kept a close watch on Viviana. “Is that clear?” he asked. Ivan only grunted in response. “Good, now leave.”

The men exited the room quickly, closing the doors to the office as they went. When the panel on the wall beeped to indicate they were leaving the house, Anton sighed.

“Jesus, Vine ...”

“Oh, I’m not your Viviana anymore?”

Surprised at her question, Anton froze. “What?”

“Never mind,” she mumbled.

No, he had heard her fine, so there was no forgetting it.

“That was a decade ago,” Anton said quietly. “Back when I had some sense of privacy to my personal life and the girl I wanted to share it with. Over the last few years, I’ve become accustomed to calling you Vine in the presence of others. Maybe it helped to differentiate between the girl I wanted others to know and the one I knew. I’ve become fond of it, really. That’s what they know you as, and they don’t know the girl I do. They don’t know you, Viviana. Not like I do.”

“Maybe you don’t know Vine.”

“Maybe not. I’d like to, though.”

She seemed to ignore that. “You’re still going to punish him, aren’t you?”

He frowned, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. “You can’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“That!” He waved at the door and then pointed at her. “Come in here like that without even thinking about what you were doing. Do you know how ridiculous that makes me look to them? I’m nearly twenty-seven, a good fifteen or twenty years younger than most of the men I handle. I can’t have a woman affecting how my men view me. It’s about the respect, Vine, you know that!”

She cringed away. “You were going to—”

“I was going to break his fingers for touching you, and then shatter his jaw for hurting yours. Instead, Ivan gets to take that pleasure now.”

Shoot and break were kind of the same thing, Anton thought wirily.

“Do you expect me to apologize?”

The aggravation he felt showed when he huffed out a breath of air. “No, what I want is for you to tell me that you won’t do it again.” She stared back, still silent. His anger overflowed as he slammed an opened palm down to the table where glasses sat. Viviana jumped, surprise and shock flitting through her wide eyes. “Say it!”

Color drained from her face and she looked as if she were going to be physically sick. Instantly, he regretted raising his voice. Quickly, Anton crossed the room and kneeled down before Viviana, his hands instinctively finding their way up under the jacket still covering her legs. The heat of her thighs had him aching in a whole new way. The pads of his thumbs rubbed soothing little circles on her bare flesh.

Her eyes swam with unknown emotions; Anton felt his own battle warring.

“Something is wrong with me,” she mumbled.

“The sedative was mixed with an anti-anxiety drug. You were out the night before, yeah? The alcohol would have reacted badly with the tranquilizer. Boris should have considered that.”

“How did you know that I was drinking?”

Anton looked away. “The Cosa Nostra have their eyes, and I have mine, Viviana.”

“You’ve been watching me? Why?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he admitted softly. “There’s a lot of things I can’t tell you, but I had good reason to keep watch.”

“Why can’t you just be honest and tell me?”

Swallowing thickly, he muttered, “You’re not my wife; it wouldn’t be safe for me to do so.”