Page 34 of A Love Most Brutal (Morelli Family #2)

MAXIM

It was a silent drive home, followed by a silent elevator ride.

She would’ve gone straight to the bedroom if I hadn’t called her name and pointed to the kitchen.

Now she sits on the counter, a bag of ice against her cheekbone.

The skin under her previously uninjured eye has already started to purple, and the sight makes my stomach roil.

I say nothing, only make two cups of tea, a squeeze of lemon in each, and lean back against the counter across from her, arms crossed over my chest. If I speak, I might yell at her, and if I yell at her, she will get defensive and yell back, and we’ve already fought once today.

This marriage is a balancing act. It’s neither of our natures to default to empathetic patience, particularly me when it comes to her safety and particularly her when it comes to her autonomy. Winning combination.

“Loyalties in this city are shifting,” Marianna finally says by way of explanation.

I still want to shake her, to hold her, to fuck her, to yell at her for putting herself in Ivan’s murderous path in front of a bloodthirsty crowd, but we both know how poorly that will end the evening, so I stay quiet.

“Cillian’s betrayal showed the big heads of the city that they need to know who they can trust and who they can count on if that trust is broken.”

I’m not following how this relates to her fighting a man twice her size until she’s broken half a dozen of his delicate bones and cartilage, so I wait for elaboration.

“Garza likes my sister, but he thinks she’s too moral. They have a tentative alliance, but he wants stronger insurance. He knows Ness hates parts of his business, he wants someone who doesn’t.”

She means skin trade, a favorite business of my father’s which I’ve worked hard to root out over the last decade.

“I don’t—” I start to say, but she cuts me off with just a wry glance.

“I know you don’t do that, Maxim. So does Garza. But your cousin is on a fucking political campaign and if Garza gets to thinking that he’s the right Orlov horse, he’ll back him.”

“You think Garza would help Nikolai stage a coup?”

“Depends on how appealing the alliance would be for him with Nikolai in charge. Either way, it would leave all of us vulnerable.”

She moves the ice to the other side of her face, wincing slightly as she presses it against her skin. Her cheek is bright red from the cold. My brows knit at these seemingly disparate pieces attempting to fit together.

“Me offering to fight for Garza was a huge goodwill gesture. Friendly. Champion fights already make the most money, but people bet recklessly when I’m in the ring.”

“And what if Ivan had won?” I ask.

“He might’ve if he was fighting Carlos. I’ve fought him before. It would’ve been a well-matched fight, and probably a long and bloody one.”

I grip the stone counter instead of demanding she tell me about every man she’s fought in that building, the detailed outcome, and their first and last names.

She goes on. “If Carlos was fighting, it would be a win-win for Nikolai. If Carlos beat Ivan and Nikolai was a good sport about it, it would do a lot in growing Garza’s amity toward him. And if Ivan won, it would’ve earned Nikolai some respect.”

I let out a breath finally understanding. “You orchestrated the absence so the goodwill could be for you instead.”

She nods and takes a sip of her tea, not burning herself this time thanks to the single ice cube I dropped in. She never waits for it to cool down, a horrible habit, always searing her tongue.

“For us,” she says. “I’m an Orlov now. I wanted to remind Garza which Orlov was the better pick when Nikolai won’t even fight his own battles.”

“How did you know to do this?”

“Santi called Leo. Leo called me.”

“And you decided this was the best path forward? For a small bit of favor?”

“It couldn’t have gone better. Most battles are won through little victories. This was one of them.”

I have to admit that this is true, it’s a scheme I never could have come up with, but I’m still irritated to have been left out of it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She jumps down from the counter and looks up at me defiantly. “Because you would have tried to stop me, and we needed this to work?”

“I could’ve listened.”

“You wouldn’t have, Maxim! You have made it very clear that I’m a jewel that needs protecting, your fragile little thing?—”

“I don’t think that,” I say, though of course I think she needs protecting. She is precious to her family, to me, and she doesn’t begin to know how dear she is.

We’ve stepped closer to each other in our disagreement, me leaning a hand on the counter to get as in her face as she’s in mine.

“You told me once I was a good fighter, but now I’m pretty sure you think I’m only good for incubating Orlov babies in your penthouse.”

“Stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Twisting everything! I know you’re capable, that doesn’t mean you should have to put yourself in harm’s way, you deserve peace and tenderness.”

“I don’t mind being in harm’s way! I can handle it, Maxim.

I have been handling it for years . Last summer you supported us when we went guns blazing to take down Cillian.

You had no concern about me putting myself in danger then, but what, now it’s different because now I’m about to be your womb to protect? ”

She spits this last bit and I reel away from her like she’s slapped me.

I blink, and her face falls from anger to something almost like remorse for the second time today. She shuts her eyes for a moment and turns her back to me.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says, voice so quiet now. “I know you?—”

I what? What does she think she knows? That in one month married to her I have come to adore her? Cherish her beyond every worldly possession? That I think of every person I’ve ever encountered in this world, she might be the most unique and splendid of all of them?

She cannot know this, but then again how can she not? Is it not in my every glance, every action, every thought of her?

How could I have misstepped so horribly to make her think she means nothing more to me than a vessel to grow a child? Where, in trying to erect some emotional barriers between my flayed open heart and her walled up one, did I make her think she was not invaluable to me?

I step behind her and lower my mouth near her hair. My hand hovers over her hip, but I think better of it.

“Forgive me for being a brute,” I plead.

Her breath hitches when my fingers fall on her upper arms. “I am not ungrateful for your cleverness. I need you to know that I am on your team. When you act alone, I don’t know how to protect you, but if you’ll be patient with me, I believe we can be stronger for working together. ”

I gently spin her around to face me again. Her lips are pressed into a tight line, but she nods.

Retrieving the ice pack from her hand, I press it lightly against her cheek for her.

“Thank you for your help,” I say.

Marianna puts her hand over mine to take the ice, her cold fingers like a live wire against the back of my hand. Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I think she’s going to kiss me again. I could never stop her.

She presses her mouth into a line and hardens her expression once more.

“I never promised you tenderness, Maxim,” Marianna says, her shoulders tugging back, chest puffing up as she stares up at me with defiant eyes.

“I promised you a child and a wife. So I’ll fuck you, and I’ll come to your parties and I’ll smile like a doll, pretend I’ve never killed anyone, like I’m the wife you’ve always dreamed of having.

I’ll give you a baby, and I’ll teach it how to fight too.

And that will have to be enough for you. ”

She waits for a response instead of storming off in her normal fashion. I scan her face, the frizzy little curls around her forehead, the bruises on her cheeks.

Is that all this is, really? A business deal?

I’ve always looked for love where it wasn’t, trusted too readily. At least she is forthright about her feelings and expectations. There’s no deception with Marianna.

“Right,” I agree, and her eyes darken into something unreadable.

“I need a shower,” Marianna says. She doesn’t look at me again before stalking out of the kitchen and upstairs to our room.

I heave a heavy breath in her absence, the quiet after the storm she is, the tornado she’s been in my life, whirling about me, bringing up all of my long-buried insecurities and feelings and twisting them around.

I pour vodka into a short glass, hoping a drink will lessen the tension in my shoulders and chest. In all the months watching Marianna in my club, I never imagined she could be mine, that she could make my blood boil and make me crave her while possessing her, my own wife, but not close to mine .

The glass shatters in my hand, little shards flying over the counter. My fist clenches and unclenches at my side as I breathe through gritted teeth.

I walk to the sink and thrust my hand under the faucet to wash away the small amount of blood. I take the moment alone to lean on the counter and hang my head, wondering how one man can fuck a sham of a marriage up so royally?