Page 12

Dimitri Volkov

Camilla shines brighter than all the diamonds in the store as she demands to try on her new ring. The woman behind the case nearly trips over herself to please moya so?lnyshka , and a part of me sours as I realize she’s putting on an act. Everyone here knows she’s a Vivaldi.

They’ll know I’m a Volkov as soon as I open my wallet. The rumors will spread.

My future wife is an amazing actress, but she wasn’t pretending in the bathroom. With only her mother as the audience, she bared her fangs and claimed her territory.

It was the sexiest thing I have ever seen.

My cock still pulses with need, but the seam of my jeans provides enough discomfort to keep him under control.

Camilla’s hand trembles in mine. Her eyes gloss over, but she maintains her haughty attitude as she holds her hand out for the ring.

I snarl and intercept the woman. She passes the ring to me. With enough diamonds to tip a woman as small as Camilla over, the band alone costs more than most Americans make in their entire lives.

I slip it onto her finger and lift her hand to my face.

Her burnt-umber eyes widen as I meet her gaze.

I don’t want to trigger her—she’s already proven me a fumbling ogre with the driver’s seat and bandage incidents—but my lips tingle with yearning to touch her soft flesh. She blinks, searches my face, and nods.

I kiss her knuckles.

Every woman in the store sighs.

When I hold my hand out, palm up, to the salesperson, the woman rushes to place the engagement ring in the center.

The massive diamond glitters as I slide it onto Camilla’s finger to join the band.

No longer on the verge of mental overload, she swallows and blinks shimmery eyes up at me with a sardonic mask in place.

We have yet to make it legal, but moya so?lnyshka cannot escape me now.

Her mask slips when she fits the matching masculine band onto my finger, and I pause, not understanding the sorrow in her eyes, but she covers her thoughts with a smile and rises onto tiptoes.

Her entire body trembles as she presses her front against mine and lifts her face. Even though I bend down to give her access to my lips, I respect her decision when she lands a chaste peck to my chin despite wanting to lift her onto the counter so I can ravage her with my teeth, tongue, and cock.

She retreats much faster than I prefer, the feel of her firm breasts pressed against me sending lust down my spine to pool in my balls.

When she slips her hand into mine, I close my fingers loosely around hers. She’s too delicate. I don’t want to break her.

Camilla quirks a condescending brow at the woman behind the counter when she mentions payment.

I flash my identification cards and my credit card so everyone can see. The whispers intensify.

As we wait for the woman to process my card, Camilla’s hand trembles in mine. She doesn’t step away, nor does she drop her haughty act, but when her gaze slips toward the door for the fourth time, I know she’s desperate to leave.

I snarl at the woman to hurry.

She does.

The other patrons part like the red sea when I turn and stalk straight out the door with my future wife by my side. I take the keys from the valet, settle her into the backseat like the princess she is, fix her sleeve, and drive off as the brand-new owner of New York City’s most sought after jewel.

And I don’t mean the rings.

After fixing her hair, she turns her face toward the window and turns off her mind.

When I near our destination and Camilla still stares blankly through the glass, I circle around the block a few times before pulling up to the address Giorgio sent me. The townhouse seems like all the others on the street except for the garage and gated drive.

Camilla meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I’ll marry you on one condition,” she says.

“Anything for you, so?lnyshka ,” I respond truthfully.

Her eyes widen and she sucks down a breath. With a tiny head shake, she barrels forward as though afraid her courage will melt away.

“You have to keep your word,” she demands.

By the nightmares lurking in her eyes, I know she means my vow not to touch her without her consent. She’s afraid I’ll think the closeness in the jewelry store gives me permission to touch her whenever I please.

“I always keep my word,” I say.

She nods and turns her face away, but visions of her bent over the sink with her mother forcing her arm toward the scorching hot water pulls a growl from me, and she whips her attention back to mine in the rearview mirror.

She may not have heard me the last time I spoke these words, but they ring just as true now as they did before.

“You are mine now, so?lnyshka . No one will ever hurt you again,” I vow.

Her sharp inhale and shrinking pupils tell of her shock, but she swallows and nods.

I roll down my window and turn my face toward the camera on the gate controls. Giorgio buzzes me in and I pull forward as soon as the electronic gate rolls open.

I stop with my front bumper an inch from the garage door and wait for the gate to close behind the car before the garage opens.

Wider than the driveway, the garage offers enough space to open every door, including the trunk if necessary.

I park inside and wait for the garage door to shut before stepping out of the vehicle and opening Camilla’s door.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“My home,” Giorgio says from the door to the house.

Camilla’s surprised oh speaks volumes.

She moves away from the car so I can shut the door. I step away and angle my back to the wall to give her room to pass, but she doesn’t head toward her brother.

“The townhouse to the east is yours. Serenity’s is to the west. I have keys for you. Visit anytime,” Giorgio says.

Camilla blinks, nods, and glances toward me for a moment before dropping her gaze down to her hands.

My chest tightens as she wars within herself. I don’t know what demons she fights, but they give her many woes.

Moving on instinct, I pivot and press my back to the driver’s door. When her shoulders relax, so does the band around my chest.

The silent thanks she gives me as she meets my eyes is the greatest compliment I’ve ever received.

She walks past me with her shoulders rolled back and her gaze on her brother.

Fury rolls through me when I notice a bruise forming on her nape from her mother’s hand.

I didn’t show up fast enough. I failed her.

It won’t happen again.

I meet Giorgio’s stare over Camilla’s head. He quirks a brow. I flick a glance at Camilla and lift my hand to my nape.

A feminine voice calls from deeper in the house. Camilla rushes forward. Giorgio smiles and steps back to give her room to go to her sister, but his expression turns serious the moment he sees her bruises.

Discomfort flows through me as Camilla disappears from view. Even though we’re among the people she trusts, neither of us has been here before, and I can’t protect her when she’s out of arm’s reach.

“What did you do?” Giorgio demands in a low voice meant only for my ears.

“Not me. Bianca Vivaldi,” I say.

Storm clouds form in Giorgio’s eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will hear this from Camilla,” he decides.

I nod.

I have never met Giorgio Vivaldi before, in fact, the few texts we exchanged overnight are the first time I’ve ever interacted with him, but no one who wants to survive in the mafia—whether from Russia or New York City—would stay ignorant of players as prominent as either of us.

We’ve been aware of each other’s existence ever since Giorgio was born twenty-six years ago.

My father announced the Vivaldi heir’s birth when I was fifteen and already steeped in training to become ubiytsa for my family. The Vivaldis’ first child was a girl and therefore not the heir they’d hoped for.

My balls shrivel as I realize Camilla is only a year older than Giorgio, which means she’s fourteen years younger than I am. I do not feel old, but we are from different generations.

I will use the experience I’ve gained throughout my years to protect her.

Giorgio uncrosses his arms and extends his hand to greet me with a handshake.

I take it.

We may not know each other, but God intertwined our fates and neither of us has wasted time since our worlds collided yesterday. He has no doubt learned as much as he could about me and my family in the interim.

“Thank you for keeping Camilla safe. We weren’t aware of the blind spot in the garden,” he says.

I nod.

He gestures for me to enter his home and turns his back to me to lead the way. The trust—and challenge—in his movement is not lost on me.

I shut the garage door behind me and follow him to the living room.

Camilla sits on the couch with an infant in her lap and her sister plastered against her side.

Two other women sit on the coffee table with their knees touching those sitting on the couch, and a young boy kneels on the floor by Camilla’s other side, everyone’s attention focused solely on the infant in Camilla’s lap.

My heart squeezes at the joy, wonder, and misery in Camilla’s gaze.

Nico Russo stands between the couch and the upholstered chair nearest his wife. His consigliere—Ermanno Mancini—sizes me up from behind the furthest chair while Giorgio’s consigliere—Fiero Capito—leans against the railing at the bottom of the stairs.

They’ve set up a protective perimeter around the females and youngsters. I approve.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Fiero stands and offers me his hand. I match his firm grip and accept his vigilance when he gives me a once-over.

Giorgio offers introductions, but no one needs them. Everyone in the room is aware of who each other is and why we’re here.

Fiero motions for me to sit on the loveseat opposite the couch, so I settle onto the cushions and lean back in the least threatening yet alert pose possible.