Page 23 of A Bride for the Mafia King

“It’s just an observation, Pakhan.”

“It is a veiled insult is what it is. And you will apologize.” Tolya says firmly.

He doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t move another inch. But he doesn’t have to; his fury fills the room, thick and inescapable. Dimitri pales across the table. Stammering something incoherently in Russian. Tolya doesn’t blink, his eyes deadly steel as they bore into his target.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, forcing out a laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Pakhan, of course not. I meant no disrespect. My apologies… Mrs. Ivanovich.”

His eyes flicker to me, dull and flat, his words empty. But fear still shows there on his face.

Tolya doesn’t dignify him with further response. He simply stands, the scrape of his chair slicing through the continued silence. Extending his hand to me. I hesitate only a moment before placing mine in his. Pushing my chair back and rising.

His fingers wrap around mine with purpose, warm and firm. Possessive. Together we walk toward the door, pausing beside my brother.

“We’re leaving,” he says coldly. Then, to Nico: “Meet with me before the end of the week. My home. Alone, preferably. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

He glares at Giovanni over his shoulder. As if to emphasize his words.

Without another word he leads me out of the mansion to the awaiting limo. His silence is heavier than words beside me.

The driver opens the door for us and Tolya pauses only long enough to say, “Take us home. And do not disturb us. No matter what you hear.”

My stomach flips, suddenly apprehensive.

What if he’s the kind to take his frustration out on his spouse? I grew up in this world. I know the risks that come with marriage to a powerful man. Panic begins to swell as we approach the car.

Once we’re inside, the door closes with a soft thump behind us. Sealing us in with the thick tension following close behind. The air in the limo seems even thicker than it had inside, thick enough to choke on.

I’m nervous, unsure if he’s angry with me, or with the happenings of the evening, or just with the world in general.

Carefully I fold my hands in my lap, the movement small and careful.

“You shouldn’t have challenged him so publicly,” I say gently. “That kind of pride? From an old, powerful line such as his? It could have gone wrong horrifically fast. What would you have done if he hadn't apologized?”

He answers without an ounce of hesitation, “Slit his throat and watched him bleed out on his dinner plate.”

“You can’t be serious,” I protest, shocked by his merciless answer.

“Nobody insults my wife.” His eyes meet mine then, ice-blue and unwavering.

The words come out low and certain, almost as if he’s making a vow. A vow to uphold my honor and to protect me even from the words of others. Something he’s quickly making a habit of.

“It could have unraveled everything you’ve worked so long toward. The treaties between the families, this arrangement with Nico, our marriage. What if he’d stormed out of there and turned the rest of the Italians against this alliance with his insult?”

Before I can press him further on the subject he leans into me, his breath hot against my neck. Then pressing his lips to the curvature there, burying a hand in my hair, tipping my head gently back, exposing more of my throat.

“Tolya …” I whisper, unsure if it’s a warning to stop or begging him for more.

His mouth finds mine, cutting my words off. With a smoldering grin he moves lower, grazing the neckline of my dress with hot, open-mouthed kisses. The flick of his tongue over the bare exposed skin there makes my entire body tense as he explores the ridges of my breast with his mouth.

His other hand roams my body, slowly making his way down my hip to the hemline of my dress. His fingers tease the fabric before gliding beneath it.

I gasp. My heart pounds hard within my chest and my head begins to spin.

His touch is slow, practiced, but something about it feels different, right. It’s not a move for control or possession. This isn’t about dominance.

It’s need. Hot, feverish, frantic need.

Yes. More, I need more.