My heart leaps into my throat as our eyes meet, and I arch my back to put as much space between us as I can when he pullsme closer. It dawns on me then that this is it. He’s been given permission to kiss his bride. The ceremony is over.
I’m now Lucian Agosti’s wife.
A shudder ripples through me as his long fingers comb into the hair at the nape of my neck. He cups the back of my head, and for the first time, Lucian’s lips find mine.
A jolt blasts through my body, lighting my blood on fire, and I gasp in shock at how soft his lips are, how warm and inviting. He doesn’t violate my mouth with his tongue or turn our first kiss into some lewd display. Instead, it’s shockingly…gentle. And heart achingly lingering.
Unexpected heat floods my core as he dips me back just far enough to make me feel weightless, like I’m floating in a gossamer cloud of fabric. The crowd goes wild as my fingers curl around the lapels of his suit in a death grip of fear that he might drop me.
But he doesn’t, and I’m shocked by how strong Lucian is as he holds me like I weigh nothing. After kissing me just long enough to leave me breathless, Lucian sets me effortlessly back on my feet. Then he turns to our audience, who are all now standing as they cheer wildly.
“Thank you, everyone, for attending this special occasion on such short notice,” he says, his voice carrying across the room as everyone falls silent. “You’ll find a wonderful dinner waiting for you in the grand ballroom with plenty of dancing and music to follow. And while my blushing bride and I would love to celebrate our nuptials with you, tradition demands we leave you to do it on our behalf. We have our own celebration to get to, don’t we,cara mia?” His eyes glint as he looks at me with dark promise. “It’s time for us to consummate this marriage.”
My stomach drops as the crowd erupts in a fresh round of raucous, jeering applause. I know many mafia families are strict about sticking to tradition—and for many, that would includethe bride losing her virginity on her wedding night. But I’m not a virgin, and I can’t believe that Lucian would presume to skip our reception altogether. That archaic tradition of “deflowering the bride” ended centuries ago—at least in Russian weddings. It can’t possibly still be a thing for the Italians. He just wants to have his cake and eat it too. Or maybe he’s just worried I’ll find a way to slip out before he canconsummateanything.
Suddenly, my palms are clammy with the thought of being alone with my husband.
“I hope you don’t mind,principessa,” he says, dropping his voice to a smooth murmur as he gives me a wicked smile. “I thought you and I might have dinner in our room so we could…get to know each other better.”
Swallowing hard, I lift my chin, refusing to show Lucian that I’m terrified. “Fine.”
His smile widening, my new husband takes my hand and lifts it like this is some momentous occasion. The guests applaud, and as we head down the aisle, they launch handfuls of rice high above our heads to shower down on us. I’ve never felt anything more surreal. The happiness of the event mingling with what feels like the last fleeting moments of my freedom. I’m being led to my doom by some black-suited angel of darkness, and no one seems to even see my despair.
My heels strike jarringly against the terra-cotta stones as Lucian guides me from the raucous noise of his personal chapel and back into his luxurious Italian house. When we reach the sweeping white marble staircase with its wrought iron handrail curving to follow the angular steps, he shifts his grip on my wrist. Guiding me upstairs with one hand braced in mine like an anchor, he puts the other on the small of my back.
In the back of my head, I note the gentlemanly way he attends to me, predicting my needs before I even struggle with the inconsistent stairs and my flowing skirts. He won’t let mefall. But when I glance over my left shoulder to look at his face, his expression is that of a still lake, entirely unaware of the hell he’s brought down on my head.
Lucian guides me down the length of the hall to a separate bedroom from before, and when his men swing the doors wide for us, I’m momentarily taken aback. It’s not just a bedroom. It’s an entire suite. With a sitting area, a balcony, and an en suite bathroom. I’m used to the luxuries of Manhattan—where the quality is anything but lacking, but the open grandeur is limited by the building’s walls, even in a penthouse like my family’s.
Here, the suite is like a home within a home—if I could ever bring myself to call this place such a thing.
“You picked my favorite dress,” Lucian murmurs as the doors close with a resounding thud.
And goosebumps rise on my arms as he turns to brush my hair back over my shoulder.
“So simple, so elegant, and yet, so…flattering. Then again, I imagine anything would look good on you,principessa.” Lucian’s fingers trail across my collarbone and down the exposed flesh of my arm—somehow shockingly innocent and dangerously intimate all at once. Then he reaches up to lightly pluck the comb of my veil from the back of my head.
Relief surges through my scalp at the sudden absence of the sharp teeth, but I bite back my groan of appreciation, refusing to let him know he did something right.
“If your plan is to fuck me, then can you get it over with?” I demand, but I can’t seem to jerk away from him like I intended, my statement falling flat as my nerves make me sound breathy. Something about his smooth voice, the soft, fluidity of his Italian accent makes him sound far less treacherous than I know he is.
“I don’t want to fuck you,principessa,” Lucian purrs as he drops my veil unceremoniously to the floor. His eyes roam me in a way that would tell me that’s exactly what he wants to do.
“Then why did you insist I marry you? You agreed—in front of all our men—that you wouldn’t take control of my family’s territory. So what else could you possibly want?” I’m trembling, shaking visibly now, and I hope he thinks it’s with rage—not the terror and strange hint of longing that’s coiling in my belly at the way he studies me like a work of art.
“You see, Tatiana. I don’tfuck. Anybody. I make love. And I want to make love to you. I want to give you pleasure until you call out my name. I’ll make you feel so good you’ll be begging me for more,” he says, his light hazel eyes darting back up to mine at his final words.
I can see it in the way they dance—he’s teasing me. My stomach plummets as I realize this is just another chess match to him.
“That’s never going to happen,” I promise, stepping forward until I’m mere inches from his dangerously soft lips. I don’t know if it’s the fiery hatred I feel for him or something I’ll never admit to, but the sudden heat that flashes across my skin makes my heart skip a beat.
Lucian is too close for comfort, and he can feel it too, as he drags in a slow, careful breath and holds me captive with his eyes. “Tell me,principessa, what do you desire most in this world?”
“I want to crush you,” I murmur. “To make you feel pain like I’ve suffered. But that would require you having a heart, and we both know there’s nothing in here.” I press my finger firmly against his chest, my nail, still painted the classic red I use, clashing with the virginal white of this occasion.
Lucian’s lips curl into a slow smirk. “You don’t feel my heart beating?” he asks softly. His hand covers mine, pressing my palm against his shockingly firm, muscular chest until I can feel the steady thrum of his powerful pulse. “It beats for you, Tatiana. I’ve wanted this far longer than you could imagine.”
“Yes, since before youkilledmy father,” I hiss, snatching my hand away.
