31
IVAN
Breathe. I need to breathe.
Or else I’m going to fucking explode.
My chest is tight. Rage crawls up my throat and tenses across my shoulders. Worst of all, my cock is achingly, infuriatingly hard.
“Fuck.”
Cora St. Clair is a nuisance. Her arguing gets in the way of me doing what needs to be done to save her damned life.
It also makes me want her far more than I ought to.
She was right—the women who usually want me don’t have a thought in their pretty heads. They are lifeless dolls who have been born and bred to obey. They don’t cause a scene or stir up trouble. The only dream they have for themselves is to marry rich and live easy.
But Cora is fire and sass. She fights back. I want to stoke the heat inside of her, not douse the flames.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. Because I don’t need a queen.
I need a pawn.
“That went really well,” I hear from behind me. I turn and see Yasha coming up the back stairwell. “You two are the picture of wedded bliss. The definition of holy matrimony.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?” I would’ve noticed if he was anywhere within listening range.
He hitches a thumb towards her door. “Quite the spat you two just had. You had to pull out the gravelly pakhan voice on her. Very nicely done, by the way.”
I frown at him, a question in my eyes. Finally, he taps his ear. “I did what you asked and had a mic placed in her room. I was in the control room listening to her conversation with Francia when you knocked.”
“I didn’t ask for you to put fucking spyware in her bedroom. We have security cameras and her phone is tapped. The mic in her room is redundant. I want it removed.”
Yasha nods without hesitation. “I’ll have them disabled immediately.” He strokes his chin. “What will we do for entertainment, though? The two of you were like a reality TV show. Very tense stuff.”
I swipe out at him before he sees me coming. He yelps as my fist thwacks into his shoulder. “She’s not here for your entertainment. She’s here to do a job.”
“One she’d clearly rather be executed than do.” He straightens, keeping his arms in front of him as a shield. “Who knew being married to you was such a chore?”
I glare at him. “It’s just because she doesn’t understand the threat she’s under. If she knew how dangerous it could be, she’d be happy to be here.”
At least, that’s what I tell myself. Because I refuse to think for even a second that I’m actually imprisoning her.
That’s my father’s prerogative, not mine. I don’t want an unwilling bride, no matter how temporary. Which reminds me…
“I want her on the payroll,” I order.
Yasha stares back. “Have you talked to Don Pushkin about this?”
I hear my father’s voice echoing in the dark recesses of my mind. You love putting women on my payroll who do absolutely nothing to benefit the Bratva.
“No.”
He won’t like it, but I don’t care. I’m not going to give Cora any room to make herself out as a prisoner here. Not when I’m saving her life.
Yasha runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, if you want my opinion—”
“I don’t.”
In typical Yasha fashion, he carries on anyway. “Cora is independent, but she also wants to feel needed. She won’t do well if she feels like some porcelain doll on the shelf. You should give her some tasks and responsibilities, things she’ll excel at. Let her prove to herself and to you that she can be useful. It will help her to take ownership of her role here.”
I draw back, blinking at my second. “Why do you think you know more about my fiancée than I do?”
“She’s your fake fiancée. Getting to know her will help sell the story, right?” Yasha tiptoes around me. “The more comfortable she is around you and me, the better the optics.”
I want Cora to be comfortable here.
With me.
I want her to find a place here.
With me.
It’s just because she’s my “wife,” though. I feel possessive of her because it’s part of the act. That’s all this is.
Yasha leans in, eyes wary. “Are we cool?”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “We’re cool.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “Great. For a second, I thought—”
“So long as you do what you’re asked and leave matters involving my wife to me, then we’re fucking dandy.”
Before Yasha can come up with some smartass thing to say that I’ll have to kill him for, I turn into my room and close the door in his face.