Throne of Power: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Throne Duet Book 1)
Throne of Power: Chapter 11

Did he just say he’s going to consummate our marriage?

Yup, I think he did.

I’m stunned into a long silence at his words, my limbs staying still and my hold on his shirt loosening.

For some reason, my chest rises and falls heavily, and it has nothing to do with the adrenaline rush from earlier.

I stare at his face as he carries me, like, really stare at him—at the sharp lines of his jaw, his straight nose with the slight crookedness that makes him imperfect in so many ways, the man who became my husband because I agreed to it.

At that moment when the priest asked me to be his wife till death do us part, the past crashed into me and all I wanted to do was to run and never return.

My heart still bleeds from back then, and I didn’t trust that I could let it exsanguinate this time. Because now? Now, I have a feeling he will hurt me irrevocably if I let him.

By the time I shake myself out of my reverie, he’s reached his car and has opened the passenger door.

I squirm in his hold, needing to put as much distance between us as possible. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“I have to go back to check on Sergei and Ana.”

“They’re fine. The Irish who showed up were taken care of by Vladimir and the others.”

“Still—”

He holds the back of my neck with his rough, strong hand, forcing me to stop squirming. His face is mere breaths away as his hard eyes peer into mine. “Quit worrying about everyone else on your wedding day.”

“This is not a real wedding.” I meant for my voice to be hard, but it’s almost a whisper.

“Yes, it is. You said ‘I do’ in front of God and all his holy subjects.”

“You don’t believe in holy things.”

He smirks. “You remember. Were you that obsessed with me?”

I huff, turning away from him, but his hold on my neck keeps me pinned in place. “Don’t flatter yourself. I only remember things that will be of use.”

“You remember my teachings, too.”

“I do not,” I snap, chest going back to its heavy rise and fall. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” His voice drops in range. “Oh, is it the part about how I don’t believe in holy things?”

“Yes.”

“You do. That’s what counts.”

“Who says I do?”

“You believe in anything the brotherhood believes in. A Bratva princess, through and through.”

I hit his chest with a closed fist. He lets me, then feigns a dramatic wince. “Kinky this early in the evening? I’m going to have my hands full with you tonight, aren’t I?”

“Not if you want to keep your dick where it belongs.”

He chuckles, the laugh lines around his eyes turning them lighter, shinier. “Oh, it will stay where it belongs and maybe I’ll use it to shut that stubborn mouth for once.” He strokes his fingers across my skin, eliciting zap-like sensations from the bottom of my stomach. “You won’t have much to say when your lips are wrapped around my dick, will you?”

A shudder goes through my entire body at his explicit words, and I blurt something out to camouflage my reaction. “Maybe when you’re in a coffin.”

“It’s a bad omen to imagine being a widow when you’re a bride, Princess.” He aligns his mouth with my ear until his hot breaths are the only thing I feel on my skin. “It might come true sooner than you think.”

I pull away, his words hitting me like an electric shock. “W-what do you mean?”

He places me on my feet only so he can nudge me into the passenger seat. I don’t protest, because all I can think about are his words. What does he mean I’ll become a widow sooner than I think?

Kyle climbs into the driver’s seat, and I fully face him. “What did you say just now?”

His whole body leans over in my direction, and my nostrils are assaulted by his distinctive clean smell as he straps the seatbelt over me. His mouth is a few inches away from mine when he pauses and expands the palm of his hand on my stomach where there’s a stain of blood.

“Our life together started with blood,” he says in a calm tone. “How do you expect it to end?”

I swallow the clog that lodges in my throat without warning. “Didn’t you tell me we choose our own destiny?”

“I lied. It’s always decided beforehand. Every action we take only throws us back to the path we were always meant to follow.”

It takes me a second, but I see it: the determination in his eyes. It’s not the normal type like the kind I have when I stare in the mirror every morning. It’s blacker, fierier, and with the intention of reaching his end goal even if it means burning everyone—himself included.

What happened to you during these past years, Kyle?

I hate myself for thinking that question, for even voicing it in my head when I promised myself I’d never get caught in his maze again.

“Why did you marry me?” I murmur the question I’ve meant to ask for the past week.

“Because I wanted to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only answer you’ll need. I married you because I wanted to. You’re my wife now, and nothing and no one will change that fact. Not even you.”

“You better be ready for the hell I’ll bring to your life, then.”

“Oh, I’m more than ready.” He kisses my forehead and I freeze, not expecting the soft, intimate gesture. His lips linger for a second as if he’s savoring the moment and the newness of it. Kyle has never kissed me on the forehead before, not that I would’ve let him, but now, he seems hell-bent on doing whatever he wishes.

He pulls back before I can protest, but the imprint of his lips remains on my skin, burning like wildfire.

Kyle reaches to the back seat and brings out a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels, takes a sip, and then offers it to me. “To the hell you’ll bring, Princess.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I snatch the bottle from his fingers and down a generous gulp. Kyle smiles, giving me his side profile as he drives out of the parking lot.

We don’t go past the others, so I don’t catch a glimpse of the guards or Vlad. The sounds of the gunshots have disappeared, though, so that should mean the attack has ended.

If it weren’t for the brute next to me, I would be escorting Sergei and Ana safely back to the house.

I catch myself watching his face again and his smile. It appears genuine, happy even, but it’s all a part of the façade he puts on so well. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually smiled from his heart.

His lips move, but not his eyes, as if they’re not part of the same face.

“I know I’m attractive and you can’t help staring, but rein it in until we’re not in public, Princess.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take another sip from the bottle, letting the burning liquid slide down my throat.

“I love it when you play innocent. It weirdly suits you.”

“Shut up.” I down a larger gulp this time, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Liquid courage.” He winks. “Nice.”

“Who said it’s liquid courage? Maybe I want to finish the bottle so I can shove it up your ass.”

“Kinky again. I didn’t know you thought of me sexually so much, but take it easy on the drinking—I know you’re a lightweight.”

“Were. Past tense. I’m no longer a lightweight.”

He raises a brow, briefly shifting his focus from the road to me. “Really now?”

“I can finish the bottle.” I swallow the largest gulp I’ve ever had, trying not to wince at the burn and the strong aftertaste.

“If you say so.”

I jut my chin out at him, continuing my mission. While he drives through Brooklyn’s streets, I consider the bottle of Jack Daniels my current war and drink one sip after another.

Kyle watches me peculiarly every now and then before focusing back on the road.

By the time the car stops, I’ve finished. I dangle the empty bottle in front of his face. “It is dooone,” I slur, then giggle at the end.

I slap a hand over my mouth to kill the sound.

Well, damn. I’m drunk.

I’m the type who more or less loses their inhibitions when drunk. That’s why I don’t allow myself to reach this stage. One time, I went to Kirill’s club and gotten so drunk that I couldn’t even go home. It was one of those nights it got too much and I needed something to make me forget. What I didn’t count on was what I witnessed in Kirill’s club that night.

One of the only times, drinking was worth it. This situation is entirely different, though.

My head is swimming in the clouds, and my skin is too hot, like someone threw me straight into summer.

Kyle shakes his head. “Told you you’re a lightweight.”

“Am not, you asshole.” I shake the empty bottle in his face again. “I finished it all, thank you very much.”

Kyle climbs out, and I squint at the unfamiliar place he brought me to. Tall trees surround us from everywhere. There’s a cottage-like house on my right, and water glints in the distance.

Wait…is that a lake?

My door opens, and Kyle undoes my seatbelt.

“What is this place?” I throw my finger in the air. “It’s not home.”

“We’ll spend the night here. It’s safer,” he says ever so casually.

“Noooo. I wanna go home and make sure Sergei and Ana are fiiiine.”

“They are.”

“Hooow do you know?” My slur rises in pitch.

He sighs as he retrieves his phone and shows me a text conversation between him and Igor. Kyle taps the last line to bring my attention to it.

Igor: The Pakhan and Anastasia are now safely in the main house.

“Happy now?”

“No. I still want to go home. Taaake me.”

“We will go in the morning.” He gently pulls me out by the arm, and I shudder.

It’s the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.

Once outside, I pull my arm free of his. “I can waaalk on my own.” The moment I take the first step, I stumble and fall back against a hard chest. I giggle and murmur, “Oops.”

“You were saying?” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze meeting mine even though my back is to his chest. I don’t know if it’s the liquor or the dusk’s sun, but his eyes appear shinier, as if he’s genuinely concerned or something.

I turn around, still clutching the empty bottle, and place my chin on his chest to stare up at him closely. His scent envelops me in a cocoon and it feels so peaceful and…right?

No. It’s wrong. The alcohol is messing with my head.

“I hate you,” I murmur.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know how much I reaaaaally hate you.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I hate your face.”

“You’re in the minority on that, Princess.”

“I hate your accent.”

“Still in the minority.”

“I hate your cheeky attitude when you don’t mean it.”

He strokes a strand of hair behind my ear, and my eyes flutter closed. “So you love it when I mean it?”

“Screw you, Kyle,” I say without opening my eyes.

“Let’s get you inside and we’ll work on that.” He carries me again, and this time, I don’t protest as my arms wrap around his neck. I lay my head on his chest, and I begin to fall asleep. I faintly register a lock opening, but his steps are as silent and agile as usual. I don’t even feel the distance.

But then, he places me on something soft. My eyes flutter open and I replace myself in a cozy room. The bed on which I’m lying is in the middle. Soft light comes from the two lamps on the nightstands. There’s a large window in the front with transparent curtains pulled.

This place is hot, or maybe I am. A few clips are missing from my hair so I yank at the others, letting my hair loose then kick my heels away. Sigh. Much better. I sit up and reach a hand to the zipper of my dress, pulling it down, but it gets stuck at the middle. I groan as I release my grip.

I stare ahead in search of a solution. Kyle removes his jacket and bowtie and places them on a chair opposite the bed, then rolls the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. I’m momentarily transfixed by the scene, not only the meticulous way he does it, but also the ring on his finger—the one I put there, even though he had blood on his hand. We did start with blood, and there’s no way to change that now.

“Kyyyyyle.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Open it.”

“Open what?”

“My dress. It’s hoooot.”

“Are you going to take a shower?”

“Not now.”

He stalks toward me with slow steps and sits beside me, then grabs me by the shoulder and turns me around. I giggle and squirm at the feel of his skin on mine.

“Stay still,” he reprimands.

“Okaaay, okaaay.”

“If I’d known you’d be this adorable, I would’ve gotten you drunk before.”

“No one gets me drunk but me, and don’t call me adorable.”

“I’ll call you whatever I wish, wife.” His voice drops in range as he drags the zipper down my back, but instead of letting me go, his finger traces my spine.

A full-body shiver takes hold of me as his digits continue stroking my skin, up and down, up and down, like he can’t get enough.

“A snake tattoo,” he whispers. “Interesting.”

“It’s a viper.”

“A viper—even more interesting choice. When did you get it?”

“When you weren’t around.” I push away from him and shove my dress down my shoulders, then kick it down to my feet, remaining in my black cotton bra and panties.

I motion at myself. “Black means staaay the fuck away.”

He wets his lower lip with his tongue, and I follow the motion with my eyes as if I’m starved and it’s the most delicious meal on earth. “Says who?”

“Says me. Black is like a funeral.”

“The joke’s on you. I love black.” He grabs me by the wrist and I squeal as I end up on my back on the bed. He crawls atop me and imprisons both my wrists above my head. “And so do you.”