Under Control: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance
Under Control: Chapter 32

I feel like my world’s coming to an end.

I’m totally powerless. Each time I think we’ve gotten the upper hand, Aram has found a way to stick a knife deep into my chest. It’s like my uncle’s actively trying to torture me.

They have my mother.

And she’s not well. That’s the worst part. She’s still unconscious, or at least she was. The doctors were talking about waking her up, but she still needs active medical supervision as she heals from her burns and the damage to her lungs.

I don’t know what the Brotherhood is doing to her.

But she might die in their care.

I’m a total mess. Valentin goes off to handle his business and I crawl into a deep, dark hole alone in the guest room. I close the door and lock it, because I don’t want to see anyone right now.

Not even my husband. Not even when he comes knocking and calls my name. I stay curled up under the blankets until he leaves me alone.

My mind goes to dark places.

I picture sneaking down into the basement and killing Arsen, just to get revenge. But I wouldn’t have to sneak—Valentin already made it clear that I can take my cousin’s life whenever I want.

That’s the sick part of all this. If Valentin hadn’t kidnapped Arsen, I don’t think Aram would’ve kidnapped my mother. A part of me blames him for what’s happening, which I know isn’t exactly rational.

Mama’s the one that took money from her brother. She’s the one that buried us both in crippling debt. If she hadn’t done that, I never would’ve married Valentin, and her brother never would’ve tried to shake her down.

We’d be happy.

Except we wouldn’t be.

Papa would still be gone. We might have some money and a little freedom to keep living, but Mama would still be a total wreck, and I’d still be drifting with no skills and no real future.

Luka would be free, but he’s always been free.

My mind can’t settle down. It skitters around, blaming Valentin, blaming Mama, blaming myself. Nothing helps and nothing quiets the pain.

At least until the door opens and the lights snap on.

“Okay, enough with the hiding and the crying.” Nikkita’s voice, stern but not mean. “Time to have tea.”

I poke my head out from the covers and blink at her. My vision’s blurry and it takes a second to adjust to the light. “What are you talking about?”

“Tea,” she repeats, placing a tray down on the table. “Also sandwiches. I can get something else if you’d like.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Get up.” She stares at me, her arms crossed, like a disappointed grandmother. “You cannot hide away from life. The eyes are afraid but the hands are still doing it.”

“The eyes are… what are you talking about?”

She grunts and waves in the air. “It’s a Russian saying. Means you feel afraid, that’s okay, but you keep going. You do not give up.”

“The hands are still doing it.” I lie back and stare at the ceiling. “No, thanks, I’m good.”

She curses at me in Russian and yanks the covers away. I yelp and leap up, glaring at her.

“Come. Tea now.” She gestures, smiling sweetly, and pours two cups.

I hesitate, surprised as she sits down and sips. She gestures again for me to join her, and I curse myself for being such a polite dickhead, because I can’t turn down an invitation.

It would be rude.

“I’m not happy about this,” I say, sitting across from her and reluctantly drinking. My stomach rumbles, and I eat a little sandwich. “I’m hungry, okay? But I refuse to like it.”

Even though it’s absurdly good. Cucumbers, cream cheese, and soft white bread.

“Appetite comes with eating,” she says, sounding very smug.

“Another Russian saying?”

She nods once. “I’m full of them. I’m an old woman, I can’t help myself.”

I chew and drink more tea and actually feel better despite myself. I peer at Nikkita as she takes small bites.

“You know Valentin pretty well, right?”

“Yes, I know him.” Her face softens a touch. “Too well, I think.”

“Is he a good person?”

That makes her face pinch up again. “What a foolish question.”

“I think it’s important,” I say defensively.

“Yes, of course you do, you live your life thinking being good and bad are nice and easy things, yes? You wake up, you do good, you sleep. No harm to anyone. But Valentin does not have the luxury to be that way, you see? He runs all of this, and people depend on him. So he does things, sometimes bad things, because they’re for good reasons.” She slurps her tea and puts the cup back down with a clatter. “And sometimes they’re for bad reasons, but that’s the kind of strong man you need to lead a Bratva.”

“The ends justify the means? And I should be okay with it?”

“Silly girl. He loves you. What else do you need? He will die for you, and he will die to get your mother back from those nasty Armenians, no offense to you.”

I sit back, surprised to hear her speak so plainly. I work my jaw, but a lot of my fear and anger slowly starts to fade. It doesn’t go away—I doubt it ever will—but I start to see beyond it at least.

“He really does love me, doesn’t he?” I say at least.

Nikkita tuts at me. “Took you too long to see it.”

“We’ve only been married for a little while.”

“And yet he’s loved you since the moment you took your clothes off in front of him.”

Heat rises into my cheeks. “Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“Do not worry, it was a good move. You have a nice figure. He liked it.” She pushes the sandwiches at me. “Eat more now.”

I’m too embarrassed to argue. I have another, and by the time I’m done, I actually do feel better.

“I should replace him,” I tell her.

“Yes, you should, but listen before you do. That man does not care easily, but when he does, it is like—” She puts her fists side by side as if gripping an iron bar. “He does not bend, not ever. You understand?”

Butterflies flitter in my stomach. “I understand.”

“Good. He will not release you, but this is good. He will treat you well. I will make sure of it.” She nods once like that’s over with and gets to her feet. “I will leave the tea and sandwiches if you wish to have more. But go replace him and speak to him. I know he is worried.”

“Thank you,” I say, but she’s already walking off and doesn’t bother to answer.

I have more tea and take a minute to compose myself, then I go searching for my husband.

I replace him in the basement. He’s working out with free weights, curling them and flexing his incredible arm muscles, wearing only a pair of dark shorts. I stand back and watch the sweat roll down his bare skin, and I’m tempted to walk over and lick it off. The man is sex incarnate.

He’s also dangerous. The longer I’m around him, the more likely it is someone I care about will get hurt.

The more likely it is I’ll get hurt.

But what Nikkita said keeps playing through my head. He loves me, deeply, obsessively, in a way I’ve never been loved before, and I like it. God, I like it so much, I can’t help myself.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He notices me for the first time and takes the headphones from his ears. “Karine,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat and step toward him. “I shouldn’t have pulled away like that.”

“You’re afraid for your mother. I understand.”

“I was blaming you. In my head, I was so angry.”

His expression darkens. “In some ways, it was my fault. You’re right to think that way.”

“No, I was wrong.” I walk to him, heart beating hard. “You helped me from the start. You risked yourself to save her. I should’ve just… I should’ve been more grateful. I’m afraid, Valentin. That’s all.”

He comes to me. I breathe in his smell as he kisses me and holds me close against his damp chest. I don’t mind that he’s sweaty, not one tiny bit.

“I’m going to meet with your uncle tomorrow morning,” he says very quietly. “The plans are in motion. We’ll work this out.”

“Don’t give up too much for me.”

He sighs and kisses me very softly. “You don’t understand yet, do you? Nothing else matters to me but you.”