Under Control: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance
Under Control: Chapter 38

Federal Hill is pretty in the late fall. The leaves are golden orange and they crunch and drift in the wind.

Arsen was right— the park is packed with people. Most are walking around, while others are sitting on benches and talking in small groups. I make my way down the path, my arm looped through Valentin’s. He’s wearing a dark suit, while I’m in jeans and a pale blue sweater, my hair down and blowing slightly. I don’t mind though. This is the best I’ve felt in a while.

He touches my hand. I know he doesn’t like this, but we already fought about it, and now there’s no going back. I steer him in the direction of the harbor, moving up a steep path and onto a hill.

“It really is a good view,” I say, leaning into my husband.

He grunts, but it’s not an unhappy grunt. “It’s not Philadelphia.”

“No, it’s definitely not. But come on, admit it, that’s pretty nice.”

We pause at the top of the path. The harbor’s straight ahead. Beautiful white boats are docked, while Baltimore’s downtown skyscrapers loom above the water. The grass is green and the sun is bright, and although I’m pretty sure half this city would gladly murder us both, I’m happy.

It helps that I finally went back to Valentin’s room last night. After we settled on our plan, I crawled into bed with him, and we made love like it was the first and the last time we’d ever get a chance to touch each other.

The Russian soldiers are scattered throughout the park. They’re doing their best to remain unobtrusive, but I can spot them pretty easily. I’m sure Arsen won’t have trouble realizing they’re lurking nearby, either.

But I don’t think he’ll mind.

My cousin’s sitting on a bench further down the path. He’s alone, and he smiles as we approach.

He looks much better all cleaned up. He’s in dark jeans and a black jacket, and his hair’s pushed back in a casual wave. His face is still bruised, but healing, and his smirk has a sharp angle to it. Valentin doesn’t offer his hand to shake, and Arsen doesn’t seem to mind.

“Sit with me. Enjoy the weather.” Arsen takes one end of the bench. Valentin takes the other. I’m stuck right in the middle.

“My husband here was just saying how nice of a city this is,” I tell him and Valentin makes his annoyed grunt.

Arsen only stretches his legs. “It’s a fucking war zone, but it could be something more.”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Valentin says.

Arsen tilts his head. “Easy there. Let’s take this one step at a time.” He looks at me. “Karine, I spoke with your mother this morning. She’s in pain, but no more pain then she’d be in anywhere else. All things considered, she’s doing well.”

A sob breaks free. I hug myself tightly, and Valentin rubs my back. Arsen seems startled, and quickly looks away as I get myself under control.

“Thank you for telling me that,” I whisper and clear my throat.

“Sure,” Arsen mutters and gives me a sidelong look. “Must be nice to have a parent you actually care about.”

“It’s okay,” I say, trying to smile.

“You know why I’m doing this,” he says, his face going cold. “My father would’ve killed me. The only reason I’m still here is because of you, Valentin. You could have shot me. You could have let that van run me over. You didn’t do either of those things.”

“Naked self-interest,” Valentin says.

“Either way, you saved my life, while my father tried to end it. And so here we are.”

“Here we are,” Valentin agrees.

“If you take over the Brotherhood, how do we know things will be different?” I ask him.

Arsen seems surprised by the question. “I have no reason to fight a war against you two. And, Valentin, you know I had nothing to do with my father murdering your father. We aren’t going to become best friends, but we can at least set aside the fighting while we rebuild from the damage we’ve already done to each other. My father views the Brotherhood as a tool to further Armenian national pride, while I think it’s about business. I want to prosper, while my father wants to drag us into needless wars. As a gesture of good faith, I’m going to tell you where they’re holding Miriam, and we’ll go from there.”

It takes a lot of self-control not to scream with joy at that. Valentin speaks before I can though.

“I’ll need assurances. And when the time comes, I’m going to kill your father. You have to know that.”

Arsen meets Valentin’s gaze. “I’m aware of what a coup means.”

“Can you handle it?”

Arsen looks down at his hands. Small scars run the length of his knuckles and disappear into the sleeves of his jacket. He tilts his head as if studying them and his eyes go distant. “I can handle it,” he says and looks up again. “I think you know what it’s like to have a cruel father, Valentin, but Aram Sarkissian is something different. What he put me through, it’s something I’ll always carry, and I won’t miss him when he’s gone.”

“What about your family?” Valentin asks. “Will they go along with it?”

“Some will, some won’t. I’ll have to convince my brother, and that will go a long way toward winning over certain factions. But in the end, we’ll come together.”

“Good.” Valentin puts a hand on my leg. It’s almost possessive, and I struggle not to smile at the gesture. “Tell us where to replace Miriam.”

Arsen gives me an address. I type it into my phone. “It’s only a half hour from here,” I say, feeling closer to my mother than I have since she was taken.

“Don’t go yet,” Arsen warns. “The place is well guarded during the day, but things get lax at night. That’s your best bet.”

“And after?” Valentin asks.

Arsen gets to his feet. He walks away and looks back over his shoulder. He’s tall and handsome in a scarred and brooding sort of way.

“We’ll discuss that later. Good luck.” He walks off, blending in with the crowds, and disappears down the path.

I lean my head on Valentin’s shoulder. He puts an arm around me and hugs me close. We don’t say anything for a few minutes, and I let myself bask in the glow of a renewed and rekindled hope for a better future.

“I’m sorry, you know,” I say very quietly. I tilt my head up and kiss his jaw. “I fell apart, and I shouldn’t have.”

“I understand why. You don’t have to apologize.”

“You want me to be strong, right? Hiding in that room wasn’t strength. It was just me being weak.”

“No, malishka. Strength is not about kicking down doors and storming through every problem. Strength is about persevering. Strength is about surviving. And here you are, doing both.”

I lean closer and kiss him. He returns the kiss with a low, smoldering fire, and when we break apart, I stare into his eyes, and I run my fingers through his hair. “I love you,” I tell him, and I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.

“I love you too,” he says, and I kiss him again.

We stay there for a while enjoying each other and the afternoon, a quiet lull before the world breaks apart again.