Ruthless Monarch

There she is.

Her hair is blown out, and she has a light dusting of makeup on her face. She’s wearing a dress, it’s black with tiny rosebuds on it, and she has boots that come above her knee.

My wife—no matter how many times I refer to her that way, it always feels little odd. But that’s who she is, my wife. She’s a gorgeous woman, and if she was anyone else, I would’ve fucked her last night.

Hell, I should have fucked her the first night I saw her at the club. But I’ve got big plans for Viviana. So, keeping my dick in my pants for now serves me better, then I can serve her up by dangling her on the hook.

Plan or not, it doesn’t stop me from admiring how sexy she looks. When all is said and done, I’ll have her, but not yet.

“Are you ready?” I ask, and the look on her face is fucking priceless. Her eyes remind me of one of the cartoon characters whose eyes pop out of their sockets. At this point, she looks so scared she might turn into the Road Runner and make a dash for it.

“Are we leaving now?” She takes a step back, now going in the wrong direction.

“Yes.”

She turns, and her eyes are no longer visible. I don’t like it. Viviana is easy to read because her features give everything away. Without being able to see her, I can’t learn every tell of hers. I won’t be able to read her lies.

“I thought I had more time.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Shit,” she mumbles under her breath before turning over her shoulder and looking at me.

The fear that was in her eyes only moments ago seems to be replaced with another look. Now her lip is a flat line, and there is a small line between her brows, but it’s her shoulders that clue me in to what she is doing. She is putting up her walls.

A façade probably needed to deal with her father.

I watch her for a moment before I move to walk out the door. When I take a step, I speak over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll just grab my bag.” She walks over to the corner of the room and grabs her stuff and then steps closer to where I am. “Okay, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Her back is now ramrod straight.

I like this look.

Making herself appeal regal.

She is the queen that she needs to be to stand by my side.

After silently appraising her, I start to walk down the hall. Viviana trails me. With the house quiet today, the clanking of her heels is the only indicator she’s following me.

The air between us is silent as we walk to the garage, and then we get into the G-wagon. Although it is a nice car, that’s not why we take it. Despite what it looks like, it’s my safest car.

Bulletproof.

Built to withstand almost anything.

Roberto is in the front seat. He will be driving us tonight.

I take a seat in the back beside Viviana.

She won’t look at me when I get in beside her, and as we drive, she stares out the window.

To the untrained eye, she’s acting unfazed. But I see past her façade.

She’s nervous.

Her finger is tapping a pattern on her thigh she doesn’t even realize she’s doing. I wonder what she’s nervous about? Obviously telling her parents that she’s married. Is she nervous her father will try something? She must know she’s safe with me. But really, why would she know that? I’ve given her no reason to feel that way.

“Stop tapping. Everything will be okay.”

“And how do you know that?” she fires back as she stares out the window.

“Because it always is.” I wait for her to turn to face me, but she refuses to budge. It’s infuriating talking to her back.

“Easy for you to say,” she mumbles under her breath to the window.

“You are with me now, Viviana,” I state by way of explanation.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he would never fuck with you.”

“Didn’t he fuck with you by trying to barter a deal with your cousin . . .?”

She’s too smart for her own good.

“Yes. And see what happened? I married you. Your father knows better. Regardless of his alliance with Salvatore, I am not to be trifled with. Our war precedes us. Your father, if he’s smart—and I have to imagine he is—doesn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. The last time there was a war like this, the collateral damage was heavy. Your father can ask the senator from Boston what the price he had to pay for going against me was. Oh wait, he can’t. There is no speaking to him where he is now . . .” My words hang heavy in the space between us. You would have to be living under a rock not to have heard about the senator’s untimely demise.