Ruthless Monarch

I need to calm the fuck down. In this state, this will all be over before it begins.

Taking a deep inhale, I try to calm myself. After I count to five, my blood pressure has dropped enough that I won’t do anything stupid, like shoot him.

“The meaning of this, Governor, is that she wants to introduce you to her husband,” I respond, my voice bouncing in the silent room as I step out from the shadow to meet his confused stare.

Unlike his wife, Governor Marino knows exactly who I am.

“What—”

“Husband,” I say again, allowing my lip to tip up into a smirk. “I’m sure you are familiar with the concept. You are one, too.”

His face goes pale, but then he shakes himself and looks between Viviana and me.

He seems to be at a loss of words, so I step closer, pull Viviana to me, and wrap her in my arms protectively.

I’m surprised how willingly she lets me.

Her shoulders, which were once tight with fear, seem to loosen.

“We got married,” I inform him smugly. My voice, cocky and condescending, the kind of tone that if ever used on me would get someone shot with a bullet in the head.

“Is this true?” he asks his daughter. His face gives away no emotion at all.

“Yes,” she whispers back, tucking herself in closer to me as if she is afraid about how he will react to the news.

She’s small in my arms.

Much smaller than I had imagined.

The need to protect her filters through me, and I’m not sure why or where it came from, but it’s an odd feeling.

One I don’t like.

But regardless of how I feel right now, I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me.

“How?” He narrows his eyes at me. “Why?”

“Why?” I lift my brow. “Do I really need to tell you, Governor, the whys of marriages?”

“Humor me.”

“In my line of work, I don’t have the luxury to marry for love . . .” I start. My meaning very clear to him. This is a business deal. One I have made without his knowledge. One he now has to honor. “But looking at Viviana.” I pull back and smile down at her. “You can see why she is the perfect bride.” Again, my words are not lost on him.

Point to me.

Game. Set. Match.

“How could you?” he hisses at Viviana. Pure venom dripping from his mouth. There is no doubt in my mind that if I was any other man, he would try to kill us both for defying him.

“Easily,” I taunt back, lip tipped up and all.

His face turns an unnatural red. He reminds me of a teakettle, and he is about to explode.

“You will get this marriage annulled.”

“You do not give the orders here, Governor. Viviana is mine now.”

His hand flies down, hitting his desk.

“Do you know what you’ve done, you little twit?”

I step away from Viviana and prowl over to where the governor is standing behind his desk.

Before he can even move, I pull the gun from behind my back and point it straight at his head. “Do not ever speak to my wife that way. Do you understand? Me coming here with Viviana is a courtesy. You will not address her. You will have nothing to do with her unless I deem it so.” I say this more to his wife than to him. Something tells me the governor would be more than happy not to speak to his daughter at all. Especially after this. I lower my gun and give him a pointed stare.

He doesn’t speak at first, seeming at an impasse of what to say.

His hand reaches for the glass on his desk. It’s filled about halfway with melted ice and scotch. He lifts it to his mouth before swallowing.

We all stand in silence as he drinks before placing the glass down on the large wooden desk. The sound echoes through the quiet of the room.

“How do we move forward?” he asks, breaking the silence. I can tell by the way he clenches his fists that he wants to lash out badly but knows how disastrous that would be for him.

“You welcome me into your family. No questions asked. You cut ties with my cousin.”

I expect him to argue, but instead, he lifts his glass and takes another swig before nodding his head.

“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Then I guess we shall be going.”

He looks from me to Viviana. “I’d like to speak to my daughter first.”

“Speak.”

“I meant alone.”

I turn to Viviana. Her brow is furrowed, and her arms are crossed in front of her chest protectively. “Are you okay with this?” I ask.

She doesn’t look okay. Her body language tells quite the opposite story. The position in which she stands screams she wants to leave with the way she’s angled toward the door, fists softly clenched. “Yes,” she answers, voice strong.