The Mafia's Virgin Queen

9

Dante

I sent Vivian the information she needed for her move at precisely noon on Sunday. Not out of fear she’d cause a scene in front of my building, but out of reluctant admiration for the stunt she’d pulled at my exhibition.

It turned out the delicate little rose had some steel in her spine after all.

The following weekend, Vivian showed up at my house again, this time with an army of movers in tow.

Greta, my housekeeper, and Edward, my butler, took charge of guiding the movers through the apartment while I led Vivian to her room.

Neither of us spoke, and the silence expanded with each step until it became a living, breathing entity between us.

Annoyance wormed its way into my chest.

Vivian had been perfectly friendly to Greta, Edward, and the rest of my staff, whom she’d greeted with warm smiles and f*****g cookies from Levain. But when she got to me, she’d shut down like I was the one moving into her house and disrupting her carefully planned life.

Like I was the one who’d showed up uninvited at her party wearing an outfit that could send a man to his f*****g knees.

A week later, the image of that black dress clinging to her curves was still ingrained in my mind, as was the fire in her eyes when she’d laid into me.

There was none of that fire now. Vivian was the picture of cool elegance walking next to me, and it pissed me off for no explicable reason.

Or maybe my ire had something to do with the fact that, even in a casual blouse and skirt, her presence awoke an unwanted heat in my gut. My body had never reacted so viscerally to anyone before, and I didn’t even f*****g like her.

We stopped in front of a carved wood door.

“This is your room.” I’d set her up in the farthest suite from mine, and it was still too close. “Greta will unpack for you later.”

My voice sounded abnormally loud after the oppressive quiet.

One of her brows rose. “Separate rooms until marriage. I didn’t realize you were such a traditionalist.”

“I didn’t realize you were so eager to share a bed with me.”

A small smirk curved my mouth when Vivian’s cheeks pinked. It was her first loss of composure all morning.

“I didn’t say I wanted to share a bed with you,” she said coolly. “I simply pointed out the outdatedness of your thinking. Sleeping in separate rooms is for married couples who are fighting, not newly engaged couples who are supposed to be in love. Word will get out. People will talk.”

“It won’t, and they won’t.” My household staff had been with me for years and prided themselves on their discretion. “If they do, I’ll take care of it. But since we’re on the subject of public image, we should establish the boundaries of our relationship.”

“Ah, communication. I do believe you’re finally graduating from the Neanderthal stage of your life.”

I ignored her wry insult and continued, “In public, we’ll play the part of a loving couple. We’ll attend events together, smile for the cameras, and pretend we like each other. You’ll also have full access to the Russo Group portfolio of brands. If you want anything from any of our collections, call my assistant Helena and she’ll take care of it. On your nightstand, you’ll find her number, a black Amex, and your engagement ring. Wear it.”

The engagement announcement ran that morning. Vivian and I were officially tied together, which meant my reputation was also at stake.

I didn’t care whether people personally liked me, but public perception was important in my line of work. Obvious discord would raise too many questions, and the last thing I needed were nosy society columnists sniffing around.

“A ring on my bedside table. How romantic.” Vivian touched the sapphire bracelet on her wrist. “You truly know how to make a woman feel special.”

“I’m not here to make you feel special.” I dipped my head toward hers. The sweet, slightly tart scent of apples stole into my lungs as I enunciated my next words with crisp precision. “I’m here because I made a deal with your father.”

Vivian didn’t back away, but surprise and a hint of uncertainty surfaced in her eyes when I ran a leisurely knuckle over the gold chain around her neck.

Even at this close a distance, her skin was flawless, like cream poured over silk. Long dark lashes framed deep brown eyes, and a tiny beauty mark, so small one would have to be as close as I was to see it, dotted the area above her lush lips.

My eyes dipped to her mouth. The heat from my gut spread to my stomach.

She wore the same lipstick from the exhibition. Bold, red, and seductive, like a siren’s call amidst a sea of tranquil calm.

I wanted to rub my thumb across her bottom lip and smear her perfect lipstick until she was nothing more than a beautiful mess. To peel back the composed mask and see the ugliness underneath.

Vivian may be wrapped in a pretty package, but a Lau was a Lau. They were all cut from the same mold.

“Don’t expect dinner dates or sweet nothings at home, mia cara,” I said, my words as soft and lazy as my touch. “You won’t get either.”

Instead of touching her mouth, I skimmed the back of my hand across her collarbone, over the curve of her shoulder, and down her arm until it reached the frantic beat at her wrist.

“Get rid of any romantic notions you may have of us falling in love and living happily ever after. It won’t happen.” I pressed a thumb against her pulse, hard, and smiled when she jerked at the sudden, rough movement. “This is a business arrangement. Nothing more. Are we clear?”

Vivian pressed her lips into a stubborn line.

The air was alive with the crackle of electricity and animosity. It sizzled against my skin, drawing my muscles tight and fanning the strange, hungry fire in my stomach.

When she remained mutinously silent, I reached up and closed my hand around her throat. Lightly, just enough to feel the shallowness of her breaths.

My voice dropped to a dangerous warning. “Are. We. Clear?”

Vivian’s eyes flashed. “Crystal.” The promise of retribution lurked beneath her even reply.

“Good.” I released her and stepped back with a mocking smile. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

I left without waiting for a response.

The warmth of Vivian’s skin lingered on my palm until I closed my hand around my lighter and let the cold metal chase away the remnants of her touch.

“Don’t start,” I said when I passed a frowning Greta. She was dusting in the sitting room, close enough to hear at least part of my conversation with Vivian.

The movers must’ve already left.

“You were too harsh,” she admonished, confirming my earlier suspicion.

Greta was over seventy, but her hearing gave bats a run for their money.

“Not harsh. Honest.” I checked my watch. I had a lunch meeting with a visiting CEO in two hours, and I needed to prep before I left. “Would you rather I lead her on? Indulge her childhood fantasies about Prince Charming coming in and sweeping her off her feet?”

“How do you know she has those fantasies?” Greta swept her duster over the fireplace mantel with more force than necessary. “She seems like the practical sort.”

“You met her half an hour ago.”

I couldn’t believe I was arguing with my housekeeper over my fiancée. It must be those goddamned cookies Vivian bribed her with. Greta had a sweet tooth and a special fondness for chocolate chip.

“I have good instincts when it comes to people. Otherwise…” Another aggressive sweep over the mantel. “I would’ve written you off as an overbearing clone of your grandfather years ago.”

My face shut down.

“Remember who you work for,” I warned, my tone dark.

“Non osare farmi una ramanzina quando sono stata io ha pulirti il culo da piccolo.” Don’t lecture someone who changed your diapers. “If you want to fire me, fire me. But I know there’s a heart in there somewhere, ragazzo mio. Use it and treat your future wife with respect.”