Page 13 of The Arrangement

“You have to let me go, Anton.”

His gaze snapped back to hers at the statement. “This was already arranged years ago. We agreed when we were old enough to want it, too.” A pained look crossed her beautiful face. He grabbed Viviana’s thighs once more and said, “You know what Sonny did to the rest of your family just for organizing our betrothal. You know you’re not safe. You have to know these things, Viviana. Your family will not protect you, but I will.”

“He handed over my inheritance; let me go to Toronto when I wanted. You’re lying.”

“I am not. I may omit things for your safety, but I have no reason to lie to you.”

The sneer she sported stabbed him with a bitter force. “You’re a criminal.”

“So was your father.”

“Yes, but he was mine.”

Anton’s fingers dug into her thighs harshly. She responded to the roughness by biting her lip and tightening her legs. “And you’re mine, Vine.”

“Stop touching me,” she demanded weakly. “I don’t want to marry you. I just want to go home.”

“Where is home?” He scoffed under his breath, face growing dark as his eyes narrowed. “With your uncle who is just days away from putting a cheap mark on your head? Perhaps it’s the villa in Italy that your parents owned and left for you in their will? Or maybe it’s Toronto, with a bull who can’t do his job properly.” With those words, Anton tilted Viviana’s neck up to expose the bright, splotchy hickey. “Look at this, and with your guard. You know better than that!”

“You have no right to tell me what I can or can’t do.” Her hands slapped his away before she bit out, “And who the hell are you to judge me, Anton? How many women do you have climbing into your bed at night? Who I share mine with is not your business to pick apart and chide me about.”

Raking his hands through wet hair, he shook his head. God, he wished he had been given a few more minutes to relax before Viktor and the other men showed up. After cleaning Viviana and getting her settled, he’d jumped in the shower. Those bruises on her body just pissed him off something terrible, and it explained the reason why his other brigadier had tried to avoid showing his face when Boris delivered Viviana. He barely had time to get the dried blood off himself before Viktor arrived.

“Vine, listen to me, please—”

“No, you listen to me. I want to go.”

Anton stood abruptly. “It was agreed. By twenty-five, you were to be married to me. You wanted that. I wanted that. If you back out of this arrangement, the consequences will not be pleasing to you, or your family. The Bratva in New York have wanted to merge with your family for years, and our match would have done it properly. We will not look kindly on this breach—much like how your father handled a traitor, we are the same.”

He was lying. She wouldn’t know it, but he did. It tasted like poison on his tongue. Every word was harder to speak than the last. Even so, Anton couldn’t tell her the entire truth. Not yet.

“Don’t threaten me.”

There was a weakness in her voice. Anton tempered his own.

“It’s not a threat, Viviana. Marry me.”

Chapter Four

“No.” Somehow, her voice had reclaimed its strength. Where had that been two minutes ago? Anton engaged her in a stare down until Viviana turned away from him and said, “You are lying to me. And you can’t use threats to keep me here, Anton. Tell me the truth, and then maybe we can talk.”

“I can’t.”

She was surprised that those were the words he chose to use. She expected another lie, maybe some crap excuse, but instead he gave her something Viviana could maybe understand in her own way. His fingers raked through his hair once more, showing his stress level was high. Again, she was sucked in by the way he moved, watching as black ink moved with skin she hadn’t seen in years, and how the bands of muscle flexed when he moved. Only then did she notice how high he towered over her as she sat there waiting for him to speak again.

“How tall are you?” she blurted out, feeling stupid for even asking. The medication running through her veins was clearly taking its toll. When he looked at her with a raised brow, she rushed to explain. “I’m just … you seem taller than you were, is all.”

“Well, I’m not,” he muttered. “But, if you really want to know, I’m six foot two inches.”

“You must have gotten that from Nicoli. Your father wasn’t that tall.”

Anton cringed, his voice growing quiet when he replied, “Probably not, Vine.”

“I’m sorry?” His response only served to confuse her further. “Your grandfather was—”

“Wasn’t my real grandfather, not by blood,” he interrupted shortly. “My grandmother was married once before. He was a useless excuse for a man who beat the hell out of her on a regular basis—well, whenever he managed to stumble home, that is. He was also a lower associate in the Bratva—an old school kind of mobster, I suppose.”

Viviana bit her lip, feeling saddened, knowing what that likely meant. “So she was stuck.”