Page 14 of The Arrangement

Anton shrugged, crossing his arms and breathing heavily, clearly not liking the conversation in the least. “In a way, but he was stupid, too. Making too many mistakes, drinking too much, and leaving sloppy messes behind for others to clean and hide. Nicoli had already noticed his issues work-wise, and my grandmother took a risk by outing his abuse to his brigadier hoping it would help her.”

“Did it?”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile, but the sight disappeared as quickly as it came. “What happened behind closed doors were meant to stay there, but Nicoli had a thing about husbands beating their wives when it wasn’t deserved.”

“So it was okay if she deserved it, then?”

“It was a different time with different rules,” he offered, sounding apologetic. “Nonetheless, he offered to help, if she agreed to his terms.”

“To get a divorce, you mean. Was that even allowed?”

Anton’s dark laughter surprised her again, given what the sound did to her rushing blood and twisting insides. “Oh, no. He killed him, poured cement in his pockets, cut his hands and feet off, and tossed him into the bay. Then he married my grandmother, who at the time had an eight-year-old son. My father.”

Something bothered Viviana. Maybe it was the tone in his voice, or how quiet his words had turned. Either way, his explanation didn’t sit well at all. “Why didn’t my parents explain your family’s history to me? I mean, we were supposed to be married, shouldn’t I have known about your family?”

Reaching for a grey T-shirt that had been tossed over his desk, he pulled it over his head, and answered with, “Bratva business, Vine, not family business. He raised my father no differently than he would have his own son. Given my grandmother was unable to have more children, and Nicoli loved her a great deal, he chose not to take a mistress on the side who could give him more. He made the best with what he had in my father.”

“He didn’t have any goomahs?”

Anton rolled his eyes. “Not every man needs a mistress. Sometimes one woman can equal ten with all her nonsense.”

“I know, I was just surprised, that’s all. It’s not uncommon. Dad had a few.”

“He had more than just a few. Roman liked his women, or so I was told.”

A lump formed in her throat, but that didn’t stop the words from forcing their way out. “And what about you?”

“What?” Anton turned to look over his shoulder. “What about me, Vine?”

“Never mind.” Rubbing at her eyes, she felt tired and unsettled. The ache in her sluggish limbs hadn’t gone away, but at least she’d forgotten about it for a short while. When she looked up again, Anton was kneeling down, his head tilted to the side, watching her with a guarded expression and searching eyes. “What—”

“Women,” he interjected softly. “That’s twice you’ve brought it up in regards to me. Do you want a number, or maybe where we met, and how we fucked? Would that suffice your curiosity, hmm? Faceless, nameless, unimportant women who I didn’t care for, but they still had their purpose. Is that what you want me to say?”

Before she could bark at him with a nasty comment, she watched as his strong, wandering hands moved the jacket off her legs. “You still have the nicest legs this side of New York, Viviana,” he murmured, an eyebrow lifted as he caressed her with the tips of his fingers. Goosebumps prickled up her ankles, crossing over her calves, and trailing up to her thighs. Grabbing tight, Anton moved close enough that she could smell the liquor he just downed, and he opened her legs to move his body in between. His hands came to rest on her hips. “And sweet Jesus, I swear if my men see you half naked like that again, I’ll cut their fucking eyes out and feed them to my dog.”

Something caught in her throat—air, words, and want—the muscles constricting around thick desire that waged a war at his honest, but frightening declaration. “Anton …”

“What, you want me to move, quit touching you, or just leave you alone?” He bared his teeth, grinning playfully. “Tell me to stop, baby, and maybe I will.”

“You have a dog?” It was the only thing she could manage to think of to ask.

“A German shepherd,” he explained while his fingers danced along the hem of her shirt and slipped up underneath without hesitating. “His name is Rocco. We went through a rigorous training program together. He isn’t a house pet to be spoiled, but a guard of sorts who is on constant alert. He has a schedule he keeps—one I’d like for you to involve yourself with—and Rocco understands he has a job to do first. He responds to Russian and Italian commands only.”

His eyes traveled the length of her legs, appraising them as his palms lay flat on her stomach. Positive the panties she wore were damp just from his touch alone, she attempted to close her legs and hide the proof of how turned on he made her. Anton’s body between Viviana’s thighs stopped the half-hearted effort.

“Italian, too?”

He nodded slowly, hands rising under her shirt until the tips of his thumbs brushed against the curve of her breasts. The quick rise and fall of her chest betrayed the otherwise calm exterior. There wasn’t a thing she could think of to say to make him stop touching her like he was, not that she wanted him to. Instead, she wanted Anton’s hands grabbing tight again, with his lips on her skin.

Yeah, something was definitely wrong with her.

“I waited so long for you,” Anton whispered, his fingers digging into her ribcage. Viviana squirmed, needing his heat closer. “Three years ago when your father was killed, Nicoli made it clear we needed to step back for your safety, and I was lost, Vine. Enraged. Destroyed. Just … gone. Sonny was holding you like bait, waiting for us to make a move.

“He had to have known the only reason we weren’t declaring a war with the Cosa Nostra was because of you; he’d have killed you in a second, without regret or care. His niece? Nothing to him, a drop in the already full bucket. They would have found your body like they did the rest of your family’s, and then where would I have been?”

Her heart clenched painfully, lungs shuddering with an exhale that stung. “Stop it. That’s not true.”

“It is,” Anton insisted. He squeezed tighter and pleaded with blue eyes that held such a sober clarity for a man who handled drugs and a dozen other illegal things on a daily basis. “And when Nicoli died a few months later from that heart attack, I was put in the spotlight again. I wasn’t ready for their attention, or their expectations, but I didn’t have a choice. This is life for me, forever. Between the feds following me, trying to be who the Bratva needed me to be, and your uncle keeping you locked away…”