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Chapter Two
“Stop it,” my new bride yelled as she tried to yank her arm away from his grip. I said nothing. I simply tightened his grip and walked through the reception hall and towards the elevator.
I knew that no one was going to stop us. My little wife could have screamed bloody murder, and not a single person was going to do anything about it. The hotel staff had already been paid handsomely by both the Blanchi and the Petrov families. A shootout could occur, and no one would have batted an eyelash.
“You’re hurting me,” Sasha said as I shoved her in the elevators. She tripped over her ridiculous dress, falling backward into the railing.
“I thought you wanted to leave,” I said.
She frowned at me and rubbed her wrist. Her dress had long, lace sleeves, but I could still see the red marks that my grip had left. If she had been anyone else, I might have felt bad about the whole thing. I lived by a code, and that included not hurting women.
The problem was, Sasha Petrov wasn’t just anyone. She was the daughter of my greatest enemy, a man who had destroyed my entire family. I might have done my part to broker a deal with Sasha’s father, which included our sham of a marriage. I may have been the captain of the Italian mafia in New York, but that didn’t mean my power was limitless.
“I did,” she said. Her lower lip, which was full and pink, trembled as she spoke. It was obvious that she was doing her best to hold back her tears. “I just didn’t think you’d manhandle me in the process.”
I shrugged. A part of me felt bad for Sasha. I hadn’t been lying when I said she looked like a child. She was barely eighteen. It didn’t help that her parents had dressed her to look like some sort of virginal bride being led to the slaughter.
“What makes you think you have any say in what I do to you?” I asked. I walked towards Sasha, pinning her to the wall and caging her in with my arms. Her blue eyes, which were the color of sapphires, widened in shock.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Her body trembled as I pressed my nose into her hair.
Sasha was a beautiful girl. Her long blond hair had been artfully curled around her face, and her makeup made her skin glow. She might be barely legal, but there was something about Sasha’s apparent fear that set my blood flowing.
I wanted to fuck her into submission. It was the only way I could currency fuck her father.
“Have you ever been with a man?” I asked. I pressed a kiss at the base of her throat, flicking my tongue out lightly to taste her skin. She tasted like sweat and vanilla, a heady combination of innocence and fear.
“What kind of question is that?” Sasha asked. Her hands were on my chest, and I knew she wanted to push me off of her.
I decided this was the perfect time to escalate things. I didn’t know a great deal about my new wife. Her father, Isaac Petrov, did a good job keeping her hidden away in his West Chester mansion.
She didn’t even attend normal schooling, so I couldn’t gather any intelligence on her.
The Petrov’s were known for being vicious snakes, and I wondered how far I could take things before my new wife bit.
“I want to know if you are worth what I paid for you,” I whispered in her ear before licking the outer shell.
At that moment, the elevator pinged, letting me know we were in the penthouse. I pulled away from Sasha and walked towards the room.
“Come along,” I ordered.
The women I was used to dealing with would have told me to fuck myself, so I was surprised when Sasha followed without too much fanfare. She looked slightly stunned as she walked into the suite I had procured.
I’d wanted to go back to my house and leave my wife to do whatever the hell she wanted. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that.
The Russian’s were old school. They wanted the deed done, and while I wasn’t one for forcing myself upon hapless teenagers, I couldn’t run the risk of my marriage to Sasha not being recognized. Too many people had sacrificed too much to make it happen.
“So,” I said, taking my suit jacket off and sitting on the couch. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?” Sasha asked. From the flush of her cheeks, I knew she knew exactly what question I was referring to.
I chuckled. “Have you ever fucked?” I asked.
“That’s vulgar!” she cried out.
I rolled my eyes. Sasha’s father owned at least a dozen strip clubs. He sold flesh like it was going out of style.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I said.
