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The corner of his mouth lifts into a dangerous smirk, causing all my muscles to tighten.
“It doesn’t matter what you think, Little Rose. Until you’re twenty-one and have had time to…” He lifts a hand, brushing a finger over my jawline, “blossom, I’ll make every decision for you.”
My lips part to argue, but they’re sealed shut when he adds, “Take the time to grow stronger and mourn your family.”
My family.
I shake my head, then turn my face away from him and stare at the fridge.
I don’t want any of this. It’s madness.
How will I survive three years with this man?
Will I even make it to my eighteenth birthday?
And if I do, what kind of future lies ahead of me?
“Eat, Rosalie,” he murmurs with something akin to compassion softening his tone.
My eyes dart back to his face, but he still looks like the lethal head of the bratva who can end my life in a split second.
When I don’t move, Viktor reaches past me and drags the plate closer. He scoops a bite of food onto the fork, then brings it to my mouth.
My skin goes up in flames, and I look at the fridge again.
“I will force feed you if I have to,” he warns me.
Not wanting that to happen, my chin quivers as I take hold of the fork and shove the food into my mouth.
Asshole.
When I swallow the bite and scoop more food onto the fork, Viktor murmurs, “Good girl.”
Instant anger explodes through my veins. Before I can think it through, I grab the plate and shove it against his chest. The plate lands on the floor with a loud clatter.
Breaths heave from me. “I’m not yourgood girl. Don’t try to condition me!”
Instead of losing his temper, a smile spreads over his face. He looks down at the wasted food clinging to his shirt and lying at our feet, then his eyes flick to mine.
“You have one minute to clean up this mess.”
“You can go to hell,” I hiss.
When I try to dart past him, his fingers clamp around my bicep, and I’m yanked right against his side. His face is a mere inch from mine as he orders, “Clean up this mess, or I’ll spank you.”
What?
For a moment, I’m torn between making a run for it and doing as I’m told. The air grows unbearably tense, then my shoulders slump.
When Viktor lets go of me, I grab a roll of paper towels, and crouching by his feet, I wipe up all the food. I throw it in the trashcan, but then he says, “My shirt isn’t going to clean itself.”
“You’re joking,” I gasp, quickly regretting my outburst of anger that got me in this predicament.
His eyes narrow on my face. “Does it look like I’m joking?”
No. Not at all. It looks like it’s taking all his self-restraint not to carry out his threat of spanking me.
I grab more paper towels, and my cheeks go up in flames as I dab the food from his shirt.
