Chapter Sixteen

The light Russian accent to the woman’s voice didn’t escape Viviana’s notice. The woman reached out with her hand, brushing over the engagement ring on Viviana’s finger.

Instantly, Viviana jerked her hand away as if she’d been burned. Many people had looked at the ring, their gazes appreciative when they asked how exactly Anton proposed, but not one had openly touched it like this woman just had.

“Pretty. But I bet I could have gotten a much nicer one out of that man. Is that all it took for you to roll over in his sheets and moan his name, girl? Just a pretty ring, a fast car, and a big house?”

Viviana felt air lodge in her throat, but the woman didn’t give her a chance to reply before she continued. “I mean, they all know you’re practically bought and paid for as it is,” she said with an indifferent wave to the crowd behind them. “But I want to know what it took for you to put on a show like you just did out there on the dance floor. He was holding you tight, making it look awfully sweet … like he actually fucking cared. And he’s so good at pretending, you know? Men like that, they can’t be caught. They don’t love.”

“That wasn’t a show.” Viviana’s voice had finally came back, but it sounded a lot quieter than she wanted it to. “Far from it.”

“Sure,” the other woman drawled with sarcasm dripping thickly over every word. “I’m Tatiana, by the way.”

Viviana scoffed. “And I don’t care.”

Placing her glass back on the bar before she left the woman’s space, she heard Tatiana’s soft, vague reply. “Oh, you will.”

“Listen, girl,” Viviana muttered, forcing herself to breathe and be calm. The very last thing she or Anton needed was some kind of drama going down on his birthday with so many Bratva around. “I don’t know who the hell you are, or what exactly this stunt is meant to prove, but you don’t bother me. Not a single bit. Sure, you’re pretty, and I bet you spread your legs like a pro. Have you screwed around with him, is that it?”

Tatiana raised a brow. “I have. Many times.”

Viviana nodded; she’d assumed correctly, then. “Honestly, I don’t much care to sit here and have a chitchat with some used up, back alley former fuck of my fiancé’s. Because I’d be the one to bet that’s just about all you’re good for, and that’s why he hasn’t come calling back. Don’t take offense, he’s just got someone much more worthy warming up his bed. But, oh, wait … Anton didn’t actually share his bed before me, yeah?”

The anger that blazed in steel-blue eyes had Viviana smirking. “Right … that’s it, isn’t it? Couldn’t resist checking out who got what you didn’t?”

“Wrong. One: my daddy is just as good as yours, girl, making me just as worthy. And two: you’re pretty, but you’re sure not me.”

Viviana’s fingers curled into fists at her sides as she stood gracefully from the stool. There wasn’t any way on earth she was about to let some flighty twit from Anton’s past ruin her night. For a brief moment, she searched the crowd of people for him again, but like he had warned, the club’s doors were now opened to the public and in just a matter of minutes, it seemed like the floors were packed full.

“He’s busy,” Tatiana said, drawing Viviana’s attention again. Those red lips curved with a nasty smile. “Having a moment with my father, I believe. Friendly Pakhans are rare, but our families have good history. Their territories are very close and business tends to intermingle.”

Shit. That didn’t help Viviana at all. Dread climbed up her spine with punishing steps.

“Mmhmm, been friendly for years,” Tatiana continued, turning on her stool to face the crowd in one fluid movement. “I nearly had him, too … nearly. We were quite young then, though.”

“Shut up,” Viviana spat through clenched teeth.

The woman laughed sharply. “I suppose you could say we grew up together. When that grandfather of his was having troubles with whatever nonsense, Anton was spending time at my family’s estate. Damn, didn’t he grow up good, huh?” The taste of bile saturated Viviana’s mouth. She refused to even look at the woman. “He didn’t want you then, Viviana. In fact, he didn’t want you at all.”

Ouch. Something painful sliced into her heart with wrecking force.

“It’s Vine. To you, whoever the fuck you are, it’s just Vine.”

“We’d have been a much better match. Powerful, too. He knew it when he was seventeen, but someone didn’t quite agree. Nearly had him,” she repeated a little more vehemently. “Anton didn’t want some pretty Italian pussy waking him up in the mornings and sucking his cock at night. No, he wanted a Russian girl. Someone who spoke his mother tongue and bled the blood of the Bratva. Of course, he didn’t know about you, then … not really.”

Viviana felt her lips quirk into a condescending smirk. “Yet look who he chose, hmm?”

There was a brief silence before Tatiana chirped out a high laugh.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

There wasn’t a thing about their conversation—if you could call it that—that was funny.

“You don’t know?”

Viviana exhaled through her nose, turning on her heel to stare with open hatred. “What are you going on about?”

“You don’t know!”

“Again, what—”

“I didn’t believe it, you know? When my father told me why the marriage had been arranged all those years ago, I just couldn’t believe it. Such a stupid mistake for a woman of your mother’s status to make, and with a Russian mob boss no less. She was lucky her husband didn’t put a bullet through her fucking brain. And Anton … my God, he loved Nicoli so much it wasn’t such a big shock to see him following along with whatever plans he made. But I was so sure you would have known … I thought they must have told you …”

Viviana’s heart was pounding, blood rushing her ears. Nothing the woman said made much sense, but that dreadful feeling was back with a vengeance, eating away what patience and rationale she had left.

“Oh my God,” Tatiana said again though her tinkling bouts of sardonic laughter. “It makes so much sense, now. It isn’t any wonder why you think he loves you. How could you possibly think any different, you stupid, ridiculous girl? You don’t even know why he’s marrying you.”

Yeah, all of the patience and calm she had remaining left her body in one fell swoop. Viviana turned to grab her own clutch off the bar top before making her move to leave. Tatiana’s painful grip to her wrist stopped the desire up short.

A harsh exhale shuddered from Viviana’s lungs as she stared at the hand on her body. “Remove your goddamn hand before I cut it off, Tatiana.”

“You really don’t know …”

Something a little softer had colored the woman’s tone, like she may have felt badly. Viviana wasn’t having it.

“I said—”

Tatiana’s fingers squeezed harder, her nails cutting into Viviana’s skin with enough force to make her bleed, but she refused to flinch or show proof of the pain the woman was causing her. For a split second, her brown eyes met steel-blue, a fire raging behind both women’s orbs as they openly glared.

Pretty, yes, it was no wonder Tatiana caught Anton’s eye. She might have had the looks, money, and father to back her up, but so did Viviana, and not once did she feel the least bit frightened or unworthy standing next to the man she wanted to marry.

“Let me go.”

“Jersey Girl … hey!”

Oh, for fuck sakes. She was from Jersey? Viviana never had any luck making friends from Jersey. No wonder they were like oil and water … or better yet, gasoline and fire.

Boom.

Jen’s cheery voice, though Viviana was sure she heard the tension hidden in there as well, had Tatiana letting her death grip go. “You shouldn’t be here, chica. You know what the boss said the last time you swayed your pretty ass up in here.”

“Jen.” A radiant smile curved her red lips, but it wasn’t meant to be sweet. “Daddy came to wish Anton a happy birthday, and insisted I come along to meet the soon-to-be wife. We were just getting acquainted, right, Viviana?”

“It’s Vine,” Viviana spat.

Jen sucked air through her teeth, scowling. “Okay, so Sergei was your ticket in, and I’m your cue to get gone. If Anton sees you in here, he’ll have a righteous fit. It’s his birthday; you really want to ruin this party they threw for him by being a jealous bitch again?”

“Ouch,” Tatiana said, pouting with wide eyes. “And I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, like a snake with a mouse, honey. Now, out.”

Viviana assumed Jen had the situation handled, so she chose that moment to make herself scarce without bashing the blonde’s teeth in. Once again, Tatiana wasn’t having it because her fingers curled into the side of Viviana’s black dress and pulled roughly to stop her from leaving.

She’d taken just about all she could. Viviana swung around and hit the arm holding her with an opened palm, smacking it away from her frame with a painful slap. Jen made a noise behind the bar and jogged to the partition where she could get out from behind the space keeping her confined.

“If you touch me one more time, I will ruin your face.”

Tatiana not only looked surprised, but just a tad bit frightened as well. It was an honest threat, and one Viviana wasn’t afraid to carry out. The warning in her tone said it all. Tatiana wouldn’t be the first woman she laid out, and she probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

“Let’s be clear on this. Our fathers might be bad fucking men, but I bet there was one hell of a difference between mine and yours. You’re nothing more than a Bratva child. I’m a principessa of La Cosa Nostra and he raised me like one, too. He didn’t keep me coveted on a shelf and hiding in the dark. No, I was taught how to bat my lashes at the same time I learned how to wield a knife.”

Viviana took a measured step forward, making Tatiana draw back closer to the bar. “And did you know, Jersey … just a single slice on your pretty thigh at the right spot, depth, and length would have you bleeding out to the floor before anyone even had the time, thought, or care to call an ambulance? Because I sure do.”

“You would—”

“You’re not in Jersey anymore, honey,” Jen said quietly, her voice threatening. She’d come to stand behind Viviana, blocking the view of anyone behind them. “You’re in Brighton Beach. This is Anton’s territory, and this pretty thing here, she’s the only thing he gives a shit about now. She’s got one hell of a man backing her up, unlike you. My one and only suggestion is that you get off that barstool and leave, right now.”

Viviana tilted her head upwards, looking down on the blonde with revulsion when she murmured, “Don’t come back here, Tatiana. If you do, I won’t be so forgiving. And for the record, if you’re going to insult me, the least you could do is get it right.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not the Russian whore, it’s the Russian’s whore.”

That snide smile crossed the woman’s red lips once more. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Brooklyn. I said it right, you just haven’t figured it out yet.”

• • •

A finger tapped on Anton’s shoulder forcefully.

“Boss, we gotta problem. A big one.”

Anton tried to ignore Rory’s voice behind him as he continued to chat with Sergei. It wasn’t that he liked the man or wanted to converse with him because in all honesty, he didn’t, but a Pakhan was a Pakhan in the Bratva world and Anton had to be appropriately respectful or it’d lead to nowhere good.

“Boss.”

The word was all but hissed.

“Rory, shut up,” Anton warned quietly, not even glancing back, “and go find my girl.”

“You’re already shipping from Africa,” Sergei muttered, dropping his glass down to the table. “Diamonds aren’t any different, boy.”

Anton fought the urge to roll his eyes before he banged his head on the table repeatedly. It didn’t matter how many times the discussion was had, no one got the point. There were some things Anton simply didn’t want to put his hands into. Human trafficking was one, for obvious and moral reasons, and diamonds was another route he didn’t want to take.

Personally, he did pretty fucking good with his guns and narcotics in the trafficking department. A lot of the time, it kept him under a lower profile because he wasn’t so big of a fish on the fed’s lists.

“Boss,” Rory whispered again.

Anton sighed. “I said—”

“Diamonds,” Sergei repeated, tossing his arm over the back of the booth. “You’ve got good contacts over there, much better than I … we could work it out together, Anton. Nicoli would have been the first to jump on that ship.”

No, he wouldn’t have. There was a reason he wanted to stay away, after all. Anton wasn’t about to correct him.

“Okay, listen …” he said, leaning forward to grab the beer one of his waitresses had brought over, “I promised my girl no business tonight. I want to make good on that, so Monday I’ll get Ivan to set something up with just you and me. Neutral spots, no toes are being stomped on, and I get to go home tonight in lots of time to still save this evening from turning into a total shitfest. Sound like a plan?”

“But—”

“Boss!”

“Don’t your boys know when to back the fuck off?” Sergei growled, glaring up at the bull behind Anton. “Because that one needs a swift kick in the tee—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Anton interrupted darkly. “He just doesn’t answer to you. Now, I have to get going. Thanks for stopping by, and be sure to remind your daughter that she still isn’t welcomed anywhere near Brighton Beach.”

The sound that left Rory had Anton’s spine straightening. He tried like hell not to react to the younger man, but it was damned near impossible. With a tick of his chin, his lover’s bull was down near his shoulder, words whispering fast into his ear.

“Tatiana is here, Boss, and Vine went straight-up Brooklyn on her. I mean, girl spoke about slicing and dicing like she knew what she was saying, okay? Tati said some stuff, and I don’t really know because I didn’t get to her in time, but Jen said it wasn’t anything all too good. Something about her mom and you and the arrangement. Anyway, Viviana’s in the bathroom taking a breather, but the blonde is in the back alley having a smoke with Felix. So, your choice. Pick one.”

Oh, for fuck sakes. Anton couldn’t even hide his cringe.

Tatiana was something casual. It happened when he was seventeen and pissed off about being forced into a marriage that he was positive just wouldn’t work. Then, he reconnected with Viviana and all of the stunts he’d been pulling and the nonsense he was going on with just quit. She had literally been his turning point, like finding his soul all over again.

Yeah, he’d messed around with the Jersey girl a few times in his early twenties at different clubs under random circumstances. It wasn’t like either of them had actively searched one another out, or maybe she had for him … Either way, he was sure she understood that they weren’t rolling together like that. A quick fuck or Tati on her knees blowing him off was just about as far as it went. Nicoli had warned him, though. Anton should have listened when his step-grandfather said she was no good … just a spoiled boss’s daughter who wanted the title with her money.

Fuck, he should have listened.

Anton clicked his tongue chidingly at Sergei. “You brought your daughter along.”

At least the man had the decency to look ashamed. “She assured me your … issues … had been resolved.”

“Far from it,” Anton spat. “The bitch tried to burn down my club the last time she was here because I wouldn’t let her suck my dick. Quite the child you raised, Boss.”

That probably wasn’t the best choice in words, but Anton was a little too pissed off to calm down. What in the hell had Tatiana said exactly? His mind ran with all the worst possible scenarios he could think of, and all of them collided with the same conclusion: the truth. Of course she would have known, her father did, after all.

“Mind your tongue, prince,” Sergei warned.

Something flashed in the older man’s eyes and Anton felt the heat flare through his blood in response. Ivan, who sat quietly beside him, coughed to draw their attention away and defuse the situation, but neither man moved his gaze from the other.

“That girl of yours,” the older Pakhan continued, sneering a grim smile. “She must have a hell of a lot of Italian in her, doesn’t she?”

Anton spoke through clenched teeth. “You know she’s only half.”

“Given what we both know her mother did, aren’t you the least bit afraid she’s going to do the same to you?”

Air sliced into Anton’s lungs like a hot knife through butter. It literally fucking ached.

“No, I’m—”

“Raised by a byladina, Anton. Your pretty little wife might just turn into her mother the first time you find yourself behind steel bars. After all, you’ve managed to keep yourself from doing any real hard time so far, but how long is that going to last? Every one of us does our time eventually, my boy. Will you come home to find her knocked up with your Sovietnik’s child?”

“Fuck you,” Ivan snapped beside Anton, speaking totally out of place but his boss wouldn’t correct him.

“Or maybe she’ll run to another boss like her mother did.”

Byladina was by far one of the most offensive terms in Russian for the English equivalent of slut. It was regarded as an even worse title in their language, to be sure. Women who were worth less than even the stale air that left their lungs were graced with that insult. Never had Anton used it in his life. For Sergei to even remotely consider letting that word roll out of his mouth and compare Viviana to it was just about the worst thing he could have done, especially in Anton’s presence.

There was no way for his bulls, or Ivan, to stop the fast movement of Anton’s fist reaching over the table. Clenched knuckles slammed into an unsuspecting face, crushing the bones of the other Pakhan’s nose on impact.

Anton packed one hell of a punch.

It carried a heavy price, and he knew it.

He did it, anyway.

The knuckle in his pinkie popped out of joint, but he drew back his fist again and landed another solid hit. When his fists grabbed at the broken man’s collar, blood was already pouring. His knuckles were cut up but the pain didn’t even register. He could hear the shouts of both languages beginning to rise around him, but his fury was swelling by the second. Russian spit from his mouth like poison when he was in Sergei’s face.

“Durak! Ty troop, Sergei!” Close enough that he could smell the heat of the man’s blood, Anton’s voice turned to a dangerous whisper as he muttered, “Say it again, motherfucker, and it’ll happen. I fucking dare you.”

“Damn it! Anton!”

“Boss!”

“Shit, get off, Boss …”

The click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back just barely registered to Anton’s ears.

“Shoot and every fucking Jersey boy in this room is dust,” someone snarled.

“Man, come on,” Ivan hissed, arms circling his waist to pull him back.

“You’re dead,” Anton repeated in English, swinging out with another hit that landed hard on the man who was just being pulled away. “Get that piece of shit out of my fucking territory before I paint the walls with his brain matter!”

Anton slammed Ivan off of him, sliding off the table and fixing the arm of his jacket. When he realized there were blood stains on the cuff, he cussed and tugged the damned thing off. Tossing the offensive item at Rory, Anton turned to walk away. Sergei was still laying prone on the floor with the men who had escorted him in attempting to bring him out of the semi-unconscious state.

“I said get him out! Make sure that he wakes up in the parking lot of a hospital in his territory so he gets the goddamn point. His daughter will be right on her way to meet him, too. And get rid of that jacket, Rory.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

One issue down, one more to go. Anton’s previous buzz was all but gone. He was just plain and simple pissed off, now. People on the floor separated without looking the Russian boss in the eyes. It wasn’t the first time something bad had gone down in the club and it wouldn’t be the last. With a predator’s gaze and a smooth, fast stride, he found the back entrance to the club with Ivan close on his heels.

“Shit, you just caused a big issue, Anton.”

“You heard what he called her.”

“I know … I know.”

“Yeah, you fucking know. And if that was Eva, you’d have cut out his tongue.”

Ivan huffed. “Not the point.”

Anton turned fast, his hands coming up to slam into Ivan’s chest hard. “Then what is the point, huh? I let him call her that because her mother made a mistake—one she probably paid a dozen times over for—and then everybody else assumes it’s okay for them to label her with that title, too?”

“No—”

“He said it like the fact that Nicoli is her father didn’t even make a difference! Never mind that she’s got more Russian in her blood than his own daughter, or that she’s going to be my wife … a Pakhan’s wife, no, only because her mother birthed her. That’s why he called her that. No fucking way, Ivan. Not on my watch. Not in my territory. Not about her.”

When Anton turned around to continue his trek to find Tatiana, he came face to face with his beautiful Viviana. His heart stopped just like his feet. Panic, grief, remorse, and fear roared through his veins. Pain throbbed from his dislocated finger but it didn’t even register to the ache that suddenly took residence in his heart and soul.

That’s not how she should have found out. That was the last way he ever wanted to tell her. Viviana deserved so much better than it to be blurted out in his anger with his back turned and blood on his collar.

Anton damned near stumbled when he jerked forward. “Baby …”

“I want to go home.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Home,” she repeated quietly.

Anton nodded, but he knew there was still something he had to deal with. “Just give me five minutes, okay?”

Viviana blinked, but there was water in her gaze.

Not here, he wanted to tell her. Please don’t do this here.

She could yell and scream at him anywhere but not at the club with all those people watching. A breakdown she deserved if she wanted to have one, and he’d take every punishment she had to give, but not right then.

Anton didn’t have to worry. Only a single silvery tear escaped the corner of those familiar brown eyes before her hand swiped it away. She walked past him just as fast and he watched to make sure she was finding one of her bulls.

Even still, his heart cracked.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I … I just …”

Ivan swallowed audibly behind him. “Anton, breathe.”

Hadn’t he been? “What did I do?”

“It’s—”

“Don’t say okay, Ivan. It’s not okay.”

There was a hand on his shoulder squeezing painfully tight and it was the only thing keeping him rooted to the floor. Anton was grateful, because his heart and soul just walked on by like he was the last thing that she ever wanted to see again.

“You’ve got to deal with the fire bug, man.”

Again, Anton found himself nodding dumbly. “I fucked that up.”

“You love her,” Ivan whispered, sounding torn and pained. “That’s not nothing. It’s just not. Take a breath, deal with crazy, and get Vine the hell home like she asked. Give the girl some credit; her heart just shattered and she didn’t even say a word. Anybody else would have thrown a terrible fit. She walked away.”

The throb in his hand reminded him of his other pain. Anton blinked down at the injured pinkie. Without thinking about it, he grabbed the digit with a stinging twist, grit his teeth, and forced it back into place with a painful pop. The damned thing came out of joint nearly every time his fist cracked into something.

“She walked away,” Ivan repeated calmly. “She’s got nerves. So while you take a breather, let her have hers to think about whatever.”

Nerves, yeah. That was one way of saying it. Another was being honest and stating it like it really was. Viviana Carducci had been raised a true mafia princess. She might have had Bratva in her blood but she was born into a Cosa Nostra world. She knew how to walk, when to talk, and the second she needed to blink it all away.

And she was supposed to be his … only ever his.

Anton shuddered with another breath as his heart splintered a little bit more.

“Let’s get this done.”

The exit door slammed open under Anton’s hand. The heavy metal banged on the side of a dumpster as he stepped out into the alleyway. Instantly, he met the waiting gaze of one of Viviana’s bulls and the very frightened stare of Tatiana.

“You made a big mistake, Tati.”

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it up and took a puff. Ivan closed the exit door, keeping a hand in to make sure it wouldn’t latch closed completely. Really, he just wanted to get this done and over with. Tatiana wasn’t even important to him; she hadn’t ever been. Now, he just needed to make it clear.

“What, you going to hurt me for making your pretty little fiancée cry, Anton?”

“Nope.” Another inhale off the cigarette burned painfully sweet into his throat. He felt raw and ripped open. “Apparently my girl can handle herself just fine, and by the looks of it, you didn’t make her spring a leak. I don’t hit women, contrary to popular belief. What I will do, however, is pay a mighty price to knock you off. You understand that, Tati?”

Her eyes dropped from his sight. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh yeah, I would. Wouldn’t even blink when I got the call to say it was done, too. I don’t know what you said, and I don’t give a shit, but if I ever see you walking the streets of Brighton Beach in the next forty years, I promise you won’t breathe long enough to leave them, girl.”

“Fuck you.”

The words were as good as a punch, but they didn’t sting a bit. Still, her defiance only served to piss him off further. In a flash, Anton had crossed the space of the alley. He had her throat in his palm as he forced her back into the wall and made her eyes meet his. The choking sound of air only had him cutting off her oxygen supply even more. Tears slipped through her rapidly blinking eyes. When her fingers clawed at his arms, Anton looked down with a severe expression.

“I don’t hit women …” he repeated, resting the cigarette precariously between his lips with a careless flair, “but I’ll sure as fuck make sure to get this clear so you won’t misunderstand me and come knocking ever again. I don’t want you. I’ve already had you and it was more than enough. Find some other man to spread your legs for because it won’t ever be me again. If you even think to dare look in the direction of Viviana one more time, I will pay that price and have your blood spilling on Jersey ground, Tati. Are we clear?”

“Anton,” Ivan warned quietly. “Ease up a little.”

No fucking way. His grip tightened instead.

“Are we clear?”

The hard swallow and single nod was more than enough. Anton let go.