Ivory Ashes - A Mafia Romance

VIVIANA

"Touch her again and I'll kill you."

The unfamiliar voice echoes through my bridal suite. I might be concussed, courtesy of my soon-to-be husband's strong backhand across the face just a second ago, but is that the rumbling baritone of God? If so, excellent timing. The Big Man Upstairs hasn't done jack shit for me up until now, so I'd say some divine intervention in my shitshow of a life is long overdue.

I want to crack a swollen eye open and chance a peek at my savior, but lifting my face is what got me slapped for the third time this weekend, so I don't.

The first was for not holding Trofim's hand during the rehearsal dinner. Then, when I mentioned that surely he'd hate to bruise my face the day before our wedding, he slapped me again for presuming to know what he does and doesn't hate.

This third time was for... well, shits and giggles, I presume.

Nothing says "can't wait to get hitched" like wearing the gaudiest signet ring in existence and slapping your fiancée around 'til kingdom come. I probably have the Novikov Bratva crest indented in my left cheek by now. It's fitting, since I'm being offered up to Trofim Novikov himself bright and early tomorrow morning. Might as well brand me like cattle tonight, before we make vows before God when the sun rises.

Not that Trofim gives a shit about vows before God. When we went to his cousin's brother's hairdresser's... niece's-well, hell if I know who it was for, but we went to someone's baptism together a few months ago, and I was positive Trofim would recoil in fear when the priest sprinkled holy water on the baby's head and accidentally splashed some in our general direction.

I expected sulfurous smoke to pour out of his mouth. Maybe some Exorcist-style head spinning. Unfortunately, his head stayed facing forward, but I've been holding out hope he'll burst into flames when we step up to the altar tomorrow.

Based on the booming voice coming from the doorway of my bridal suite, God might be a little ahead of schedule.

"Get away from her," that voice snarls. "Now."

The words vibrate through my bones.

"The fuck...? Get the hell out of our room." Trofim's voice is whiskey-slurred, but his grip on the back of my robe is immovably solid.

That's the real cause of all of this. Trofim is a heartless bastard when he's sober. When he drinks, though, he's straight-up soulless. And right now, he's probably more alcohol than blood.

Maybe this new god of vengeance should be careful.

"This isn't your room," the deep voice corrects angrily. "It's hers."

I cringe and duck my head further. Don't bring me into this! Maybe, if I make myself small enough, Trofim will forget I'm here.

Neck bowed, I look down at the floor and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored coffee table.

It's enough to make me suck in a sharp breath. My eye is swollen. My cheek is as red as the parade of flags that have lined every inch of the road from the moment I met Trofim to now.

First, he's a Taurus. I should have run for the hills the moment I made that little discovery.

Second, my father approved of Trofim. That in itself is the biggest red flag of them all.

As much as I wish it was because Daddy Dearest just didn't know the horrible truth of my intended's cruel and unusual ways, that's not the case. My father was literally in the room for slap number one. He was actually, physically standing in the doorway right where Potential Savior #2 is standing now.

Except, instead of telling Trofim to back off and leave me alone in a soul-shuddering baritone, my father whispered in my ear-which was still ringing from Trofim's slap, might I add-to "keep your head down and make him happy."

In my father's eyes, that's all I am: a tool for others' happiness.

Not mine. No, no, don't be ridiculous-never mine.

I, Viviana Giordano, exist for his happiness. Whoever "he" may be in any given scenario. My father's. Trofim's. Any other man whose alliance might be of some value.

To my father, I'm a bartering chip who just so happens to have the blood of the Giordano mafia running through my veins.

And Trofim, by very specific design on my father's part, just so happens to be the eldest son of the Novikov Bratva's pakhan.

Tomorrow is the crime world's equivalent of a royal wedding. Lighter on the fascinators, heavier on the bloodshed.

But if Trofim gets his way, the bloodshed portion of the event is going to start tonight.

Trofim laughs. The sharp, grating sound skitters down my spine. I flinch away from him, but he fists his hand in the back of my robe again. The sleeves are halfway down my arms now. I'm one gentle tug away from standing here in nothing but my silk and lace nightie. And Trofim is anything but gentle.

"What's hers is mine," he sneers.

"Not until tomorrow," the deep voice barks again. "And not ever, unless you let her go. Now."

"Or what?" Trofim challenges.

He's the son of a pakhan. Unless it's his father standing in front of us-which I know it isn't, since the elder Novikov is just as bad as Trofim-there's nothing anyone can say to scare Trofim. He always has the upper hand. And the backhand, as my poor cheek can attest.

There's a brief pause. "Or I'll have no choice but to kill you, brother."

Brother?

Before I can stop myself, I look up.

Trofim has two brothers, and if you'd asked me three seconds ago, I would have put all of my money on it being Anatoly in the doorway. The man is a golden retriever in human form. If anyone would have a soft spot for a battered woman, it would be him.

But it's not Anatoly in the doorway.

It's the brooding, mysterious, never-met-a-smile-he-wanted-to-try-on youngest brother standing in the doorway.

It's Mikhail Novikov.

Mikhail hasn't so much as glanced in my direction since I first saw him at mine and Trofim's engagement party, and now, he's standing here. In my bridal suite. Threatening to murder his own blood brother to save me.

What in the ever-loving fuck is going on?

"You'd kill me over her?" Trofim shoves me forward, but his hand is still fisted in my robe, so the material slides off my arms and I flop onto the floor between the brothers like a dead fish. A dead fish in very tiny, very revealing pajamas.

I glance up at Mikhail Novikov from my knees. He's staring down at me, face as unreadable as ever. It's the same blank expression he gave me the first day we met.

It was my engagement party. As the bride-to-be, I was the reluctant star of the show. Terrible as my groom was, I'm a Sagittarius through and through. I love a good party and the Novikovs throw great parties. Incredible parties, truthfully. Ice sculptures, champagne fountains, and canapés abounded.

With a smoked salmon cracker in one hand and three flutes worth of champagne fizzing in my veins, I marched up to Mikhail in the corner and hit him with my most dazzling smile.

Hello there. I'm Viviana, your new sister. Pause for polite laughter.

But... crickets.

Mikhail didn't smile. Didn't smirk. He didn't even bother giving me a disapproving once-over. No, he simply took a sip of his drink... and walked away.

Like I was nothing. No one.

Like I didn't matter.

Now, I'm sprawled half-naked on the floor in front of him-while he is trying to save me from his abusive older brother, no less-and I still get absolutely nothing from him.

Mikhail sighs and meets his brother's eyes. "I'd kill you for almost anyone, Trofim. Fucking give me a reason."

I start to lift myself up. Maybe I can slink away while the brothers duke it out. But Trofim's foot lands in the middle of my back. He presses me down to the floor, stealing the air from my lungs.

Mikhail takes a half-step towards us, but he stops. I can't see his face from my new vantage point literally under Trofim's heel, but his voice shakes with rage when he says, "Final warning."

Trofim laughs. "I gave you a reason the moment I was born, little brother. Do you think marrying Giordano's daughter will secure you the Bratva? I'll inherit the title of pakhan whether I marry this bitch or not."

"This isn't about her," Mikhail snarls. "This is about you. You're unfit."

"Unfit to what?" Trofim slurs.

Mikhail moves closer. "Unfit to lead and to marry Viviana."

I should be fighting for breath, but I'm too busy being shocked Mikhail even knows my name.

Why does he care who I marry? What does it matter to him if his brother is an abusive asshole?

"Oh, wait. Wait a minute. Is this-Are you trying to make up for past mistakes?" Trofim chuckles. "Holy fuck. I mean, come on, Mikhail, it's funny, isn't it? You standing here talking about me being unfit. If anyone is unfit to marry, it's you. Look at what happened to⁠-"

Air whooshes out of Trofim's lungs at the same time it returns to mine.

Because, between one second and the next, Mikhail launches himself at Trofim and knocks him off of me.

I scramble across the floor as the glass coffee table shatters under their weight. Shards of glass skitter across the hardwood floor.

The door is right in front of me. It's unlocked. I could run.

But run where?

I'm in a nightgown that barely covers my ass and my father is right down the hall. He'll never let me escape.

I know all too well what happens when I poke that bear. Daddy doesn't like when his pawns talk back.

So I just stand here, stranded between one nightmare and the next. I press myself against the wall and watch Mikhail pummel his older brother into the floor.

Trofim doesn't stand a chance. He can hold his own against a woman half his size, sure, but he can't keep up with the speed of Mikhail's punches.

Blood and spit and broken teeth fly as Trofim's neck snaps one way and then the other.

Mikhail is going to win. He's going to overpower Trofim, and then...

Before I can sort through the stew of terrible options in front of me, Mikhail wraps his hand around his brother's throat and drives a knee into his chest. He pins him to the floor.

"Stop fighting if you want to live," he growls.

It isn't much of a choice. Trofim is panting, exhausted from just that little bit of fighting. He couldn't throw Mikhail off if he wanted to. And he really, really wants to.

"What?" he pants. "You want her? Fucking take her, then."

I shrink back against the wall, but Mikhail doesn't look at me. Instead, he snatches Trofim's hand off the floor. The two thrash around for just a moment before Mikhail gets whatever he's after and lets his brother's wrist flop back down.

"Leave." He stands back, power rippling off of him like a forcefield. Goosebumps bloom across my chest. "You so much as set foot on the same continent as me ever again, you're dead."

Trofim works his jaw back and forth. "Exile."

"It's a better option than death. Take it."

I think he might lunge at Mikhail again. Argue.

Instead, Trofim stands up, wipes blood from his split bottom lip, and stomps out of the room without even looking at me.

I don't move. Don't breathe. Everything is happening so fast and I don't have time to think about where it leaves me...

Until Mikhail turns to me.

Whatever he's feeling, it's still elusive. But slowly, he lifts his hand and slides something onto his finger.

The gaudy ring that cracked across my face less than ten minutes ago settles on his right hand like it's always been there. Like it belongs.

I look from the family signet ring to its new owner.

The Novikov Bratva just got a new heir. And his sights are set on me.

2

VIVIANA

"What are you still doing here?" Mikhail asks.

The words of my savior, everyone.

"I'm naked," I blurt.

The words of the socially illiterate, everyone.

I'm usually much more eloquent, but word vomit must be a nasty side effect of cranial and/or emotional whiplash.

Not to mention, Mikhail is handsome. Stunningly, stomach-twistingly handsome.

It's the reason I walked over to him at my engagement party in the first place. Sure, I was there to marry his brother, but being betrothed didn't make me blind. Mikhail was leaning against the wall with a diamond-cut jaw and a curl of golden brown hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. I wanted to see what he was about. Could the inside possibly match the outside?

I thought the answer was a definite no, but now... He saved me. Does that change things?

Now, I'm seeing him up close and in better lighting. Does that change things?

The same strand of hair sweeps slightly lower over one of his cold blue eyes now. Eyes that are wholly fixed on me.

I shake my head to clear away the lusty cobwebs. "Well, not naked," I correct quickly. "I'm almost naked. Barely clothed. I'm in pajamas."

Mikhail looks pointedly at the skewed scrap of lace covering my lady bits and little else. "You wore that for him?" Mikhail's upper lip curls in disgust. It's the first easily-readable emotion I've seen on him.

"I didn't wear anything for him. It's for me." I cross my arms over my chest, which only serves to put my cleavage even more on display. I quickly uncross them. "I think it's pretty."

Trofim may have been a monster, but he had great taste in lingerie. Well, really, whatever poor maid he got to order me the present had great taste, is more like it.

Silk triangles cover my breasts, but the rest of the nightie is intricate lace. It flutters over my midsection and brushes against the very tops of my thighs. If I turned around, Mikhail would get an eyeful of the matching silk thong.

I press my bare ass more firmly against the wallpaper so that doesn't happen.

"You should leave while you still can."

I frown. "I didn't realize my salvation came with an expiration date."

Mikhail roots through the mini-bar fridge, grumbling when there's nothing but champagne inside. He pops the bottle and crunches over the remains of a shattered vase and haphazardly spread rose petals to find a glass.

The fact that we're in what would have been mine and Trofim's honeymoon suite tomorrow night is becoming hard to ignore.

For me, at least. Mikhail still won't look at me.

"Why are you here?" I demand.

His throat bobs as he swallows down champagne before pouring himself another glass. "Were you not listening? I already explained myself. My brother was unfit."

Unfit to lead and to marry Viviana. I'm about to hand over the last of my dignity to ask which one he's referring to now.

Instead, I nod. "He was. But he was unfit yesterday. Last week. Six months ago. Why did you decide to finally do something about it tonight?"

I didn't ask the question with an answer in mind, but I suddenly find myself hoping Mikhail will turn and look at me. I let myself imagine his icy blue eyes burning with passion... for me.

You, Viviana. Since the moment we met, I've wanted you. I couldn't stand it for another second.

Or, y'know... something along those lines.

Mikhail does turn to me, but there's nothing but an icy chill when he looks at me. His eyes scrape over my skin. I swear he can read every thought bouncing around my funhouse of a brain.

It's confirmed when he tilts his head to the side. "Do you think I'm here for you?"

"Wha-No!" I cross my arms again. Mikhail's eyes drop to my chest.

I don't uncross my arms this time.

He takes a step closer. "This has nothing to do with you, Viviana."

Heat coils low in my belly at the way he says my name. "Why should I believe that? I'm the woman promised to the heir of the Novikov Bratva." I gesture to the ring on his finger. "That's you now, isn't it? Some people would argue we still have a binding agreement."

My father would be among the loudest of those people.

I, however, should probably have shut my big, dumb mouth. In a flash, Mikhail crosses the distance between us and cages me in.

His palm is flat against the wall next to my head. He holds his body stubbornly away from mine, but he might as well be smothering me. I feel him everywhere. Heat pours off of him and tingles across my skin.

He smells like mint and champagne as he dips his chin and whispers in my ear. "Do you want me to make good on that agreement, Viviana? Is that why you're still here?"

Truth be told, I don't know why I'm still here.

Fear? Habit? Curiosity?

I wrote Mikhail Novikov off the first night we met. I assumed he was a pompous asshole and never thought of him again, no matter how much I enjoyed the sight of him at functions Trofim dragged me along to.

No women dared get close to him. Mikhail didn't deign to talk to anyone else. He was a shadow on the edge of the room.

But now, he's revealing himself to be something else entirely.

I want to find out what.

"I'm still here because..." I duck under his arm and walk across the suite. "I'm still here because helping clean up some of this mess is the least I can do for the man who saved me."

I bend over and scoop a handful of glass shards into my palm. It's only when I turn around to find the trash can that I remember what I'm wearing. Or what I'm not wearing. Full coverage underwear, for one.

Mikhail is standing rigid against the wall. And he isn't the only one. There's a noticeable bulge at the front of his pants. A large, noticeable bulge.

My gaze drops down, back up, down again, and finally back up to the dark holes where his eyes once were. His pupils are blown wide.

Mikhail Novikov may be difficult to read, but I know desire when I see it.

He blinks a few times and seems to snap himself out of it. His mouth twists down into a scowl. "Me being here has nothing to do with saving you."

"Really? You had me fooled. 'Touch her again and I'll kill you,'" I say in a terrible impression of his voice. "Seems like it had at least a little to do with saving me."

"You think I came to save you? Is that why you're putting on this little show for me?" He crosses the distance between us and swats the glass shards out of my hand. They rain down over my bare feet, but I barely feel it. Not when Mikhail is staring into my soul. "Am I to collect my reward now?"

My cheeks burn. "I'm not putting on a show! I'm cleaning up the mess you and your brother made."

"This is why you're not the right fit for this world," he says almost to himself. "Someone does one nice thing for you and you're throwing away your chance at freedom. You don't owe me anything, Viviana. I didn't come here to save you."

If he keeps saying that, I might start to believe him.

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, though. As it is, my heart is doing an interesting little dubstep in my chest.

"You said Trofim wasn't a good fit for this world."

"He wasn't."

"But now, I'm not a good fit, either? Why not?" It doesn't matter. I shouldn't care. I don't care, actually. Still, I find myself adding, "Is that why I've never seen you with a woman before? Because no one is good enough for you?"

He's silent for a moment. His breath rasps in his chest, his throat, past his lips in plumes of mint and champagne. Then he sighs.

"Leave," he snarls even as he shifts closer to me. My hip brushes against his leg.

I stretch onto my toes. "You don't want to honor the deal our fathers made because you think you're better than me."

The words are barely out of my mouth when Mikhail's hand grips my neck. His thumb works into my pulse point as he tilts my head back so he's towering over me. "This has nothing to do with me being better than you."

I swallow, my neck bobbing against his fingers. "Then what's it about?"

He dips his head. More mint and sweet champagne wash over me as he whispers, "It's about me being the worst possible thing for you."

Who could be worse than Trofim?

Mikhail seems to see the question in my frown. He slides closer. His erection pushes against the lace of my nightgown and my eyes flare wide.

"My brother wanted you for a wife. He wanted an alliance. I couldn't care less about that. Fuck the deal our fathers made." His thumb strokes possessively along the column of my neck. "There is only one thing I want from you, Viviana."

"Take it," I breathe.

It's out of me before I can stop myself.

Mikhail shakes his head and walks me backwards. His long legs brush against mine until I fall back onto the bed.

"You shouldn't let yourself be someone's pawn. Not in this world." He looks down at me for a second before he wraps his big hands around my hips and jerks me to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to teach you why."

3

VIVIANA

"Trofim didn't deserve this," he muses as he strokes the outer curve of my ass, discovering an erogenous zone I didn't know existed five seconds ago.

Didn't deserve me?

No, he must mean sex in general.

I tend to agree. For the sake of the human race and future generations, Trofim and his evil seed shouldn't be allowed near any vaginas.

"Trofim and I never... We didn't... It was part of the arrangement. He never even came to my apartment."

I don't know why I feel the need to explain, but I do.

As soon as Iakov Novikov informed his son he couldn't touch me until we were married, I expected Trofim to throw a temper tantrum. Our engagement was planned by our respective paternal overlords to be just over six months long. That kind of celibacy was a lot to ask, even for me. Not that I had any desire to do the dirty with Trofim.

But the only desire Trofim had was to knock me around.

"You were together for six months." Mikhail sounds confused. Like that math isn't even close to mathing. Six months with no sex? Impossible.

I can practically hear his thoughts now. What's the point of living if I can't rip off my shirt and ravage maidens on the daily?

To be fair, as a maiden about to be ravaged, I get it. The promise of seeing what's going on beneath Mikhail's shirt is the current singular focus of my life.

"I'm sure six months without sex is like a lifetime for you," I drawl.

"Only the last six months."

I don't have time to understand what that means before he strokes his thumb over the soaked front of my panties. He groans a single time. Just one deep sound, low in his throat, before he slips his thumb under the lace. He plays in my wetness, dragging it up and down until I'm covered in myself. When the calloused pad of his thumb brushes over my clit, I jerk off the bed.

Mikhail arches a brow like I'm an interesting puzzle and does it again.