Under Control: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance
Under Control: Chapter 16

I throw my clothes into a hamper and drag it down the hall.

It surprises me how much stuff I have. In my head, the last few years really drained me of everything. I’d been selling anything with value on eBay just to bring in a few extra dollars, but even after getting rid of my laptop, my headphones, the antique dolls my grandmother left to me when I was little, and a dozen other trinkets, I kind of figured I’d be down to basically nothing.

Which is far from true. I’ve got so much stuff, and it’s a huge pain to lug it to the extra bedroom at the far end of the house.

Nikkita stands in the hallway with a pinched frown and her arms crossed over her chest. She says nothing to me as I get myself settled in my new little home. I arrange my clothes in the drawers and even place a few of the personal effects Valentin’s men had brought over from my room.

“He is not going to like this,” she says to me finally, standing in the doorway.

“I’m aware.”

“You should go back.”

“I’m not going to.”

Her disapproval radiates off her like smoke. I meet her glare with one of my own. Let the old bossy Russian lady hate me; I don’t even care anymore. I’m so far out of my depth right now and basically doing anything I can to get some semblance of control back into my life.

If that means throwing a little hissy fit and moving into the room down the hall, then fine.

I know it’s petty, but it’s the best I can do.

“All right, have it your way.” Nikkita turns to leave, but hesitates. “Would you like something? Tea maybe?”

That’s a huge surprise. I’ve been here for three days, and this is the first time she’s offered to do anything for me.

“Tea would be nice, thank you,” I say, dropping my guard a little.

She leaves without a word. I’m alone in my new room, looking around at the small bed and the dressers, and I know what’s going to happen later.

The thing is, we’ve been sharing a bed, and it hasn’t been that bad.

I mean, in some ways, it’s been nice.

I like having him next to me, breathing deeply, a warm and gorgeous presence in the darkness.

And I don’t even mind when he reaches across the bed and drags me over to his side.

To use me as he sees fit.

That’s not so terrible, really.

But the thing is, there are so many rules in this house.

Like for starters, I can’t go outside. Not without at least one escort, but preferably two, and the guards take that command very seriously. They won’t even let me look at a door without Valentin’s permission.

So I’m a prisoner.

Then there’s the basement. I was exploring just yesterday and I tried to head down to take a look, but one of the young guards freaked out and made me stop. I could tell he wanted to drag me away, but he wouldn’t put his hands on his Pakhan’s wife, and so I slowly opened the door while he screeched for me to stop in Russian.

Eventually, Valentin heard the commotion and came to put a stop to it. “No basement, malishka,” he’d said with a dark smile. “Bad things down there.”

I’m pretty sure I’m living above a graveyard.

Or maybe a bunch of torture chambers.

Actually, it’s better that I don’t think of it.

Valentin has rules around when we eat, what we eat, what I watch, how much time I get to spend in the theater room, which is one of the few perks of being trapped in here, basically rules about everything.

And it’s driving me insane.

There’s a rattle and a knock at the door. Nikkita appears with a tray of tea. She sets it down on a table set up beside the windows and pours before stepping back. I sit and lean on my elbows as I take a sip.

“Oh, wow,” I say, extremely surprised. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you.” Her lips seem to soften from their customary scowl, at least for a moment. “I buy it from Russia special for Valentin.”

“This is his favorite?”

“He loves it.”

“I can see why. It’s very good.” Nikkita lingers for a moment, looking around the room. “I know you don’t approve.”

“No, it isn’t that.” She seems uncertain as she runs a hand down the comforter, smoothing it out. Fussing nervously, I realize. “Valentin will be unhappy, and it’s my job to make sure his home life is in order.”

“You think this is going to reflect on you?”

“Valentin isn’t petty.” She glares at me for a moment, jaw working. But her expression softens. “In here, you feel like you have something of your own. I understand that. But Valentin is a particular man.”

“I noticed,” I say quietly, but I swallow back further comments. This is the most Nikkita has spoken to me, and it’s the first time she’s not staring at me with pure loathing in her eyes. I don’t want to ruin it with sarcasm. “He means well, doesn’t he?”

She nods sharply. “Valentin’s father was a hard man. He demanded order. He demanded obedience.” She pounds a fist into her hand, emphasizing her words. “Valentin learned to be hard too, but I don’t think that came naturally to him.”

“How long have you known each other?”

“Since he was a boy.” She tilts her chin up. “I was his nanny.”

“I hadn’t realized,” I say, but it makes a lot of sense. I’ve noticed there’s a comfort and a familiarity between them that doesn’t exist between Valentin and anyone else. She speaks to him as an equal and isn’t shy about voicing her displeasure, and though he will reprimand her, it’s never serious, and it never seems to hurt their relationship.

And now I understand why. She’s been in his life for years.

“Did you know his mother?” I ask.

“Good woman. Strong woman. Died too young. A travesty.”

“Did Valentin know her?”

“He was a baby when she passed. I’ve been here for that boy for a very long time.”

“You’re protective.” I sit up straighter and put down my teacup. “That’s why you don’t want me moving in here.”

“He has a lot of pressure on him. This will be a distraction.” She shakes her head as if she’s annoyed with herself for talking this much and walks to the door. “If there will be anything else?”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” I blurt out and feel silly as soon as the words leave my mouth. How could I hurt a man like Valentin? He’s enormous and impenetrable, the master of his Bratva, a king and a god among normal human beings. What could I do to a man like that?

But Nikkita seems to accept my statement with grace. “I hope not,” she says before disappearing into the hall.

I’m left alone again. I finish my tea, fuss over my new room, and spend the day thinking about what I just learned.

He grew up with a difficult father and his mother died when he was young. That probably explains some things about him. Valentin’s difficult, but he’s not without mercy. He’s vicious, but he isn’t cruel. I’m afraid of him and I want him in equal measure.

It’s late when he finally gets home that evening. I’m sitting in the library skimming through old books when he appears in the doorway, his wide shoulders blotting out the hall light behind him.

“You moved,” he says darkly and I snap my book shut.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, trying to sound sweet and calm, even though my heart’s racing.

Valentin does not look happy.

And somehow it only makes him look even more sexy. That lucky bastard.

“Come with me.” He turns and walks away. I hesitate a second, wondering if that’s the sort of command I could ignore, but decide not to push my luck. I trail after him, up the steps, and down the hall to my new room.

I expect him to command me to move my things back in with him.

Instead, there are bags and boxes piled on the bed.

“Try them on,” he says, walking over to the small table. He barely sits in the chair, but a fresh tea service has been set up for him already.

I drift to the bags. Chanel, Prada, Versace, Fendi, Louis Vuitton, Bottega Veneta. It’s a treasure trove of designer clothing and must’ve cost an absolute fortune, considering how much there is.

“What did you do?” I ask him, opening a Fendi box. It’s a simple but elegant navy blue cocktail dress with a plunging neckline and a long skirt. “What is all this?”

“Try it on,” he says again, his eyes not leaving me as he sips his tea.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“I’m not asking.” His cup clatters on a plate. “You displeased me by moving your things into here, but if you want to throw a fit, you can throw a fit. However, you will apologize by trying these on.”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. What a psychotic thing to say. He thinks I’m going to play dress-up for him like I’m some doll?

Except, yeah, that’s exactly what he wants.

“And if I say no?” I ask him, eyebrows arched in defiance.

“Then I will drag you back to my room, spank your ass until it’s raw, and have my men put all your things back. And you will still try on the clothes I bought for you.”

Heat fills my cheeks, and a part of me wants to move forward with the whole spanking option.

Instead, I start to carry the dress to the en-suite bathroom, but he clucks his tongue.

“In front of me,” he orders.

It’s weird at first. I mean, he’s seen me naked plenty, but there’s something intimate about stripping and dressing again. This is how I would behave around a real husband, but that isn’t at all what Valentin is to me.

He’s something else. Something much worse.

I put on dress after dress. There are shoes, boots, sandals, slacks and jackets, mostly formal wear, but there are a few leisure outfits too. There are bras and underwear, lacy and sexy as hell, the sort of high-end lingerie I never in a million years would buy for myself. That’s the hardest of all to try on, but I can tell he likes it.

Outfit after outfit, he sits and he watches. He makes no comment; there’s no approval or disapproval in his gaze.

Only a steady, unwavering attention.

Backed by a hunger radiating from him in heavy waves.

By the time I’m finished, the bed is a mess of opened boxes, upturned shopping bags, and clothes in disorganized piles. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I start to pull my jeans back on, only wearing a lazy gray bralette on top.

“Come here,” he orders, gesturing at me.

I hesitate, jeans partially pulled up. “Can I get dressed first?”

“Don’t bother.” He beckons for me again.

I go to him, walking slowly. I kick the jeans aside. His eyes drift to my matching thong and his tongue rolls along his lower lip.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, dragging me into his lap. His fingers dig into my ass. “You aren’t going to like it.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. You don’t exactly come bearing good news very often.”

He leans forward and brushes his stubble across my throat. “In two days, we’re going to a meeting. It’s at a country club in a county between Philadelphia and Baltimore. Neutral territory.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “What’s that for?”

“You know.” He grips me tighter. “You’ve been a good girl tonight, dressing for me.” I feel his hard cock pressing against my core. “And now I want to be honest with you. No surprises.”

I’m breathing fast, trying to make sense of what he’s saying, but I’m more than a little distracted by sitting in the gorgeous sex god’s lap.

“So be honest and tell me what’s going on.”

“Tomorrow, we’re going to meet with your uncle and the Armenian Brotherhood.”

I jerk back as though he burned me. “What are you talking about?”

“This was always the plan.” He stands, lifting me with him. I gasp as he pins me down to the bed on top of a small fortune in silk and lace and tulle. His mouth bites down on my collarbone and he kisses my throat as his fingers tease at the edge of my panties.

“I don’t want to be involved,” I say, back arching. My head’s a mess of conflicting feelings. I want him to keep going—to touch me, to make me feel good—but I’m terrified of what he’s telling me.

“That’s too bad, because I know you. You’re the reason Aram’s willing to meet, and this is going to be important.” He roughly shoves my panties aside and his fingers graze my pussy up and down, spreading my wetness all over. I gasp in pleasure as he kisses my chest.

“Aram doesn’t even know me. I don’t… I don’t know them…” I bite back a curse as Valentin slides his thick fingers into my pussy.

He fucks me like that, purring as he does it. “You’re so fucking wet, baby girl. You’re a filthy, messy girl. You’re going to get all this nice clothing soaked, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, Valentin,” I gasp, reaching up to grab his hair. I hold it tight as he pulls my bralette aside and attacks one nipple with his lips and tongue. His fingers go faster, brutal and confident. “You can’t make me go.”

“I can and I will, my little wife. This is all a part of my plan. You will obey. You will give me what I want.” His fingers drive in and out, breaking my mind, and I wish I could resist but I’m way too far gone already, that bastard.

“That’s all you want? Obedience? A good little girl?”

“Damn right,” he snarls, fingers curling in deep. My back arches. My brain overloads. “You are mine now, my messy little slut, my dirty fucking wife dripping all over my hand. Look at you, flushed red and moaning for me. Tell me you love it.”

“No,” I whimper.

“Say it, or I’ll leave you here in a frustrated puddle.”

“You asshole.” I gasp, digging my fingers into his hair. “I love it. I fucking love it.”

“You’re damn right you do, you filthy fucking girl,” he says and his fingers hit that perfect spot, and I’m gone, I’m finished, I’m all gone. My trigger pulls and I come for him, rolling my hips against his hand, saying his name as I finish in a thunderstorm of bliss.

He makes me suck his fingers clean when I’m done and steps away, staring down at me. I’m in a little nest of designer clothes, heart beating hard, panties and bralette shoved aside.

A total freaking wreck.

“Wear the first one,” he says, turning away. “The navy dress. You looked beautiful.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone in my room.

Dreading what’s going to happen.