Under Control: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance
Under Control: Chapter 22

The mansion is stifling and overwhelming.

Valentin’s busy over the next few days. I visit with my mother once, as promised, but she’s not in the mood to talk about the looming war. Instead, she cooks us lunch and sticks with comfortable, normal gossip about her Mahjong friends.

Aside from that, I’m basically stuck dealing with the Russian soldiers, my bodyguards, and the steady stream of important Bratva members that Valentin’s forced to entertain as he gears up for a fight.

I’m mostly ignored.

At least the house staff is kind to me. They’re deferential, almost a little too deferential, except for Nikkita. The old woman isn’t exactly kind, but she doesn’t treat me like a nuisance anymore at least. I sit in the kitchen with her a few times and watch her cook, and at first it annoys her, but eventually she starts barking orders at me. “If you’re going to stare, you might as well put yourself to work,” she says.

That’s how I learn to make a few basic Russian dishes.

But getting bossed around by an old lady can only do so much, and soon I’m stir-crazy. On Thursday evening, I get dressed like I’m going to work at Stove and Smoke, and slip out the front door before anyone can stop me. The bar isn’t too far away, and even though I’m being followed by a contingent of very nervous criminal thugs, the evening stroll is surprisingly nice.

And the bar feels like coming home. I’m greeted by my manager, who asks when I’m coming back for another shift, and I know half the regulars. I catch sight of my Russian shadows on the phone at a booth looking like they’re about to be sick. I should feel sorry for them, but I really don’t.

“Oh my god, I thought I’d dreamed you, but here you are in the flesh.” Merrick’s sitting at the far end of the bar and his entire body lights up when I take the stool next to him. The bartender, a girl named Ashley, brings me a glass of wine.

“How have things been?” I ask him.

“On my end, completely fine, about the same. But on yours?” He leans in close, smirking ear to ear. “I hear a little congratulations is in order.”

I swirl my drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please, don’t be like that, darling. I know you and that gorgeous Valentin man got hitched. I have little spies all over the city and they whisper in my ear.”

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you spying on me.”

“I’ve seen a lot of you already, darling, don’t you worry about a little bit more.” He raises his martini. “Here’s to a long and happy marriage.”

I refuse to drink to that. “You know we’re neighbors now, right? I moved in with him a little while back.”

“And you haven’t stopped by to say hello?”

“I’ve been, uh—” I hesitate, not sure how to explain my situation.

But good old Merrick comes in with an excuse. “You’ve been busy having a honeymoon experience with the gorgeous Russian criminal. Yes, darling, I understand, getting fucked into a pile of quivering blissful jelly is much nicer than having a chat with boring old me.”

“We’re not, I mean, I’m not—” I stammer at him, and we both end up laughing. Because what’s the use pretending?

I could say a lot of things about Valentin, but I can’t deny that the man absolutely wrecks me in all the best ways.

We talk for a little while. One drink turns to two. Merrick seems very fascinated with my day-to-day life, almost in an unhealthy way, and when I point that out, he only shrugs and wobbles in his seat.

“I don’t know many women married to mysterious wealthy Russians.”

“Many? Or any?”

“Just one at the moment, darling, but I’m on the hunt.”

“I’ll introduce you to a few at some point.”

“Don’t tease.”

I laugh and we fall into our normal banter, almost like I’m back behind the bar instead of leaning my elbows on it. I missed this a lot—before Valentin, working at Stove and Smoke was basically as social as I ever got, and I didn’t realize how much I had enjoyed it.

Now it’s obvious though. This place was like a second home. And ever since I married Valentin, I haven’t been able to come back, mostly because he wants to keep me under house arrest.

I’m about to ask for a third wine when I notice Merrick staring at something over my shoulder. His body’s tense and he’s not smiling anymore, and I follow his gaze.

Valentin’s standing near the doorway, staring at me.

“That man can brood,” Merrick whispers, almost like he’s swooning. “Oh my god, he looks so angry. Is it supposed to be sexy?”

“No, you idiot,” I whisper back but I can see what he means.

Valentin looks like a vengeful god of violence and very rough, very satisfying sex.

He storms over to me. Half the people in the room stare at him, and the other half are too afraid to look. I sit up straight and meet my husband’s glare head-on with a very calm, very polite tilt of my chin.

“You do realize my men are losing their fucking minds over this?” he says instead of greeting me. “What were you thinking, malishka?”

“He has a nickname for you?” Merrick says, almost squealing with delight. “And it’s Russian? My god, I might pass out.”

Valentin’s death stare turns to him. “You should go now, Merrick.”

“Right, yes, of course.” He jumps to his feet.

“Coward,” I hiss at him.

“Guilty.” He throws back his martini. “Valentin, lovely seeing you, please do stop by and look at some of my recent pictures.”

“I will. Go now, Merrick.”

“Good luck,” Merrick mutters at me and hurries off.

Valentin keeps glaring at me like he’s going to grab me by the wrist and drag me outside. Instead, I turn to the bartender, and gesture for that third glass. Ashley looks panicked for a second.

“She’s cut off,” Valentin says.

Ashley clears her throat and looks at me. “I’m sorry, Karine, but you’re cut off.”

“You backstabber,” I say, appalled. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Sorry!” Ashley hurries away and helps some other guests at the far end of the bar.

I turn to my husband, beyond frustrated. “Would you stop scaring off my friends?”

“You need to come home with me now.”

“Why?” I cross my arms. I know I’m being a little dramatic, but I can’t help myself. “I like it here.”

“You aren’t safe.”

“Your shadows are lurking right over there. If anything happens, they’ll protect me.” I gesture at the awkward-looking Russian Bratva thugs squeezed into a tiny booth and looking like they’re waiting outside of a principal’s office for discipline.

“You don’t understand.” He leans in close. I smell his aftershave, a woodsy and musky scent. “It’s bad enough that the Brotherhood wants to exterminate everyone I hold dear. But you’re also putting all the good people of this bar in jeopardy.”

“How’s that?”

“Any man that looks at you wrong, I will break his skull. Do you understand that?”

I laugh sharply and put my hands on his shoulders. I try to push him away, but fail. “You’re such a possessive idiot, you know that?”

“You are my wife. You are the Pakhan’s queen. Don’t you see? You can’t just come into bars like this anymore. You are a representative of my Bratva. But most of all, you are mine.”

I shiver with excitement. It’s a sickness, I’m aware of that, but I love it when he tells me that I’m his.

Because he sounds like he loves it.

That’s the addicting part. He wants to own me because it’s like an impulse he can’t deny. Valentin can’t help himself around me, and I like that I have a power over him.

It’s unhealthy and weird, but the man’s obsessed with me.

And I like it.

“You’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that I’m my own person.” He opens his mouth to say something very controlling and cave-man-ish, and I talk over him. “But I understand what you’re saying, and I realize I’m putting myself in needless danger by coming here. I get it.”

My admission of guilt deflates him very slightly. “Good. I’m glad you understand. Now it’s time to go.”

“Sit with me and have a drink first.”

He bristles. “Karine⁠—”

“Sit down, you asshole. I want to have a drink with my husband in my favorite bar. One drink, and then you can take me into the back and do whatever you want with me.”

His eyes flash pure needy fire as he leans close. “You won’t like it,” he whispers. “Are you sure you want to make this trade?”

I shiver with the promise of something vicious and delightful. “Let’s find out.”

Valentin sits down in Merrick’s seat and asks for a vodka over ice. Ashley meekly refills my wine and brings over Valentin’s drink, and we toast our marriage.

“I don’t like this,” Valentin complains.

“You don’t like sitting with your wife at a bar like a normal man?”

“No, I don’t like that there are men here who can stare at you while you place your mouth on that glass.”

“God, you’re insane. That’s called drinking, you psychopath.”

“Only I should get the pleasure of your lips.”

“Something, I swear to god, I think you’re being crazy just to piss me off.”

He leans in close and his voice drops. “Do you like it? Do you like how much I want you to be only mine?”

I push him away, a thrill running into my stomach. “Be normal for a few minutes. Tell me about your day instead.”

Valentin’s a ball of sexual energy and heat, but he does as requested and talks about meeting with the various heads of the associated families. He talks about building contacts in Baltimore, about putting together a force of soldiers in the city, and about strengthening their defenses at home. I finish my wine and almost wish I hadn’t asked.

“How are you okay with all this?” I ask him, honestly surprised with how easily it seems to come to him. “All this war stuff, it doesn’t seem to upset you at all.”

“This is my world.” He swirls his vodka before throwing it back. “These are my people. I understand that strength is the only way to peace. If I want to avoid further bloodshed, I need to prove that the price of fucking with me is much too high.”

“Speak softly and carry a big stick.”

His eyebrows raise. “Something like that.”

I push my glass away and stand. “Pay the girl,” I tell him. “And tip her well.”

Valentin produces $300 from his wallet and tosses it down. Then he catches my hand and pulls me into him and buries my mouth with a possessive, greedy kiss.

I melt into him. God, this is stupid, but I can’t help myself. His little display of control and dominance kills me and makes me want him all that much more.

“There’s a breakroom,” I whisper. “It’ll be empty.”

“I’m going to pin you against the door, cover your mouth with my hand, and fuck you from behind until you melt all along my thick cock like the filthy, messy girl you are.”

“Oh,” I say, heart racing, unable to form a more coherent response.

“Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His grip is iron as he drags me to the back hall.

But the safe word doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to need it.

He strips me, buries two fingers in my mouth and fucks me rough enough to make me see stars, and there are only two things I can say:

Valentin.

Please.