6
CRISTIAN
I sit in the back seat, fighting the urge to put my fist through something.
I have half a mind to return to the wedding venue and take this frustration out on Maksim's face.
The memory of his finger trailing down Valentina's skin replays in my mind. Mother fucker.
Valentina sits beside me, uncharacteristically quiet now that we've left the yacht club.
The transformation is unsettling.
Just hours ago, she was laughing with her friends, behaving like a carefree, flirtatious bride-to-be.
I glance over at her. Gone is the giggling schoolgirl who asked me to pick out lingerie, replaced by the serious woman I've seen in her family's strategy meetings.
A woman who commands respect with her sharp intelligence and fierce loyalty to the Dante name.
"You okay?" I break the silence.
She stares straight ahead. "Fine."
But she's not. I can see it in the way her fingers fidget with the hem of her dress.
The dress that nearly got us both killed.
"That was dangerous back there," I say, pushing the button to raise the divider between us and our driver.
He doesn’t need to hear this.
I especially don’t need him reporting it back to Alessandro.
“You’re the one who looked like he’d kill Maksim.” She’s trying to blame me, but her words don’t hold the accusation they suggest, telling me she knows the truth.
Whatever game she was playing today threatened the peace her brother is trying to secure.
"He won't forget that moment," I say, wanting to be sure she understands just how reckless her behavior was. "Men like Maksim don't tolerate defiance, even playful defiance."
Her eyes finally meet mine. "I know exactly what men like Maksim tolerate." In her eyes I see she feels the weight of what awaits her. At the minimum, a life devoid of love.
At worst, violence at the hands of the man who is supposed to cherish her.
I hate Alessandro for agreeing to Maksim’s terms. Surely, he knows what’s in store for her.
No wonder she got all dolled up and acted like a silly young woman with her friends.
This will be the only time she can be a normal twenty-one-year-old woman.
"You should be finishing college, traveling, experiencing life. Not this,” I say, even though it’s not my place to give my opinion.
A bitter smile curves her lips. "Are you saying I'm too young to be a Mob wife, Cristian?"
"I'm saying you're too young to be sold off like property."
She shifts toward me, the movement causing that damned dress to slide higher on her thigh.
My throat tightens as I force my eyes to stay on her face.