by Bethany-Kris
Two sets of hands squeezed painfully tight on Viviana’s leg.
“A few months.”
“That is the best time frame the doctor could give, considering his current state. He has a good appetite, has gained weight since coming off the chemo, and besides this, health-wise Mr. Avdonin has done considerably well. But yes, a few months, and at the most if his health remains somewhat well, a year. The cancer is beginning to spread through his blood if the latest blood work is any indication. We think it is best that he does go home, and repeatedly, he’s voiced that very wish.”
Sasha’s broken laugh hurt Viviana to hear. “I would like to see him, please.”
The nurse nodded. “Absolutely, they’re just moving him into a private room now.”
When Anton didn’t immediately move, his arms still locked tight around Viviana while his mother followed behind the nurse, she turned in his grasp. In his eyes, she could see the pain, all the things he didn’t want to say or admit, but she also knew he didn’t have a choice.
Sometimes, those strong men needed an even stronger woman to make them see it.
“I can’t—”
Viviana shook her head, steeling her emotions and frowning. “Go. Right now.”
• • •
“You should tell her.”
Daniil’s voice was so low that Anton strained to hear his father above the beeping monitors. The tube in his lung had been removed two hours before, and after a brief nap induced by something a little stronger than morphine, the sick man was once again awake. Anton’s mother, on the other hand, had finally fallen asleep in the lounging chair in the corner of the room.
Anton had spent the last bit of daylight moving back and forth between his father’s room and the waiting room, allowing the few visitors the hospital agreed could go in. No one who was sick, had been sick, or had come in contact with someone else who might have been sick was allowed in. That cut out well over half of the men.
“Dad …”
“You should,” the older man insisted, before he fell into yet another coughing fit.
Knowing his father wouldn’t want him to fuss over the cough, Anton settled back into his chair with blurred vision and stared at the wall. “Is this Daniil, my father speaking, or Daniil, the man raised by Nicoli and the Bratva?”
“I am one and the same, Ant.”
No, he disagreed. Too many times he’d seen his father’s personality flip a switch when it needed to. Just like his did. Just like Nicoli’s had. There were separate men who lived inside them from the time they walked out of their homes with a gun in their waistband, to the time they walked back in it. The men who handled money made from laundering, drugs, prostitution, trafficking, and anything else illegal were not the same men who laid their wives and children down at night. At least, not in their hearts.
“That’s bullshit.”
“Right now,” Daniil said softly, “I am the same. Dying, yes. Hurting for you, yes. Thinking of the difference it may make to the Bratva, yes. And I do not think telling Viviana the truth will hurt them a bit. The Cosa Nostra are a different story. It may make her reconsider a few things—”
“Me,” Anton interrupted sharply, ignoring the wince his father responded with. “It will damn well make her reconsider me, Dad.”
Once more, wetness slipped down his cheeks, betraying him. Anton didn’t cry. He just didn’t. Fuck, his chest hurt like nothing else at just the thought of what could happen if Viviana knew the truth that had been hidden from her for years. It damn near killed him when he found out, but it didn’t make a difference to the things he already felt for her.
“He was clear on his instructions,” Anton muttered, wiping at his face and hiding it from view. “Nicoli didn’t want her to know for her own safety and because she already loved Roman. If she figured it out, that was different. Don’t tell me she wouldn’t stop and think for a moment if that was the only reason why I wanted her married to me; she absolutely would.”
“You’re not giving her enough credit.”
“I love her. I won’t have her believe my desire to marry her is based on whose blood runs through her veins and past mistakes. I won’t fucking do it, and you better not, either.”
Daniil’s chest rattled and Anton immediately felt guilty for pulling the boss rank on his father. This was the time when he should have been nothing more than a worried, saddened son.
That didn’t matter though, because switches got flipped.
They just did.
He would always be Boss first, and Anton second.
• • •
Golden whiskey swirled in the glass as Anton placed the tumbler back down to his desk. After his mother refused to come home and midnight began to approach, he’d found Viviana sleeping with her head on the shoulder of one of her bulls before he took his love home.
They didn’t say a thing on the drive. He white knuckled the steering wheel while pretty brown eyes watched him, all wary and concerned. At his insistence, she showered and readied for bed, but Anton hadn’t joined her when she slipped under their sheets well over an hour before.
The time on his cell phone blinked 2 A.M. The device crashed into the wall seconds later, glass from the screen splintering to the floor. Too much time and too many things on his mind led Anton to the worst place possible.
One glass of whiskey followed two, then three. Three quarters of the bottle was downed and the heavy buzz had settled around his heart and senses. When his fists cracked into the oak of his desk, teeth clenching, the quiet whine of Rocco outside of the office told him he wasn’t quite so alone anymore.
“Fuck,” Anton hissed, watching red bloom so painfully sweet across his knuckles.
Then, the softest knock had him sighing. Despite his rules about the office, Viviana opened the door and slipped in without his permission. Crossing the floor in silence, he found her hands curving up under the suit jacket he still wore. Her mouth trailed gently over his shoulder before her lips pressed to the side of his throat. He swallowed thickly.
“What is it?” Viviana asked. “I’ve been listening to you for the last hour and a half.”
“Nothing. Go back to bed.”
“Are you coming, too?”
Anton scowled at the ceiling, avoiding her gaze. “Not right now.”
“Are you coming at all?”
That stopped his breath up short. “Excuse me?”
“You’d always be there with me in the morning, that’s what you said. But you’re just about ready to drink yourself to sleep in here by the looks of it, and I’ll wake up alone. What’s wrong, Anton? It’s more than just your dad, right?”
“I said it was—”
“Stop lying to me!”
The hurt in her tone rang so clear to him, but his anger had risen, too. Anger for lying, anger for hiding, and anger for not being strong enough to tell her the truth because of his own selfish fears.
“What do you want me to say? You don’t know what it’s like to hide this shit from you. I acted like a shitty son to my father earlier when all he wanted to do was help me! To help us!”
At the widening of her eyes, Anton realized what he had blurted out in his drunkenness. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I’m just … tired, Vine. Really.”
“Bullshit. I thought you were upset over Daniil, but clearly it’s something else, too. This isn’t the first time you’ve hid something from me. Do you think by omitting it, it’s not a lie?”
“You don’t know a damn—”
An opened hand struck his jaw with aimed precision. Fire burned through those beautiful eyes of hers. The faintest trace of blood skimmed over his tongue. Oh, fuck, her slap stung like a son of a bitch. That was just about the last thing Anton expected her to do.
“Don’t tell me that. Don’t ever tell me what I don’t know when you won’t speak to me. You wanted me just as I was, remember?”
Fists clenched at his sides, anger exhaling fro
m the strangled breath he released. The air seemed to turn a little thicker when she looked up at him so openly unhappy with tears brimming. “You going to hit me back now, put me in my place and show me how to behave, Anton?”
“No.”
Never, his mind screamed, but he was awfully goddamn angry.
His dick was as hard as a rock and his mind was hazy with whiskey, so when her fingers started loosening up those buttons on his dress shirt, switches just flipped all over again. He had her ass up on the edge of his desk in a second. The glass of whiskey and opened liquor bottle skidded across the desk before falling to the floor, sending glass shards scattering and golden liquor pooling at his shoes. A laptop and lamp crashed to the floor as well.
Sweet kisses dotted the side of his mouth before her teeth cut into his jaw, her fingers scoring lines down his throat with sharp nails. Fuck, he’d take feeling anything from her at that point. If it was hurt she wanted him to feel, Anton was already filled.
“This is what you needed?” Viviana demanded, popping the buttons on his shirt. When his mouth came dangerously close to hers with a growl forming at the back of his throat, she bit out at him. “Come on, then. Fuck me.”
Anton ached. From his chest, to his cock, to his heart, it damn well throbbed. “Jesus—”
“There’s no God here, only me.” Tears slipped over her trembling lips as Viviana looked up through her lashes and frowned. “But that’s just what you want, right?”
Another drag of her nails across his bare middle had Anton shuddering. And he gave it back just as hard, forcing her thighs wider, knowing it had to have burned. She only tilted her head back to expose the silken flesh of her neck and sighed. That shirt of his she wore had nothing underneath it, just her bare sex on the wood of his desk, wetness seeping from her pink pussy, and she reached down to spread those silken lips open for him.
“You’re not even sorry, are you?”
“What do you want me to say?” he ground out, teeth gnashing on the words.
Her gaze met his bluntly. “Don’t treat me like the woman you don’t want me to be.”
Raven hair twisted in his fist, tugging her head back so he could watch her face for just a moment. There wasn’t a lick of fear there, no hesitation or worry. A ragged exhale left his lungs in the most painful way. The smell of whiskey washed over her lips and jaw as her hands started working at the belt and zipper of his pants.
“Can you even say it to me?” Viviana said, voice wavering.
“Sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
When his cock was buried balls deep, her nails clawed into his back, and glass crunched under his shoes. Finally, he felt like he was home. Viviana whined a sound that was so full but airless at the same time, her lashes fluttering along his neck.
“Love you,” Anton whispered. “You know I do.”
Their love was the only thing his lies didn’t own.
Chapter Ten
Viviana woke to warm lips trailing a burning path from the corner of her mouth across to her cheek. There were fingers between her thighs, teasing lines over the sensitive lips of her pussy, making her body feel alive and revving to go. The scent of stale whiskey and lingering cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air.
Ignoring the way her body wanted to respond to Anton’s touches was an impossible task. When her hips rolled into his hand almost involuntarily, and fingers slipped in between her folds to thrust up knuckle deep, her gasp couldn’t be contained. With skilled precision, he found her g-spot and curled his digits, making fluid gush between her legs at the touch. A thumb flicked up to press at her aching clit, rolling gentle circles over the nub and making her jerk into his body.
“Mmm, you’re so fucking wet and ready for me,” he hushed in her ear, burying his face into her neck. He suckled and kissed, teeth nipping with a faint sting determined to bring Viviana from her sleeping stupor. “Wake up just a little more for me, baby. Open those pretty eyes so I can watch them when you come.”
Unfortunately, the couch they’d fallen asleep on in his office wasn’t the most comfortable spot, considering something was digging into her back in the worst damned way. It made focusing on his motions and voice a little difficult.
“Stop.”
He froze immediately, withdrawing from her sex. “I just thought …”
Viviana’s eyes popped open at the barely hidden quake in his voice. More than once he’d woken her up in that very same way, heating her body to a fever, chuckling dark and deep when she shook and came so surprised and relieved. Their frustrations from the night before weren’t what urged her to stop him, but she could understand how he would misinterpret it in that way. She found his cheek pressed to hers, gaze trained downward, and those wet fingers of his were now grasping roughly to her thigh with a shake he couldn’t quite hide. Whatever he must have felt, it was a little more than disappointment at her refusal, and it probably tasted a lot like shame.
“No, that’s … I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You’d have every right to.”
Yeah, she probably would. If the night before was any indication of the kinds of arguments she could expect in the future, she hoped to hell she’d get a decent time lapse in between them. The physical tax it took was nothing compared to the emotional toll. In fact, while her scalp still stung from where he’d grabbed her hair, and every muscle in her body was screaming for a hot bath, none of that made a difference to the heavy weight on her heart.
“Look at me, please.” Those blue eyes of his lifted, but she sensed how hard it was for him to do it. The bloodshot gaze he leveled on her said he likely wasn’t feeling too well, either. “Do you even remember how much you drank or what you said? Did you mean it?”
He wet his lips, drawing her gaze to the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed with an audible sound. “Mean what, because I said a lot of things.”
“Any of it. All of it. Give me something, Anton.”
The afghan blanket that covered them was twisted in his hands. He tugged it up around her shoulders a little tighter. Wrapping his naked legs with hers, it caused the hard length of his erection to press to her stomach, and made his morning desire known.
“A lot of my business is done under the influence of strong liquor with men who could drink me under the table. I try not to say things I don’t mean, even if I’m acting like a stupid fool. Otherwise, it could lead to nowhere good.”
“Try not to,” she echoed quietly.
“Yes, try. And most times I failed miserably, so I’ve taken to using one of Nicoli’s old tricks where my alcohol is watered down significantly without anyone else knowing. While others are stumbling drunk by the end of the evening, I still have my head clear when I need it most. It might break our code, but drinking too much often leads to guns being brought out when they don’t need to be, or fists flying. Makes for messy situations I only have to clean up later.”
Viviana wanted to smile at his admission, but the sadness in his eyes and tone rang clear. “But?”
“Mistakes happen,” he said. “Would you like to know why Nicoli began having his liquor watered down?”
“Shoot.”
“Exactly, shoot. Or, a shooting to be precise. One that took away his wife.”
Air caught painfully in her throat. “Oh.”
Anton hummed a miserable sound, frowning. “My grandmother used to enjoy being a part of whatever dealings she could that he would allow. Usually it was the loudness and Russian culture that kept her going with him. The atmosphere gets a little rowdy, especially with the older generation. He always said it reminded her of home.”
“You drinking out of anger isn’t okay. Especially if it’ll lead to another repeat of last night. You were hiding things and I let it go, but I expect an explanation Anton. Last night … that bothers me.”
It truly did. More often than she could remember, too much liquor led to issues in her own family. Everyone always felt things needed to be celebrated with some kind of al
cohol, be it babies, dealings, or whatever. No one ever seemed to know their limits. Things were said that couldn’t be taken back. Grudges were held. Stupid, little things that led to bigger issues. Viviana didn’t want to handle that with Anton, too.
“I keep any social drinking at home, and only with people I most trust, like Ivan. Last night was brought on by something else entirely.”
“That’s not my point. And you didn’t explain yourself.”
“I know,” he replied, just as softly. “I understand what you’re saying. I’m telling you I hear you, Viviana. I need you to trust me when I say I will tell you. I’m not hiding it purposely, I just can’t right now.”
“I’m not okay with that, either.”
“I know, but it’s the best I can give.” Anton sighed before rubbing a hand over his face. “There’s also the issue of drugs, I suppose. They float in and out of my businesses more than water, but I haven’t touched a chemical in years, not since I was doing my rounds as a brigadier and in need of something to keep me awake and aware for Nicoli’s calls and nonsense. It didn’t matter, though, because every single time Nicoli noticed the high in my eyes, his disappointment was the first thing to be voiced.”
“Years?” Viviana asked, wanting his confirmation on that again.
“Like I said, chemical wise, no. Remember that night in Barbados with my smoke kissing your lips? You took my shotgun hits like a pro.”
Oh damn, just the way he voiced that old memory sent her lust in a tailspin. Viviana managed to nod; a little bit of weed was the last of her concerns. Something akin to memories and excitement skimmed over her skin like a dancing, rolling hum. That night was the first time she’d ever tried pot, but certainly not the last. Many of her firsts had been given to the man beside her.
“That’s a rare pleasure, and I keep it very private,” he said.
“I’m okay with that, on occasion.”
He grinned slyly and she felt her own form in response. “Good to know.”
“And thank you,” Viviana added, her voice above a whisper.