Scandalous Prince

by Rachel Van Dyken

  And I wanted to be done with them.

  All of them.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror: green eyes, light blond hair with threads of gold intertwined like an actual crown on my head. And when I took off my shirt. All I seemed to be able to focus on was the hidden sickle tattoo on my chest.

  And the name Petrov etched beneath it.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself against the counter, muscles flexing as I finally turned around and stripped off my pants.

  The scars on my thighs were light, hardly noticeable unless you were touching my marred skin, and easily hidden by the necessary tattoo on my right thigh where the scarring was the worst.

  People only saw what they wanted to see.

  Even people you loved.

  With clenched teeth, I went into the shower and let the searing water run over my back, and then I slumped to the tiled floor and sat. Tears of frustration filled my eyes as the water soon turned cold.

  “The only way…” he said. “Breaker Campisi must die.”

  “Why? Why kill him?” I demanded.

  “Because…” He sighed. “Valerian Petrov must live, and as long as Breaker’s alive, you’re in danger—you made your choice then, you must make your choice now.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ll do it. I’ll kill him.”

  He sighed like he was relieved when I felt like puking all over his Armani shoes. “Good choice.”

  Couldn’t he see that I was shaking? Couldn’t he see that I’d already done the unthinkable in order to save her? Her eyes had begged me to just get it over with.

  I’d thought to prevent the horror.

  Instead, I was the one who had delivered it.

  And because of that one choice, I’d damned us both without realizing it. I wondered if he had, though. I wondered if it was truly convenient that I was there that night, or if it was something else entirely. And one day, I would ask. One day, I would find out if this was a setup from the very beginning by the very men who had demanded this of me.

  The greatest betrayal of all.

  I slammed my hands against the shower floor and then rose to my full height, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around me.

  I looked haunted. My cheeks were gaunt and sunken, dark circles were visible under my eyes.

  “Breaker Campisi,” I whispered. “May he rest in peace. Blood in. No out.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Her tears were like acid on my tongue, burning my body, seizing my lungs, and still, I held her despite the pain; in fact, I welcomed the feeling as if it were rain. —Valerian Petrov

  Violet

  I hated him.

  I hated Valerian.

  I didn’t want him touching me.

  I didn’t want him consoling me.

  I didn’t want him trying to cheer me up or even trying to pretend to understand how deep my grief went.

  But there was no escaping him.

  Or my brother, who wouldn’t stop calling or texting. I got it. He was worried, but I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t let the words out. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop crying again.

  So I clung to the anger.

  Even that next morning as I lay in bed, stayed there and just stared at the wall, I could smell Valerian, I could feel his presence in that house like I was being haunted by his ghost when he was at the office doing whatever Russian mob bosses did during the day.

  I hated him for making me feel bat shit crazy.

  Because I did.

  Not only was it hard to breathe in and out—but he twisted my hair like Breaker did, his eyes were a more brilliant green than Breaker’s, but I’d only ever seen him under the shadow of night.

  Our wedding.

  And both checker games, he donned a mask that covered most of his face. But his mouth, it was familiar to me.

  That mouth was mine.

  And I hated him for looking like Breaker even a little bit.

  And I hated him for still being alive when Breaker was dead.

  I gripped the dagger in my right hand until my fingers went numb, and I stayed that way despite Sancto trying to get me out of bed or trying to get me to eat.

  I lay there and waited for my vengeance.

  I would kill Valerian Petrov.

  This had started with him.

  And it would end with me.

  A single tear ran down my cheek as footsteps neared. The door opened, and then he was there.

  I could feel him, but it wasn’t my Breaker. It was Valerian, a man who spoke English with a Russian accent, spoke the Russian language fluently, lived in a castle on the water, and had his own throne, his own people to rule.

  I just wanted to go home.

  But I couldn’t, not if I was still married to him.

  So, I would eliminate him.

  It would be my first kill.

  I would be made after this.

  Bloodlust filled my line of vision as the floorboards creaked. He moved over to my side of the bed and sat. “You should eat.”

  “Déjà vu,” I whispered, and then I jerked the knife out from under the pillow aiming for his chest.

  The knife missed his heart and embedded a half-inch into his right pectoral.

  He stumbled back, his eyes cold as he slowly jerked the knife out of his skin and threw it to the floor. I dove for it, missing it when he shoved me out of the way.

  “Violet.” He held up his hands while I kept charging toward him.

  With a scream, I aimed for him. Even though I no longer had a weapon, I had my fists. Let him feel what it was like to bleed from the inside out, to burn and feel the flames lick your wounds until you were paralyzed with agony so unimaginable it hurt to breathe.

  “Stop.”

  “This is all your fault!” I screamed. “At the club, he could have saved me, I know he could have! Instead, you saved me when I didn’t want to be saved! I would rather have been fucked by a complete stranger than be tied to you!”

  He flinched, but I couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop trying to attack him. It was like someone else was controlling my body.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Violet.” His eyes narrowed. “But if a fight’s what you want…” He rolled up his shirtsleeves like it was normal for his wife to pull a knife on him, and then he picked it up and handed it back to me. “Have at me.”

  “You don’t even have a weapon,” I hissed.

  He smiled that perfect smile that reminded me of Breaker, at least the parts I could see. “I don’t need a weapon.”

  “Don’t insult me,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Fight me.” He crooked his fingers at me. “I dare you.”

  So, I charged again.

  This time he hit the knife out of my hand before I could get close enough, and then he was dodging each punch and kick, protecting himself, but refusing to hit me.

  Why did I want to be hit?

  To feel the pain?

  I’d never been that person.

  I always watched in the background while Serena lost her mind when Junior or my brother taunted her.

  I knew how to fight, but I’d never needed to—because I’d had him, Breaker, my own personal weapon.

  Now I had nothing.

  I was naked without him.

  Defenseless.

  Pain that was somehow both searing and icy surged, filling the Breaker-sized void in my soul.

  Swirling black mists of emptiness.

  He left me.

  “Fight me back!” I yelled, landing a punch to his solar plexus.

  His nostrils flared. “You want pain, or do you want pleasure? Either way, you will learn your lesson. Nobody pulls a knife on me in my own home, not even my grief-stricken wife.”

  “Stop calling me your wife.” I went to kick with my right leg. He grabbed it and then threw my body onto the ground, stealing my breath completely from my lungs as I gasped for air.

  “Pleasure or pain?” he demanded throug
h clenched teeth.

  I squirmed beneath him. “Get any closer, and I’m biting your ear off.”

  He laughed. The bastard laughed like he was entertained! “You’re more than welcome to try.”

  And then he pinned my arms above my head. “Hmmm, this might be difficult with a mask on…”

  “Take it off, and I’m closing my eyes.” I squeezed them shut.

  I didn’t want to see his face.

  I didn’t want to see how human he was.

  Right now, he was a faceless man who had tricked me.

  A man in a mask who’d married me under the cover of night.

  If he took off the mask, it would be real.

  All of this.

  “It’s off,” he whispered.

  The clunk of it landing and the hiss as it slid across the floor attested to the truth of his words.

  “So, if you’re still afraid to stare at your future head-on, by all means, keep your eyes closed…”

  I kicked under him.

  He had me pinned and completely at his mercy. “You want a do-over, Violet? Is that it? You want to go back to that night and take everything back?”

  Memories washed over me.

  Of his taste.

  Of how tender he was.

  How he had tried to trick them.

  And how he’d failed miserably.

  “I’m not having sex with you.” I gritted my teeth. “So get that idea out of your head.”

  “I never asked.” His voice was hoarse and yet tender. “You’re upset, you’re grieving, you want to pick a fight, you want to blame someone. You have to; otherwise, it doesn’t make sense, and if that needs to be me, then so be it, but killing me isn’t going to bring Breaker back from the dead, Violet. Killing only takes more of your soul away from this earth. Believe me, I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  He ignored my question. “Let me fix that night. Give me a do-over, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Sex isn’t going to fix us. It isn’t going to bring him back either,” I whispered as his mouth came down on my neck.

  His tongue was like velvet.

  And then his teeth grazed my neck where his tongue had been, a small bite followed by another sent pain zinging all over my body.

  Breathless, I craved more.

  “I won’t make you beg,” he hissed. “But you need it. Pain cancels out pain, so let me give you both.”

  “I don’t trust you.” I swallowed the lump of grief that refused to go away, heartache that just permanently set up residence in my throat. “I will never trust you.”

  And as he held me there, the haze of hatred slowly lifted, the haze of confusion dissipated. Only his warm hard body pressing me into the floor existed.

  And then it occurred to me why he didn’t need a weapon, his body was the weapon, and it was cutting like a just-sharpened ax as I tried to ignore my own response.

  I was disgusted with myself.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  Minutes ago, I had been going to kill him, and now just the feeling of him on top of me sent my body into overdrive.

  The memory of his kiss.

  My chest heaved as his mouth very gently met mine in a soft kiss that had me reaching for him, eyes still closed, my hands came into contact with smooth skin on his cheeks.

  No scars.

  And yet I still couldn’t open my eyes.

  I was a coward.

  Afraid to look at my future.

  Afraid of the empty spot where Breaker should have been standing, afraid to admit it, to look at it.

  “Violet.” His voice was deep, his accent thick. “If you need to keep fighting, I’ll be here to fight back. If rage is how you want to grieve, then rage it is—but promise me one thing.”

  I trembled as one finger traced my jawline so tenderly that I wanted to cry. “What is it?”

  “Give me four nights before you make any decisions, and at the end of those four nights—if you want to go back to Chicago and stay… I’ll let you.”

  “Oh, you’ll let me?” I snorted, jerking my head away from him.

  “Violet, we’re married, there is no getting out of that, but if you need to go, and you need me to stay… I’ll make that sacrifice.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Like I said,” he whispered in my ear, his lips tickling the flesh there. “Four nights—four nights where I’ll try my hardest to win your body and your soul as Valerian Petrov.”

  I frowned. Why was he saying it like that?

  He was waiting for my answer, but all I kept focusing on was the fact that I could go home. Back to what was familiar, back to the way things had been before they were broken.

  “Just four nights,” I repeated. “What about the days?”

  “Yours to do with as you please as long as you get out of bed, eat some food, and stop hiding weapons under your pillow.”

  “You have a gun under yours.” I jutted my chin out.

  “Touché,” he whispered. “But it’s not because I’m planning on going Dateline on your ass. It’s to protect you from my enemies.”

  “Got a lot of those? Shocker,” I snapped.

  “Well, apparently, I need to add wife to that list since she just tried to stab me in the heart. Your aim was off, by the way.”

  “I still drew blood,” I pointed out.

  “That you did.” He sighed. “So, do we have a deal?”

  I gulped. Was I really willing to give him four nights? Four nights really wasn’t anything… And then I could go home.

  Four nights, and I’d return to my family.

  And bury my best friend.

  “Deal, but—”

  His mouth devoured my sentence, his hands dug into my hair, his tongue invaded, dominating—both promising and threatening.

  And then his heat was gone.

  His mouth.

  His body.

  “Open your eyes,” he ordered in a stern voice.

  And when I did, the mask was back as if it had never come off, and his eyes were lingering on my mouth like he wanted to kiss me again.

  I fought to keep my hate in place, along with my grief. I needed someone to blame; that was the only capacity in which I needed Valerian Petrov.

  I stared straight ahead at his chest, then frowned; a button was undone so I could see the top of a massive chest tattoo or what appeared like one.

  I reached out. He jerked and stepped back, holding up a hand as though to ward me off. “If the shirt comes off, so does the mask.”

  “Which one?” I challenged. “I’m sure you have several metaphorical masks, right? As a boss, you’d have to.”

  He flinched and then started twisting the giant ring on his finger, the one that showed the world who ruled it.

  Him.

  “You know, if you could just stop being so fucking stubborn for one second…” His accent thickened. “…you’d realize you need me, Violet.”

  “Need you?” I scoffed. “For what?”

  He twirled my hair with one of his fingers and then twirled again, jerking me toward him until we were chest to chest. “Be smarter, Vi.”

  “Be crueler, Valerian.”

  “Don’t tempt me to fuck some sense into you. At least maybe then you’d stop crying, stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is a tough world, Vi, and I need you to be the person that—” He stopped himself and looked away. “I need you to be Chase Abandonato’s daughter, not Breaker Campisi’s ex-lover, do you understand me? You have a job now, and that doesn’t disappear just because he’s dead, just like the danger you’re in even now doesn’t disappear because you need a minute to grieve.” He stepped toward the door. “Dry your eyes. I’ll give you five minutes before I come back. Our first night starts now.”

  Leaving me with a mouth that had gone dry as a freaking desert.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In all my nightmares, I never imagined this outcome, in all my days living, I never understood the true
meaning of hell—until she said his name. —Valerian Petrov

  Valerian

  “She fucking stabbed me,” I hissed into the phone. “So don’t tell me to calm down and that everything’s going to work out.”

  “You took a blood oath, Valerian.” He sighed. “One you can’t get out of. At least the evidence was destroyed. Imagine if Chase got his hands on that video? Do you realize how reckless that was? How damning?”

  “No,” I said sarcastically. “Please tell me while I clean up the flesh wound delivered by the woman sleeping next to me at night. By all means, continue your lecture.”

  He chuckled. “At least she’s not boring.”

  “She’s never been boring,” I said defensively. “Look, I asked her for a few more days. I’ll personally deliver her for the funeral, and then she can make her choice.”

  “So, until then, you’re just going to what? Play fucking house?” He wasn’t amused by my need for more time.

  “I need more time before I tell her.” I rested my forehead against the wall while he sighed heavily on the other end. “I need more time before I tell her I killed Breaker. Please.”

  “You have your four days. Bring her for the funeral, maybe they’ll let you give the eulogy.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.” He always did find himself hilarious when he was the exact opposite of funny—bastard was too terrifying to be anything but a monster.

  I checked my watch. Five minutes had passed, and at least now, I wasn’t bleeding. Damn that dagger had aimed true, hadn’t it? Truer than I’d wanted to admit to her.

  I didn’t think Violet had it in her. Ever.

  That was why you never trusted women in the mafia. They were scrappy, beautiful, cunning black widows that would sink their poison into you the minute you orgasm, bringing you to the brink of death while you begged them for it.

  I walked back up the stairs, blindfold in hand, my mask firmly in place, because even I wasn’t dumb enough to think she’d accept this life, accept me just yet.

  Violet was standing in the middle of the room, close to where I had left her. She had a pair of black silk sleep shorts on and a matching cami. Her hair was pulled away from her face, and she had her hands on her hips like she was lecturing the air in front of her.

  “Knock, knock…” I grinned.