The Don and His Russian Bride

X

Trigger warning. The beginning of this chapter holds thoughts of self harm.

I had never imagined harming myself until I came to Sicily. Not when my father told me my mother's death in childbirth was my fault, not when he sent me away to boarding school, and definitely not when Viktor Morozov didn't call me back the morning after he took my virginity.

I made it through all those shitty events in my life without considering what it would be like to put an end to my life. Even staying at the mansion with Luciano for the past few weeks, suicide never seemed like the best solution. I may have wanted to end his life at times, but never mine.

Somehow, sitting alone in a car with Luciano, I reached my breaking point. Luciano's silence drove me to wonder about death. Afterall, it could be the freedom that I've been hoping for.

Crystal clear water surrounded the mountainous island of Sicily. As we drove along a winding road, the uneven terrain of the island rested beyond the left side of the car while violent waves crashed against the coast's rocky peaks just below my window.

While Luciano directed his gaze onto the road ahead, mine strayed to the silver door handle within my reach. I wondered how long it would take me to unbuckle my seatbelt and throw open the door. My actions would be so unexpected, Luciano wouldn't have enough time to react. Without the chance for Luciano to stop me, I could jump off the edge into a free fall.

When I reach the bottom, the jutted rocks will puncture my chest. I imagined being impaled would cause excruciating pain— but only for a second. After the initial impact, all my present troubles would be nonexistent.

The image in my head led me to question Luciano's possible response. Would he scream at the sudden loss of his wife? Would it pain him to watch my blood streaming down onto the rocks? Perhaps he wouldn't care at all. I pictured him bagging me up like any other one of his victims. How long would it be before he searched for a new bride?

My fingertips brushed against the silver handle. They slid across the smooth, cold surface before pulling back as if they had been burned. I placed my hand back onto my lap, clenching it into a fist. My questions didn't need their answers today.

"You don't always have to be so tense when you're around me," Luciano said. He could sense how I was practically itching to get away from him. The car ride was becoming the longest time we sat in such close proximity to each other since our wedding day.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be tense around you."

Luciano's fingers tapped against the steering wheel. "I'm your husband."

"I never wanted you to be."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Why should I? Marrying you was the last thing I wanted, yet now I'm bound to you until death." I coughed to cover the way my voice cracked on the word death. The morbid reality of my thoughts were catching up to me.

Luciano took his eyes off the road to glance at me. Whether I tried to hide it or not, he was trained to notice even the most miniscule twitch in his adversaries. Though he caught onto my discomfort with the topic, he didn't call me out on it. Instead, he redirected his attention back onto the road.

"I'm not certain I benefited from the arrangement either," he grumbled before checking the rearview mirror. "How about you give me one good reason why you should be tense."

"Easy. You kill people for a living."

"If that were true, I would be a mercenary or a hitman. I'm not either of those."

"Are you telling me you haven't killed anyone?" I crossed my arms, looking him up and down. He couldn't deny the brutality necessary for his line of work.