Perfect Monster: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance (The Oligarchs)

The sun cast long shadows across the bunker’s parking lot. The low, modernist building that sat above ground took on a whole new context now that I realized how deep the whole place went.

“You’re quiet. I thought you’d like being up here.” Roman watched me carefully. He leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed.

“Fresh air’s not bad, but you don’t do anything for no reason.”

“Maybe making you happy is reason enough.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“You shouldn’t. I love that little smile of yours and the sounds you make as you come.”

“That’s not really the same thing as caring about my feelings, you know.”

He sighed and looked out across the driveway. Several of his men roamed the manicured trees and bushes with rifles slung over their shoulders like soldiers on patrol. I felt both intensely exposed and protected all at once—a feeling I was starting to get used to with him.

“Have you thought more about my offer?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re full of shit.”

He didn’t react at all. “I know that already.”

“But I’ll do it.”

That got his attention. He slowly turned to me and ran a hand through that perfectly imperfect hair, his tongue rolling over his lips.

“You’re going to play along? Follow directions? Obey orders?”

“But firs you’re going to promise me something.”

“I already offered you anything, little doll.”

I grimaced and looked down into my lap. “From now on, you’ll protect anyone I want for as long as I’m alive.”

He let out a surprised breath. I still couldn’t meet his eye. There was too much desire there, too much anger and need all mixed together.

“Protect anyone you want for as long as you live. That’s a very big ask.”

“You said anything.”

He stepped toward me. I looked up sharply.

But he was smiling slightly. “And I meant it. I’ll give you that. Anyone you want, as many as you want, for as long as you live. But after this, there will be no more deals. You’ll be mine, Cassie. My wife.”

I nodded slowly. I understood the deal I was making: protection for Winter and anyone else in exchange for my own soul.

And my body.

Because that day down at the pool, that wouldn’t be the last time.

I knew it and he knew it.

“I understand. Husband.”

Another quirk of his lips. A butterfly thrill sparked in my stomach.

“Say that again.”

“Husband.”

He came closer. I backed away from him and raised my hands. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“You’re my wife now. I should be allowed to take my husbandly rights.”

“This isn’t ancient Rome you dick. You don’t have any husbandly rights.”

“Then you should want to give me anything I ask. What feels good to me will feel good to you.”

“Save it. I’ll play your games, but I’m not giving you anything more.”

He shook his head, teeth flashing, as he turned and walked down the porch steps. “Come with me, wife.”

I hesitated. “Where are we going?”

“We have a meeting to attend.”

I looked back at the door behind me and groaned. I almost wished I could go back inside and hide out in my little room for a while until I fully digested what this deal really meant for me, but he wasn’t slowing down, so I followed him around the front of the hose and toward a large garage in the back.

“You know I don’t do cars,” I called out.

He waved that off. “We’re not taking a car.”

I slowed and refused to follow him further. He disappeared inside and a moment later the right garage door slowly began to open.

My jaw fell open.

It was a motorcycle. Black and red and silver, sleek and shiny. The word Triumph was written on the side with the bottom of the R swooping down to cross the H at the far end. Two helmets sat on the seat, both of them matte black.

He walked over and straddled the front, holding one helmet under his arm and the other out toward me.

“Get on.”

I stared at him and burst out laughing.

He didn’t smile, only stared at me. I shook my head and almost doubled over. It took a few seconds before I regained my composure. “You’re joking, right? I can’t get in a car and you think I’ll ride a motorcycle.”

“Motorcycle isn’t a car. You’re enclosed in a car, trapped inside. I don’t know what happened to you, but clearly that’s part of the problem.”

My laughter died on my lips. “You’re being serious.”

“Get on the back, wife. We’re running late.”

“No way in hell.”

He gave me an exasperated look. “If you can’t handle it, I’ll stop. But you can ride your regular bike, so you can ride on the back of this one. Now come over here, put on this helmet, and do your duty.”

I clamped down on my anger retort and glared at him. I hated that he had a good point—I could ride my beach cruiser and a motorcycle wasn’t all that different.

Except it was sleek and fast and expensive-looking and he was the one driving.

“I’m going to die,” I said, walking over. I accepted the helmet. He pulled his down over his face. “I’m really going to die. This is going to kill me.”

“Get on.”

I shoved the helmet down over my hair. It was hot but soft and fit me perfectly.

I climbed onto the back, straddling it. He put a hand on my thigh.

“Closer.”

I leaned forward, wrapped my arms around his waist, and hugged him tight.

“Good. Now, lean when I turn. Not too much, but don’t fight it. Understood?”

“Now I have to lean? Oh god, I’m really going to die.”

“Hold on.”

He kicked the engine and it roared to life.

God it was loud. The bike purred between my legs and I let out a little squeal of fear and surprise. I hugged him tighter, my hands gripping his muscular chest and abs. He might’ve been laughing, I couldn’t tell, because the bike leapt forward and we began to roll down the driveway. His men stared as he went past and the gate rolled back as we approached. Roman turned into traffic and rode fast, the bike churning and belching loudly, and it took all my energy not to scream.

But I didn’t freak out. He was right—I didn’t feel the panic like I had the last time I was in a car with him. Instead, my fear was totally normal, but even that began to loosen up as he drove expertly through Jersey City, heading toward the bridge to Manhattan. Once we were riding over the water, I stared out at the city and down at the setting sun glittering off the gently lapping waves, and my grip loosened slightly, but I stayed tucked up against his back, his strong and warm back.

It was beautiful and exhilarating. I hated that I liked it, despised that he was right and I’d have to admit it, but I couldn’t deny how good it felt to be on the back of this bike as we drifted along with traffic into New York, the wind moving over the exposed skin on my hands and neck and blowing my hair back.

Once we reached Manhattan, he wove through traffic until he pulled up in front of a massive skyscraper. I didn’t know New York very well and didn’t recognize the building, but evidently it was our destination. Roman killed the engine, got off, and tossed the keys to a big man in all black that approached from the front door.

“Park it nearby. Bring it when I’m done.”

“Yes, boss.” The man looked at me as I took off my helmet and shook my hair out.

Roman stared too.

“What?”

He nodded to the big guy. “Give the helmet to Igor.”

I handed it over. Igor barely made eye contact. He was all neck and head and torso.

I followed Roman into the building. It was a normal office skyscraper, or at least it seemed normal. I didn’t know much about New York real estate and had no clue if this place was nice. I had no clue if I was dressed appropriately or not in a pair of black slacks and a Gucci blouse with a bow at the throat, though Roman didn’t seem particularly dressed up either—dark designer jeans, black Henley shirt with the top two buttons undone.

He didn’t speak as we rode the elevator to the penultimate floor and stepped out into a hushed, carpeted waiting room. The sign on the wall read Berkman, Briar, and Bellsworth and the woman behind the front desk smiled blandly.

“They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Briar.”

“Thank you, Jane.” Roman strode past her.

“Mr. Briar?”

“One of my many names.”

“I didn’t realize you had more than one.”

“You don’t know me well yet.”

“Guess we’ll have to solve that, since I’m your wife and all.”

“We’ll see.”

I rolled my eyes. He liked being all mysterious and whatever.

We reached a conference room halfway down the hall and he opened the door. I recognized some of the men from the party sitting around the table. The air was heavy with silence and tension, and two distinct camps were set up on either side of the room.

The Russians were at the far end. Big Slavic-looking guys with light eyes and pale skin and bland, dark clothes. The Italians were at the opposite end, dark hair and dark skin with fancy business suits and scowls.

It was like a schoolyard fight was about to break out, except these men were all armed to the teeth.

“Gentlemen,” Roman said as we took his place at the head of the table. I took a seat toward the back wall and folded my hands in my lap, doing my best to disappear, but I noticed more than a few of men stared in my direction.

“I’m happy you showed, Roman,” one of the Italians said. He looked like a math teacher at a private college, though his clothes hung off him like stacks of fresh hundred-dollar bills.

Roman only nodded at him. “And I’m glad you’re here as well, Giatno, though I’ll admit that I had my doubts.”

“Little Italian man fears the big boss.” The Russian across from Giatno sneered at him.

“Enough, Kir,” Roman warned.

“Why did you bring us all together like this?” Giatno demanded. “It was bad enough being in the same room as these brutish thugs during that ill-fated party.”

“You’re meant to be allies and you can’t even be in the same room together. I hope you both understand how much that displeases me.”

A ripple ran through the room. It was hard to miss. The tension ratcheted up, like making Roman unhappy was a dangerous thing to do.

Kir spoke first. “It is nothing against you, Roman. Only that I do not trust the Italians, not since the young Manzi murdered that girl.”

“It was a damn accident,” Giatno said, pounding his hands on the table.

“Enough.” Roman rubbed his face. “I called you both here for a purpose. Now be quiet and listen.”

I watched the two gang leaders go silent. I almost couldn’t believe it—Roman dominated the room simply by standing before them and speaking. These were hardened men, the kind of criminals used to handling disrespect swiftly and violently, and yet Roman spoke to them like they were both children.

I began to understand him, at least a little bit. Any man that could wield this kind of control and power was incredibly dangerous.

Incredibly terrifying.

“I don’t want to linger here longer than necessary. You will both listen to my orders and accept them. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Roman,” Kir said and looked at Giatno. “Though I doubt this one’s ability to be loyal.”

“I’m loyal, you Russian son of a—“

“Giatno. Speak out of turn again and I will kill two of your men.” Silence fell heavily. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Roman.” Giatno glowered, but lowered his chin.

“Kir, you will send twenty men to Atlanta. Push back the MacKenna there, or at least make their business dealings as difficult as possible. Giatno, you will send twenty men to Chicago and do the same. I cannot have them taking more territory.”

“It will be done,” Kir said sharply.

Giatno leaned back and crossed his arms. “You know it will be difficult for me. I still have half of my crew out searching for Manzi. The boy’s been missing ever since Dia was killed.”

“You mean, ever since your idiot son shot her in the head.” Roman tared down at Giatno.

Anger flashed in Giatno’s eyes, but he didn’t dispute it.

“As always, I’ve solved your problem. I spoke with Chale Ramos, and he’s willing to overlook Dia so long as is lieutenant is compensated, and his family is given territory for their trouble. Dia was going to be an important tool for them in the future, and your disgusting little offspring took that from them.”

“Dia brought this on herself. She’s been fucking half the MacKenna family for months. That slut—“

“Erick.” Roman snapped his fingers.

The door opened. Erick walked inside. I didn’t even now he was in the building.

Roman pointed at one of the Italians at random. “Kill him.”

“Roman.” Giatno stood up. The marked man stared around him with wild eyes. “You can’t do this. I told you—“

Erick walked forward, drew a knife from a sheath at his hip, grabbed the Italian man by the hair, yanked back his head, and cut his throat ear to ear. Blood bubbled up, thick and red, and Erick danced back to avoid getting too much of it all over his clothes.

Chaos broke out. The Italian man choked and gagged and fell forward onto the desk. The man at either side of him leapt to their feet , drawing guns. The Russians stood, drawing their own weapons, shouting at the Italians to put their weapons away, who shouted back the same thing, and Roman stood at the head of the table and stared at Giatno, who was ashen-faced and completely immobile, like he was frozen in fear.

“Put down the guns.” Roman’s voice wasn’t any louder, but it managed to cut through the chaos. Kir and his people reacted first, reluctantly standing down. The Italians reacted next, after a nod from Giatno.

The dead Italian man lay in a pool of his own blood, unmoving.

Erick wiped his knife on his shirt and slipped it back into the sheath.

“I said two would die. I took one. Do I have to take another?”

“No, Roman.” Giatno sounded chastened, quiet.

“You will give Chale the territory. You will pay him the money. And you will bring Manzi to the meeting to apologize in person.”

Giatno’s jaw flex, but he nodded. “It will be done.”

“Good. Twenty men to Chicago. Understood?”

“Yes, Roman.”

“Get that fucking body out of here. Erick will help clean up the mess.” Roman nodded to Erick, who grinned back.

“Okay boys, let’s get going. This isn’t the first corpse we’ve disposed of in here, so I’ve got a system. You and you, big lads, grab his legs, I’ll get the arms since I’m already covered in blood.”

I pulled my knees up to my chest and stared as the Italians filed out of the room, carrying their fallen comrade like a stack of firewood. Giatno hesitated at the door and looked back at Roman with pure loathing in his eyes, and Roman only looked back until Giatno turned and left.

Kir broke the silence after a moment. “You should’ve taken the second one.”

Roman didn’t look at him. “Get out, Kir. You know what to do.”

Kir grunted, stood, and the Russians filed out behind him.

Roman sat back heavily into his chair. I stayed quiet, motionless, unmoving, like a mouse hiding from a starving cat.

The conference room table was covered in blood and the carpeted was soaked with it.

Everything happened to fast. Roman didn’t hesitate—he made a throat, Giatno didn’t believe him, and so Roman followed through. It was nightmarish and terrible how easily Erick was able to slice through the veins on that Italian man’s throat, and how simply Roman was able to order a life snuffed out.

I was in a tiger’s den. He was no house cat.

His claws killed.