Stolen Beauty: A forced marriage

enemies-to-lovers mafia romance

(Angels & Brutes Book 3) Cara Bianchi
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STOLEN BEAUTY
ANGELS & BRUTES BOOK 3

CARA BIANCHI
Copyright © 2024 - Cara Bianchi
Cover © 2024 - Cara Bianchi

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 ALSO BY CARA BIANCHI
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Angels & Brutes

1 - Ruined Beauty
2- Savage Beauty

East Coast Bratva

1 - Depraved Royals
2 - Twisted Sinner
3 - Vicious Hearts

Novellas
Saint Nikolai (Christmas short)
This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever been made to feel defective, unworthy,
unwanted, or unlovable.
BULL. SHIT. You’re amazing.
Keep shining, my filthy beauties.
I love you all.
Cara x
 CONTENTS
Trigger warnings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
Also by Cara Bianchi
Mailing List
Russian/Italian Phrases
Russian Patronymics
 TRIGGER WARNINGS

I take your mental health seriously. The story is dark in places in terms of plot and does contain material that may be distressing
to some readers.
Graphic sexual content: the book is a slow-ish burn, but the spice is spicy when it hits. Expect hand necklaces, masturbation,
praise kink, come play, spanking, anal sex, forced/denied O’s, snowballing, and tons of very dirty talk indeed. Also, a V-card
is obliterated over three chapters…
Genre-typical violence: people die on the page. It’s not gratuitous, but it’s there and includes the use of guns and knives
Alcohol use: on the page and frequent
Substance abuse: cocaine and its effects are depicted on the page
Child abuse: violence, in the context of a character’s backstory. Not gratuitous or on the page
Mental health: panic attacks, PTSD, grief
Abusive relationship dynamics: control, possessiveness, abduction, coercion (there are no dub- or non-con elements to the
sexual side of the story)
Depiction of a character with an acquired brain injury, aphasia, dyslexia, and sensory differences: this is not meant to
represent all (or any) real people. It’s fiction and does not reflect an accurate or universal experience of any conditions
Also, no animals are harmed in this story!
Thanks for reading and proceed with caution if anything here might be difficult for you. If you read the book and think I should
list something here that isn’t currently included, please email me at carabianchibooks@gmail.com, and I will gladly amend this
list.
Oh, and one last thing—I loved writing the smut in this story. There’s nothing hotter than an innocent heroine gone feral because
it’s what we all want, right?
Enjoy. x
 1

Lilyana
H e’s going to hurt me. I see it in his eyes.
“Please don’t do this,” I say. “I told you—I’m tired. I just wanna sleep.”
I rattle the passenger door handle, but it’s futile; Seb has already locked us in his car. He stuck to seltzers because he was
driving, and it never occurred to me he might have a more sinister motive for plying me with champagne. After many months of
polite ‘goodnights’ at the door, he’s had enough.
Hot tears burn my cheeks, and as he reaches for me, I find a scrap of courage and kick out at him. He responds by shoving me
hard against the door, smashing my head into the window.
“You’re a mess,” he sneers, tearing my dress as I twist away from his hands. “Who else would put up with you?” He drags me
onto his lap, his hand under my skirt. “I get that you’re stupid, but do you believe your pussy is some kind of precious
treasure?”
Seb’s erection pokes into my stomach, and he attempts to free it, but he’s not strong enough to hold me, and I squirm out of his
grasp. My initial panic is receding, and I manage to scream.
“Shut up!” He tries to slap me into silence, but I dodge him, my hand pumping the door handle again to no avail. He’s on top of
me now, pushing me into the footwell but keeping my shoulders and head between his knees. My hands are pinned to the seat
beneath him, and I can do nothing. As he fumbles for his zipper, I’m hit by a tidal wave of exhausted resignation.
I wish I could fight, but I don’t have it in me. I’m a bratva princess, which is supposed to come with a certain grit etched into
my bones, but I don’t know how to stand up for myself. This is going to happen.
I lived a reclusive life for years, and it felt so good when I started to grow past all that. I’m still naive in many ways, but
Juilliard was a dream come true.
Seb seemed mysterious and sophisticated at first, but the signs were there. At twenty-five, he’s only two years older than me,
yet he never matured beyond his high school mentality. I thought we were friends and even defended him when people said he
wanted more.
I told him all about my life: my mother’s death shortly after I was born, the fall that led to my brain injury and mild learning
delay. The abuse and neglect my father heaped on me. His insistence that I was good for nothing.
“How can you do this?” I ask.
Seb grins at my tear-streaked face. “Try being more guarded next time. You handed your vulnerabilities to me on a plate. A
dumb bitch like you deserves everything she gets.”
So much for honesty being the best policy. Seb knew my wounds and, therefore, how to manipulate me. For my part, I was so
desperate to be in a relationship that I disregarded the parade of red flags he marched before me and ignored his attitude
because I was grateful for the attention. I never considered he might hurt me.
A man in my life would be here to protect me if I’d told him the truth about my plans this evening. I chose to lie, and he trusted
me. Now, there’s no one to come to my rescue.
More fool me. How could Seb be anything other than an asshole? No decent man would want me for the person I am.
Glass flies everywhere as the driver’s window smashes inward, destroyed by a man’s fist. Seb barely registers what’s
happening before he’s dragged out of the car and dumped on the concrete. He yells in panic, only to be silenced by the stomp of
a boot.
My savior leaves Seb rolling on the ground and walks to my door. He leans down and taps on the window, pointing past me.
“Unlock it and get out,” he says.
Arman. My bodyguard. My protector. The man who infiltrates my thoughts on those lonely nights when my bed feels too big and
my world too small.
Last I knew, he was going on a date, and only because I swore up and down I’d stay home and have a bath. So what is he doing
here?
I do as he told me, getting out of the car to see him turn away and grab Seb by his collar, holding him aloft. Seb’s toes reach for
the ground, but there’s a foot of clearance; he can do nothing but hang there like a worm on a hook.
“You dirty little cunt,” Arman says, his voice a deep rumble of fury. “I knew you’d do something like this to her.”
 2

One hour earlier…

Arman
I ’m always watching.
Lilyana lives with her big brother Vlad and his family at the Kislev bratva’s mansion. She wanted her peace tonight, and I
would never deny her that, but with no one in the house, I couldn’t risk leaving her alone. So I parked outside, content to listen
to music and wait for the blaze of Lilyana’s bedroom light to go out.
I’ve often been tempted to have a private chat with Seb. Take him aside and let him know he’d better not entertain the idea of
making a move on her if he wanted to keep his skull intact. I never did it because I was holding out for an excuse to mess him
up.
It’s the way he looks at her. I’ve followed them enough times to know he has plans. That’s why I’m always there, a watchful
presence, ready to leap into action if that weasel takes it up a notch.
Seb pulls up, and I watch him like a hawk as he rings the bell. Lilyana comes to the door but doesn’t let him in; instead, they
leave in Seb’s car. They don’t see me lurking in the darkness.
I put my sedan in gear and follow them.

The bar is a dive but quiet. Lilyana and Seb take a booth, and I sit in the adjacent one to hear them.
They’re bickering, and I smirk with savage satisfaction. The guy has all the charm of a pubic louse and is at least as clingy.
After an hour of superficial chit-chat, Lilyana announces she wants to leave, and unnoticed, I do the same.
Back at the Kislev mansion, I wait for the usual scene to unfold; they talk a minute, Lilyana says good night, Seb waits
awkwardly for a kiss he wouldn’t deserve if he were the last dickless moron on Earth, and that’s it. She’ll go inside, and he’ll
wait longer than is appropriate, then give up and go home.
Shadows move inside the car. Come on, baby girl. Get out so I can see you go inside your house. I’ll give it a few minutes,
check the front door is locked, and then—
Lilyana screams, and I’m out of the car instantly, sprinting across the road. I punch the window, tearing my knuckles to ribbons,
and drag Seb out, giving him a preliminary beating before dropping him so I can speak to Lilyana.
“Unlock it and get out,” I say to her.
She looks terrified—of Seb or me, I’m not sure, but she’s a mess. It’s her wide eyes; they’re full of terror I’ve seen before and
hoped never to see again.
I’m glad I listened to my hunch. I have every reason to murder this cowardly fool, and there’s nothing to stop me. He’s not
bratva or mafia, so I don’t have to answer to anyone if I choose to destroy him, and I’d be doing the world a favor anyway.
Seb’s the kind of kid who’ll hurt a woman but would shit himself if a man wanted to fight. And I’m a man who has put the fear
of God into scarier guys than him.
“Put me down,” he squeaks. “I’ll leave Lili alone.”
I hate him using Lilyana’s pet name. It’s reserved for people close to her, and it’s what I call her, too, so as not to stand out. No
one knows that her proper name does it for me. Whenever I think of her, I say it in my head.
Lilyana. Soft and lyrical, like the woman she’s become.
I knee Seb in the stomach, and he wheezes like a burst tire. “What were you trying to do?” I ask. I haul him up to my height and
smash his face with my forehead. “I know already, but you’re gonna admit it aloud.”
Seb gives a thin scream of agony as blood streams from his broken nose. “We were just fooling around!”
“He’s not worth it, Arman,” Lilyana’s voice comes from behind me. “Let him go.”
I can’t look at her. A glimpse of her tear-streaked face and ruined dress is enough to make me rage. Another look at my
beautiful angel in that debased state will tip me over the edge, and I’ll have no choice but to bleed Seb to death right in front of
her.
“Go inside, Lili,” I say.
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t push me,” I reply, my tone sharp. “I haven’t made my mind up yet. Go inside now.”
I hear her footsteps retreating. Seb breathes heavily in my face, and I’m overwhelmed by disgust.
“You would have raped her,” I say. “Say it, or I’ll kill you right here.”
Seb gibbers, trying to get the words out. “I—I would. I would have raped her.” He sniffs like a child. “I don’t wanna die.”
With a heave, I hurl him onto the hood of his car, denting it beyond repair. What was it Lilyana told me about him? Ah, yes.
“Your father is a bit of a prick, right?” I say. “Only cares about your violin career. Had you practicing for hours as a kid.”
Seb nods, and I understand that for him, there are things worse than death. He just hasn’t realized it yet.
I reach for my inside pocket. Without warning, I lash my knife at his hand, snatching his wrist to stop him wriggling away. The
sharp edge cuts through his middle and ring fingers like butter, and Seb howls, clutching his wounded hand as blood geysers
from the stumps.
“You psycho!” he cries.
“Correct,” I say, “so pay attention.” “You’re only walking away now because I prefer to ruin your life rather than take it.” I
brace my forearm across his throat, compressing his windpipe. “No Juilliard for you now, of course. No New York, either.” I
press my weight onto his neck to emphasize each word. “Disappear. Tonight. Forever. You understand?”
Seb doesn’t answer, but my message is clear enough, so I release him. He coughs, and I remove a bar napkin from my pocket
and toss it at him. He wraps up his disfigured hand and climbs into his car, weaving away into the night.
All in all, a good evening’s work. I better check on Lilyana.
 3

Arman
I don’t live in the Kislev house anymore, but I grew up here as an honorary member of the family. I still keep some of my
clothes here for the nights I’m on duty.
I’m tossing my shirt into the laundry basket of my old room when there’s a knock at the door. Before I can say anything, Lilyana
kicks it open.
Her dress is shredded, revealing too much cleavage. The blonde hair I love so much is unraveling from her ballerina bun, and
her cheeks are painted with black mascara trails. Worst of all, she’s drunk.
“I’m sorry,” she says, leaning on the doorframe to steady herself. “I shouldn’t have lied. But you’re always just there, aren’t
you?”
I don’t know how to respond. Of course I’m always there; it’s my fucking job. Her father is dead, Vlad is pakhan, and he
charged me with protecting his vulnerable younger sister. She thinks I’m another over-protective brother figure, but God help
me—I’m not her brother.
I clear my throat, trying not to stare. “Are you hurt?”
She touches the back of her head. “Seb shoved me into the door, but I’m alright.”
I turn away reluctantly, rummaging in the closet. “Go and put some clothes on,” I snap. “I can’t believe you lied to me, Lilyana.
What if I hadn’t been here?”
“Why were you here?” she asks.
It’s a valid question, but I don’t want to consider the answer. I pull a T-shirt from the rack. “That’s not the point. I trusted you.
I’m responsible for your safety, even more so when Vlad is out of town. What do you think he’d say if he knew—”
I turn to see Lilyana in my bed, the coverlet pulled up to her chin. Her eyes are closed.
I would set the world on fire to keep her here in my bed. What I wouldn’t give to hear her pretty moans as I make her come
again and again. But Lilyana Kislev is the forbidden fruit no one is permitted to taste. Vlad is committed to safeguarding her
from the brutality of our world, and on a daily basis, that’s on me.
It’s a harder job than he thinks.
“Don’t dick around, Lili,” I say. “Out of there.”
Lilyana opens one eye. “I’m tired and freaked out. My head hurts. Please don’t make me move, Arman. I don’t wanna be
alone.”
“No,” I say. “Go to your room.”
I drag my eyes away from the enticing sight and head into the ensuite to brush my teeth. When I emerge, she’s asleep.
Fuck. She’s so beautiful. Even smeared with makeup, hers is the loveliest face I’ve ever seen. I can rarely look at her at my
leisure, so I sit beside her, watching her as she rests.
She needs a real man to claim her. A man like me.
The thought of Seb’s hands on Lilyana’s untouched body is killing me. I’m not worried she’ll catch me looking; I’m more
concerned about my self-control. If I allow my gaze to rest on Lilyana’s luscious curves for more than a second, I might not be
able to resist touching her, and then there’ll be no going back.
“Can’t let you stay here, tsvetok.” I lift her into my arms. “I’m only human.”
I carry Lilyana upstairs to her room, and she sighs as I lay her on her bed. I pull the sheets over her and fill her water glass,
setting it on the nightstand.
“Sweet dreams,” I whisper as I leave.

I lie in my old room, but sleep is impossible, even in the house I know so well. I spent years on a hard prison cot, and even
now, I’m often more comfortable on the floor than on an expensive mattress.
Ever since my father died, I’ve been close to the Kislev bratva. The patriarch Sergey was a piece of work, but his oldest sons,
Vlad and Sasha, became as close to me as brothers. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
Vlad constantly dodged racketeering charges, but his father could always make the problems disappear. I had no such
protection, and when the law came for me, they wanted me to take a deal and implicate Vlad. I refused to sing, no matter what
the offer, but Sergey wouldn’t bail me out. As far as the family was concerned, it was just his usual asshole behavior, but when
his health declined, Vlad got me parole, and there was nothing his ailing father could do about it.
Vlad’s more like a father to Lilyana than Sergey ever was, that’s for sure. She was very sheltered growing up, but since her
father’s death, she’s blossomed into a young woman with a fragile yet burgeoning confidence.
How dare that fucker Sebastian stomp on Lilyana’s brave heart. It’s not just that he dared to touch her—he tried to defile her.
My Lilyana.
Ah, shit. No. I have to stop thinking this way. She’s not my Lilyana and never will be.
I stare at the ceiling and try to think of someone else. Anyone.
I won’t sleep if I don’t come. I can’t handle that kind of proximity to Lilyana and shrug it off; I’m horny as all fuck and
seriously fired up.
To Hell with it. I don’t know why I bother fighting myself. My cock is throbbing in my pants, and only one reel ever plays in my
mind when I jerk off. It’s wrong, but it’s my dirty little secret, and I’m not even sorry.
I reach below my pajama waistband and grip my cock, pumping it to relieve the ache.
Have to go easy, just like I would if this were really happening.

Lilyana’s skin is pale and unblemished, her small breasts peaking in the chilly air.
“Please be careful,” she says, giving me her wide eyes. “I’ve never done this before.”
I kneel between her parted thighs, my cock sliding between her wet pussy lips. “I’ll take it slow, baby girl,” I say, leaning
down to kiss her. “You can take it. I know you can.”
I tease the tip of my cock with my fingertips, trying to mimic the resistance of her tight virgin pussy. Goddammit. The thought of
being the first to open up Lilyana’s sweet little hole makes me feel like a king.

Lilyana’s mouth falls open as I nudge my cock inside her. She takes the head with no trouble but clenches her teeth as my
girth stretches her opening.
“Oh, Arman,” she breathes. “It hurts, but it’s so good.”
I lick my thumb and work it over her swollen clit. “This’ll help, tsvetok. Relax and let me in.”
I lean my weight into her and feel a rush of warmth. Lilyana’s gasp turns into a long, languorous moan as I continue to
tease her clit. Her pussy flutters and spasms on my cock as I slip into her depths, bottoming out.

I squeeze my cock with two hands but keep still, imagining Lilyana’s newly-penetrated pussy gripping my shaft. Fucking bliss.

Her body starts to calm, the initial shock displaced by a rush of arousal. I feel her wetness increase, and the lubrication
allows me to move without hurting her. I bump my hips back and forth, pulling out slightly before pushing back in, and her
head drops back onto the bed.
“Your cock feels so good,” she says.
My cock is surging in and out of her perfect, unsullied pussy, my fingertip expertly massaging her sensitive clit. And any
second now, she’ll come all over me, and I’m gonna shoot my load deep inside her—

It’s too much. A couple of firm pumps of the wrist is all it takes, and I groan deeply as I climax. The release unravels the knot
of tension in my abdomen as my come runs over my hand and onto my pants.
Holy fuck. No one makes me come like Lilyana; she doesn’t even know it. I can’t make myself regret fantasizing about her.
It’s the Devil who deals in temptation. If he sent her to bring about my downfall, I’ll go to Hell with a smile.
 4

The following evening…

Lilyana
I flex my fingers, working the joints loose. The exercises take my mind off my nerves, at least for now.
It’s Aldo Moretti’s fiftieth birthday. Don Giovanni Moretti, his brother, is in Sicily dealing with some family business, so he
asked Vlad if he’d throw Aldo a party. Vlad was more than happy to do so but delegated the job to my other brothers, Sasha
and Avel, as he’s out of town himself this weekend.
Aldo is a big Puccini fan, so I agreed when Vlad asked if I’d perform at his party. I’m terrified of crowds, but it’s different
when I’m performing, and I must get used to an audience. It feels good to help my family for a change, too, instead of being a
burden.
My Papa always said I was a waste of space. By nature, I’m shy and quiet—add in my aphasia, dyslexia, panic attacks, and
sensory issues, and it’s clear I’m defective. With my shortfalls, I would never be good enough for any mob bachelor to take as
a respectable wife. Vlad loves me and has always protected me from the world, but the problem remains.
I’m not safe from suitors. Far from it. My husband could stake a claim to the Kislev bratva leadership, should the chips land in
their favor. I was only allowed to hang out with Sebastian because he wasn’t a bratva or mafia man, and look how that ended.
Arman and I haven’t spoken today; I didn’t leave my room because I was too embarrassed after last night’s events. Eventually,
I had no choice but to emerge to attend the party. When we arrived, he delivered me to my dressing room without a word. Now
he’s out there in the club, eyes only for me.
I’ve always been able to feel Arman’s attention—he’s my bodyguard, after all—but last night, it was about more than
protection. He was angry, certainly, but with something intangible beneath it. Sometimes, he seems to be everywhere, burning
me with his intensity as though he’s trying to create a force field around me.
Avel’s head appears in my mirror, around the doorframe. “Time to shine, little sis,” he says.
I smile and flip him off. “I was born three minutes after you, dumbass!”
“Still younger.” He beckons me. “Shake it. Your admiring public awaits.”
The spotlight is too bright, and I can’t see the faces in the audience. That’s probably for the best. Why did I agree to do this?
It’s okay. Just concentrate on the music.
I exhale slowly and close my eyes. My hands caress the keys, easing the opening bars into the room, and the low hum of
conversation gives way to a stunned silence as I begin to sing. Many in the room are Italian and understand the lyrics.
Senze Mama is a beautiful, tortured song. Puccini’s Angelica sings that her beloved child died alone, not knowing his mother’s
love. In her anguish, she poisons herself to be with him, but realizing this sin will abandon her to Purgatory, she prays for the
Madonna to intervene and let her be with her baby in Heaven. I’ve heard it many times, yet it never fails to move me.
There are kids in my family now, and seeing my brother’s wives with their children hits me hard. I love them dearly, and Vlad
and Sasha would do anything for their little ones, but I feel the loss of my own mother in a new, visceral way.
Mama died of sepsis when Avel and I were a few days old. Vlad and Sasha were adults then, instilled with the qualities she
taught them, and they kept her alive with stories of her strong heart and deep kindness. I felt I knew her as I grew up, so it was
soul-crushing to realize she never knew me. Our housekeeper, Dulcie, loved my Mama well and cared for me and Avel in her
stead, but it wasn’t the same.
I’ve always felt adrift without my Mama’s guiding hand. I needed a mother more than anything when I was young, and I still do.
The void she left in my life can never be filled, but my music makes me feel close to her—she played piano, too.
I’m struggling to keep going. My dress feels like steel wool, itchy and rough, and it makes my skin crawl. My anxiety creeps
like strangling vines, constricting my throat.
I stop playing, flooded with shame and humiliation. As the last note dies, the room breaks into patronizing applause, and the
house lights go up. The sight of the audience clapping and whooping becomes too much, so I bow awkwardly and make a break
for the curtain, ducking out of sight. I lean against the wall, trying to ground myself and not cry.
I will never be able to perform. Why do I insist on pretending my dreams are within reach?
“That was wonderful, bella!”
It’s the birthday boy himself, Aldo, his bow tie undone and wrapped loosely around the collar of his dress shirt. His large gut
and thin legs make him look like a penguin on stilts. He’s getting way too close, too fast.
Before I can react, he puts his hands on the wall on either side of my head. “You know what I think?” he slurs. “I think your big
brother Vladimir sent you to tempt me.”
I give a trill of fake laughter. “Hahaa. No, I don’t think so.”
“Let’s go on a date,” Aldo says. “I’d have asked sooner if I’d known how lovely you’ve become. You used to be Sergey
Kislev’s weird daughter. The girl with the broken brain. You look alright to me.” He grins, scotch rank on his breath. “I think
we’d have cute babies, and maybe I wouldn’t have to be in my brother’s shadow all the fucking time!”
Terror grips me. As far as anyone knows, I’m taking a minute before returning to my performance. The club is humming again,
and I doubt anyone will hear me if I scream.
Through the gap in the curtain, I see Arman seeking me out. He is so tuned in to my responses; he must have seen my distress as
I left the stage. All he has to do is look over here; he’ll know I need him.
I swat the curtain. It billows, and Arman catches only a glimpse of me, but it’s enough. With a roar of fury, he jumps over a
table and onto the stage.
 5

Arman
I grab Aldo’s hair, ripping out a handful of his thinning strands. He lets go of Lilyana and moves faster than I expected, ducking
my jab and landing a good left hook on my jaw.
I should have known better. Aldo Moretti is no schoolboy; he’s the brother of Don Giovanni Moretti, a mafia boss with whom
the Kislev bratva has a superficially friendly relationship. Don Moretti doesn’t like Vlad much but knows it’s better for
business to stay on his good side. As for Vlad, he believes in keeping his enemies close, so when he realized he would be
away for Aldo’s party, he asked the rest of us to attend as a show of good faith.
Aldo wanted Lilyana to play, but it wasn’t about Puccini. She’s off-limits to everyone, always, no dispute about it. What’s
changed?
I know the answer, of course: they see what I see. Far from the ignored young wallflower she once was, she has blossomed.
Now she’s older and even more beautiful, and men look at her in ways I can’t tolerate.
Sasha darts onto the stage and grabs my shoulders. “Steady, tovarishch,” he says. “Don’t do it.”
Moretti footsoldiers gather on the stage, waiting to see how the scene unfolds. Vlad specifically told us to keep it civil, as he
doesn’t want these Morettis to have a genuine reason to retaliate. I don’t care about that, but we’re outnumbered here.
“You prick,” Aldo snaps, rubbing his head. “I congratulated the girl on her performance, and the next thing I knew, you were on
me like an animal!”
“Bullshit, Aldo. Stay away from Lilyana.” I clench my fists but stay where I am, and Sasha’s grip on my shoulder relaxes. “She
isn’t for you. If you want a treat on your birthday, then get a fucking cake.” I take a stack of bills from my pocket and toss them
at him. “I’ll even pay for it; call it my present. I’d rather break your jaw, but unlike you, I can delay my gratification when
needed.”
Sasha lets go of my shoulders and takes Lilyana’s hand. “Home, mladshaya sestra,” he says to her. Then he thumps me on the
back. “You too, brat. The company here is lousy anyway.”
The next morning...
Vlad is back early, and he’s pissed. The truce with the Morettis is probably trashed, and I doubt I’m Vlad’s favorite person
right now, so I loiter in the kitchen of the Kislev mansion until he deigns to receive me.
I expect fallout from what happened at the party, but I have no regrets. The bastard came out of nowhere and got in Lilyana’s
face, and she didn’t even know him. The entitlement of these mob assholes is off the charts, and it shows in the attitude of dirty
old men like Aldo.
Vlad calls for me, but I wait until my coffee is ready; I’m not a dog. I know better than to push my luck too far, so I pour him a
cup and carry it to his study to find him standing at the window in his customary weight-of-the-world stance.
“You look fantastic for a man of sixty,” I say, handing him the coffee, “so it’s a shame you’re only forty-eight. You been up all
night?”
“Yep.” Vlad isn’t for baiting today. “Tell me what happened.”
“Aldo made a pass at Lilyana,” I reply. “He was being a real creep, talking about knocking her up and making a claim to your
bratva.”
“Giovanni is in Sicily, so Aldo is in charge. He tried to tell me a different story.” Vlad pinches the bridge of his nose with a
sigh. “But you did jail time in my place for ten damn years. I believe you, not him.” He sips his coffee. “I’ve been in
conference with the komissiya for hours.”
“Why?”
“I’m their leader, not a dictator. We have precedents, votes, all that shit. I can’t change the rules to suit me; if I tried, they’d
vote me out and nominate a new leader.”
“What does this have to do with Lili?” I ask.
“I told her I’d never force her to marry. Swore it, in fact.” Vlad slumps into an armchair and closes his eyes. “But I shouldn’t
have made that promise. You know how legacies work, right?”
I sure do. In the bratva, blood is everything—blood that’s shed and shared. Legacies depend on passing leadership down
through the generations; most marriages are arranged with mutual agreement. In some situations, the forced marriage clause
serves as a measure to prevent illegitimate heirs from claiming a stake in the family, which could lead to power struggles.
That’s why the komissiya insists on ratifying pregnancies out of wedlock with a wedding.
“Oh fuck,” I say.
“You’re getting the picture.” Vlad sounds stricken with fear. “I thought protecting Lili meant ensuring she never left my
guardianship, but I was wrong. It’s not just that she wants more from life; there are men out there who know that they could
force themselves into the family by seducing Lili, manipulating her into a pregnancy, and instigating a bullshit marriage. Which
is presumably why my asshole father worked so hard to make people believe she was defective.”
I feel like I’m gonna throw up. “Vlad, I gotta tell you—her buddy Seb tried to rape her the other night.” Vlad throws me a
furious glare, and I raise a hand. “She was okay. I got to them in time. Seb won’t be a problem anymore.”
“Fuck. You see, this is exactly my point.” Vlad rubs his face with his palm. “She’s naive. Seb succeeded in hoodwinking her
into believing he was on the level. Can you imagine what an ambitious bratva or mafia guy might be able to do to her? And the
clause stands because an illegitimate heir is a threat regardless of the circumstances of the conception.”
“And the komissiya wouldn’t make an exception for her?”
“No. I tried it every which way.”
“Jesus, Vlad.” I sit opposite him. “What a fucking twisted world we live in.”
“Neither you nor I can guard her twenty-four-seven and still let her live her life.” Vlad slams his cup on the table, spilling the
coffee. “Aldo Moretti is just the beginning. If someone were to swindle their way into her heart, they’d use her to get into the
family. She’s too vulnerable to withstand that kind of manipulation.” I see the pain in his eyes. “I don’t know how to keep her
safe and give her the freedom she wants.”
A crazy idea is coalescing in my mind. I have to take my shot now while Vlad is despairing and potentially willing to consider
anything.
“You want to protect Lili,” I say. “So do I. So hear me out—what if I marry her?”
Vlad’s expression is murderous. “What the fuck?” he snaps.
“Listen, I’m not a Kislev, but you’re like family to me. It’ll only be a piece of paper, but it changes the landscape. Nothing
could make it clearer that Lili is off-limits.”
Vlad narrows his eyes. “No one would try to victimize her if she were already married; there’d be nothing to gain. You’d be a
member of our family and well within your rights as her husband to straight-up murder anyone dumb enough to try.” He raises
his eyebrows in my direction. “But you’d have to make it look authentic. Can you do that?”
“We can put on a bit of a show and convince people it’s for real. Then I’ll have the clout I need to keep her truly safe without
locking her up to do it.”
“Our rivals and friends will be looking for the scam,” Vlad says. “You’d have to give one Hell of a performance.”
“I know. She’ll have to come and live with me, too, but there’s no other way. If someone took you out, I’d take the helm until
Avel was ready to lead.”
This aspect hasn’t occurred to Vlad yet, but it’s a genuine concern. His importance puts him at high risk of assassination, and in
that eventuality, someone would need to caretake until the balance of power was restored.
Sasha has turned down his place in the family hierarchy, and Avel is too young and inexperienced to take control of his bratva.
Vlad knows damn well that there’s no one else he can depend on, and as Lilyana’s husband, that role would be mine
automatically, without challenge.
“Alright.” Vlad stands, heading for the door. “But I’ll tell Lili. I’m going back on a promise, so I should have the balls to take
ownership of the situation.”
“Okay.” I follow him out. “I’ll be at my apartment; let me know when you’ve broken the joyous news.”
“It’s not funny,” Vlad replies. “Your friendship with Lili is gonna be pretty strained from here on out.”
 6

Lilyana
I storm out of the house, my pain buried under rage. Arman’s apartment is only a block away, and as I round the corner onto his
street, my mind swirls with angry thoughts. Tears gather in my eyes, and I wipe them with my sleeve, trying to regain my
composure.
I should have seen it coming. Arman has been by my side, ever watchful, and I thought he was fulfilling his duty as my
protector because of his loyalty to our bratva. No—he was just biding his time. If I hadn’t confided in him about Aldo’s
advances last night, he wouldn’t have had the means to pressure Vlad into agreeing to this absurd fake marriage.
I understand Vlad’s predicament; he’s trying to protect me because he cares. Arman is simply seizing the opportunity to
integrate into my family in the only way he can, and to Hell with me and what I want.
Arman sits outside on the steps of his building, holding a cardboard coffee cup. Next to him is a large blended cold brew with
cream.
“Vlad told me you were on your way, all hot and bothered, so I got your favorite drink,” he says, patting the step beside him.
“Sit and cool off.”
I fold my arms and glare at him. “Why are you doing this, Arman? Do you want power so badly that you have to steal my
future?”
He furrows his brow. “Lili, it’s for your own good. Don’t tell me Vlad didn’t explain what would happen otherwise.”
Vlad explained, all right. You’re vulnerable, Lili—a liability to me and a danger to yourself. Any mafia or bratva man who
gets his hands on you won’t love you; they’ll just want to use you.
No shit. And Arman is a bratva man to his bones.
“Aren’t you embarrassed?” I ask. “You’re going to marry Lilyana Kislev, who’s scared of her own shadow and can’t even read
properly. Don’t you think people will laugh at you for marrying a silly little girl twelve years your junior?”
Arman arches a brow. “In the bratva? No. If Vlad called Aldo Moretti and offered you as his new bride, he’d accept instantly,
and he’s so old he can remember when emojis were called hieroglyphics.”
I don’t smile, and his expression hardens. “So you want a proper answer?” he asks. “Alright. I expect most will read the
situation exactly as you have. A business arrangement intended to safeguard the Kislev bratva’s lineage and keep the
succession hierarchy in loyal hands. What do you want me to say?”
Arman descends the steps and thrusts my drink into my hand. “We’ll be married. Occasional public hand-holds and a few
insincere vows, all in exchange for a fake husband who will act as a deterrent against men like Aldo Moretti.” He tilts his
head. “Is that so bad?”
It doesn’t matter what I think; as ever, the wheels of the bratva world have turned, carrying me along to wherever I have to go.
I’m a commodity, and the time-honored lore of the underworld makes me valuable to every other family that wants a piece of
the Kislevs. Dynasties and kingdoms have been built on such misogyny for centuries.
Despite my impotent fury, I must acknowledge that Vlad and Arman are correct; I am vulnerable. And there are worse people I
could be married to than Arman Nechayev. Far worse.
I meet Arman’s gaze. His eyes are like inky pools of darkness, and I’m momentarily lost in them before I regain my composure.
“So what happens next?” I ask.
“We’re having an engagement party at the Kislev mansion. Tonight,” he says, smiling at my shock. “Don’t look like that,
tsvetok. The sooner you belong to me, the better.”
“I’m going to Juilliard to meet Heidi,” I say, turning away. “She needs my help with her composition. Let me know the time for
this party.”
I haven’t taken a single step before Arman grabs me by the waist, and I crash into his hard body. He holds me in place, his lips
close to my ear.
“You are no longer the princess who gives me orders,” he murmurs. “You’re mine. So you better fix your attitude fast.”
I’ve been close to Arman before, but not like this. The heat of his breath against my neck moves my thoughts uncomfortably
close to the fantasies I indulge in when I’m alone and in need of relief. Without thinking, I lean against him, and he tightens his
grip, his fingertips digging into me. I hear a low rumble deep in his throat, and he shoves me away, taking a step back.
“Here.” He rummages in his wallet and hands me a black card. “The PIN is 1006. I’ll call for a car, and you can shop for
something to wear. Take your friend along.”
I take the card but can’t stop staring at him. He’s angry with me for mouthing off, but I don’t think that’s why his breathing is so
heavy.
Neither of us says anything more. Arman taps his phone, and a silver sedan pulls up within a minute. Arman opens the rear
passenger door and gestures for me to get in.
“You’re not coming?” I ask as I slide onto the seat.
He shakes his head. “I have a few things to attend to before this evening. You’ll be fine; Gustav here will keep an eye on you.”
The driver tips his cap. I turn back to Arman, but he closes the door and walks away without another word.

Heidi holds up an Alexander McQueen bandage dress. “This is amazing,” she says. “My tits are too big for a neckline this
high, but on you, it’d be perfect.”
There’s no way I could wear that; I’d be so aware of it. Tight, elasticated, bejeweled? My over-wrought senses would be
fried, but I don’t like to admit just how much my clothes bother me.
I wrinkle my nose. “It’s a bit too flashy. I wanted something less... obvious.” I roll my eyes as she taps her phone screen. “Is
that the guy who works in fashion? Don’t you dare blow him off for my party.”
She frowns. “On a first date?”
“Blow him off, I said.”
Heidi smirks. “Okay, I’ll go through with it, and tomorrow we can compare notes and establish who had the worst evening.”
She pushes dresses along the rail. “Maybe just wear overalls and have food between your teeth. You know, to express your
inner feelings. After what happened with Seb, your brother goes and springs this wedding nonsense on you? At least Arman is
a good guy.” She gives me a mischievous glance. “Although not too good, huh? Maybe you’ll lose that V-card in style!”
I smile, but inside, I’m cringing. I’m like a child to Arman, and he could have anyone he wanted. Once we’re married, he’ll
likely carry on like all bratva men, playing poker and drinking, and I’ll sit around with the other wives, chatting about handbags
and the latest rumors. What a life.
Still, the encounter outside Arman’s apartment has my head spinning. The way he grabbed me, his words, his whole demeanor.
If he’s going to marry me, I guess he has to play a role, but there was no one there to witness that moment between us.
Just as well. If there’s one thing growing up in the bratva has taught me, it’s that true love is as rare as it is dangerous. Both
Vlad and Sasha nearly lost their lives because they lost their hearts.
It’s better for me never to give mine away; conveniently, no man will likely ask for it. With elegant, sophisticated, beautiful
women at his beck and call, why would Arman be faithful to someone like me?
Forced marriages are common enough in our world, but most of them result in children and all the trappings of a shared life. I
don’t know how fake this marriage will be, and I need to determine Arman’s expectations. What if he wants sex? Would that
really be the worst?
How could it be when I’ve imagined it so many times? Those nights when I touch myself, chasing the climax I need as I picture
Arman’s hands on my body, his lips on my—
“Lili!” Heidi is staring at me. “You’re on another planet today. You have to marry your bodyguard. Big deal! He’s sexy as all
Hell and would give his life for you. Meanwhile, I get left on read!”
We laugh, and I relax a little. Maybe things won’t change much. I can still go to school and live my life. I just won’t be at the
mercy of mafia men with ulterior motives.
Arman wants what he wants, but it isn’t me. So what?
 7

Arman
F rancisco ‘Sissi’ Barone is a friend of the Kislevs, but I haven’t met him until today. He’s the reclusive type, an old-
fashioned Don who spends most of his life shrouded in cigar smoke in mahogany-paneled offices.
The Barones have a well-established presence in Chicago and set up a satellite operation in New York years ago. The Kislevs
ceded some territory and supported them in maintaining it, and in return, they allowed us some trade with their interests in
Cook County. Sissi is visiting New York for the first time as Vlad’s guest.
“Don Barone,” I extend a hand, and he rises from his chair to shake it. “Vlad tells me you’ve been having some issues.”
“You can call me Sissi, kid. All my friends do,” he says as I sit across from him. “There’s been trouble with a few street
soldiers associated with your friends, the Morettis. They’re dealing on my turf, causing disruptions. I need them to back off,
and Vlad said you’d handle it.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I might not be your man. At his birthday party last night, Aldo Moretti got out of hand and made
unwanted advances toward Vlad’s youngest sister.” I pause briefly but can’t resist adding, “My fiancée.”
It feels great to say that.
Sissi’s eyebrows shoot up so far that they almost meet his receding hairline. “Young Lilyana? Well, I’ll be. So things got
messy?”
I nod. “The old man denied it, and it nearly turned into a fight, but we managed to defuse the situation before anyone got any
holes in them. I can’t imagine the Morettis will take orders from us right now.”
A man I recognize enters the study, and for a moment, I can’t place him. Then I stand, grasping his hand, and he shakes it firmly.
“Timur, priyatel’!” I say. “What are you doing here?”
Timur was a cokehead and IT whizz, serving a short sentence for a white-collar fraud charge. He shared a cell with me for a
year before getting transferred to a low-security facility in Illinois.
I always kept my affiliations quiet in prison because my connection to the Kislev bratva caused enough trouble. Timur was
much more of a one-man operation, but it’s clear that he’s risen in status since then.
“My plans to go straight didn’t work out,” Timur chuckles. “I made some connections in Illinois, and Sissi here negotiated my
parole. I cut back on the nose candy, and I’ve been with the Barones ever since.”
I’m pleased my friend is doing well. “It’s good to see you, tovarishch,” I say, “but your boss had to call me in. You too soft to
shake down a few street punks?”
Timur rolls his shoulders and gives Sissi a resentful look. “I said I’d handle it,” Timur retorts, “but apparently, you’re the go-to
guy. Is there anything I can do to assist you here, Don Barone?”
“The Morettis aren’t winning any popularity contests,” Sissi says. “The Don’s brother thought he’d harass the Kislev girl last
night.”
“Disgusting bastard.” Timur gives me a broad grin, revealing a gap in his teeth. “I can see the appeal, though. She’s a fine piece
of ass.”
Sissi clears his throat, and I give Timur a pointed glare. “Lilyana Kislev and I are getting married.”
Timur brings his palms together and taps his fingertips on his chin. “Forgive me, Arman. My mouth is bigger than my brain, and
I meant no disrespect. It was just locker-room talk.”
I’m irritated, but I know him; he’s impulsive. If he thought before speaking, he’d make much less trouble for himself.
“Alright,” I say. “But you’d better find a way to make it up to me.”
Sissi chuckles. “Timur’s a reliable guy. He might be moody sometimes, but he’s got balls where it counts.”
“Yeah, and how many times have you threatened to rip them off and make me eat them?” Timur laughs. “He’s a real taskmaster,
Arman. Is your boss the same?”
“Nah,” I reply. “Vlad and the others are like family to me, and when I marry Lilyana, the connection will be official.”
“That puts you in the running for bratva leadership,” Timur remarks, patting me on the back. “Impressive catch. No mafia
princess ever took a shine to me, so I settled for being an employee.”
“Settled?” Sissi interjects, raising his hands. “Don’t I pay you a fortune? You need to remember your place, Timur. After all
I’ve done for you—”
“Alright, alright!” Timur heads toward the door. “I apologize, Don Barone. See you around, Arman.” Then he exits, closing the
door behind him.
Sissi offers me a cigar, but I decline. He lights one up, taking a deep drag. “So, what should I do?” he asks.
“I recommend leaving it to us for now,” I reply. “Once the Morettis are back under control, we’ll address the issue of their foot
soldiers causing trouble. In the meantime, don’t let your people kill anyone, and we’ll resolve it within the next few days.”
“Da, ya ponimayu,” Sissi says, blowing smoke. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just give me a call.”

By the time I arrive home, I urgently need a shower. Vlad called me earlier to tell me I need to rock up at the Kislev mansion
for seven p.m., which gives me an hour to get my shit together.
I start undressing, and my phone pings with a message from Lilyana.
Went home to get ready. Still have the car.

A second message:
Eat a dick.

At least she plans to show up tonight. She might be willing to humiliate me, but she wouldn’t do that to Vlad. I close my
messaging app and see a notification from American Express.
FAO MR A NECHAYEV: Please review your spending and notify the fraud department of any concerns.

I swipe to open my internet banking.

Jesus fucking Christ. Forty thousand dollars on a Christian Dior Atelier dress. Ten thousand on shoes and lingerie. Seven
hundred dollars on perfume and candles at Jo Malone. Jewelry from Cartier has me down a quarter million and makeup a
relatively modest two thousand. She capped off her spree with a handful of Martinis at Nellos on Madison Avenue and,
hilariously, takeout from Wendy’s.
I break into a shit-eating grin. Lilyana spent over three hundred thousand dollars in a matter of hours. She’s a true bratva
princess, and I have no doubt she did it to annoy me, but little does she know I’m thrilled. Any decent husband should spoil his
wife. She can swipe that Amex until it fucking melts.
I step into the shower, envisioning the lingerie Lilyana might have bought. The thought of her delicate pussy concealed by a
whisper of silk makes me hard as a rock, but as much as I want to jerk off, I decide against it. I need some self-control; I can’t
succumb to lust every time I think of her.
I have two roles to maintain: one where our relationship appears genuine in public and the other where it’s a sham for Vlad and
the family. Faking a marriage shouldn’t be too tricky, but concealing my true feelings is another matter.
Lilyana despises me, yet my body aches to possess hers, and although she won’t truly be mine beyond a name, I’m struggling to
give a fuck about that. It’s only a matter of time before I smash down her defenses and taste the sweetness that has me in a
chokehold.
I have to get myself in check. Tonight is about portraying a dutiful and devoted man, not one who would tear his heart out and
eat it if his woman asked him to. That’s the kind of passion that gets people killed in our world, and Vlad would be first in line
to end me if he knew how I truly felt about his cherished little sister.
I dress and down a shot of vodka to sharpen my senses.
Showtime.
 8

Lilyana
I make my way to the terrace, my steps heavy as if dragging lead blocks. Arman will be here by now, waiting for me. How did
everything escalate so quickly?
I spent the day running around Manhattan with Heidi, spending Arman’s money. I’m about to attend another party, but this one is
in my honor, and there’s nowhere to hide. All eyes will be on Arman and me.
I’ve always felt like an encumbrance, the shame of the Kislevs. Stupid, slow Lilyana. Now I’m getting married, and I can’t
embarrass Vlad by losing my composure.
As much as I hate Arman right now, I don’t want to make him look a fool, either. It’s not in my or the bratva’s best interest if
our pakhan’s respected right-hand man is humiliated in front of our associates and rivals. I’ll have to fake it until I make it.

The roof terrace of my family’s riverside mansion is as elegantly adorned as the guests. Golden lanterns hang everywhere, and
intricate floral arrangements grace the tables. People mill around, socializing while a string quartet plays a classical medley.
Vlad spots me and quickly comes to my side, guiding me to a table.
I wish I could retreat to my room. My dress is stunning, and my hair cascades in flawless old Hollywood waves over one
shoulder, yet I can’t shake the feeling of inadequacy.
I had hoped that the expensive outfit would make me feel valuable, even if it were just in terms of its price tag. Despite the glitz
and glamour, I’m still just me—the youngest, useless Kislev, only suitable as a man’s plaything. My father assured me I’d never
be worth even that much, so at least this marriage will prove him wrong. It’s a small comfort when I feel like a child compared
to the polished princesses of the mafia and bratva, who exude the confidence that comes from belonging.
Arman wants what I represent, not who I am. He might be eager to bed me—why not, right? But that’s not love. It’s not even
close. I’d prefer a sham marriage with a stranger over the friend I once trusted with my life.
Arman gazes out over the river but turns around as we approach. He’s dressed entirely in black, his silk shirt casually loose at
the neckline. I glimpse his chest tattoo and drag my eyes to his, keen to avoid giving myself away.
“Dobryy vecher, tsvetok,” he murmurs. “You’re a vision.”
Vlad glances from me to Arman, then gives him a firm shove on the shoulder.
“You don’t need an Academy Award nomination, bratan,” Vlad snaps. “Just smile and play the part.”
Arman nods, but his gaze lingers on me, his eyes tracing my curves through the shimmering molten gold of my gown. With some
effort, he tears his focus away and addresses Vlad. “Sure. No need to be a dick about it. I’m doing you a favor here.”
I’m not some consolation prize. How dare Arman talk about me that way?
One of Vlad’s komissiya colleagues calls for his attention. He leaves my side, and Arman wraps his arm around my waist. He
smells fantastic, a captivating mix of amber and vetiver with a trace of vanilla—complex, mature, and mysterious, much like
him.
“You look phenomenal,” he tells me.
“I should.”
“Ah, you mean because you spent so much of my money?” Arman lets out a throaty chuckle and pulls me closer. “I saw the
credit statement, and I don’t give a fuck. I have cash to burn, so bleed me dry, Lili. My wife deserves no less.”
His breath is warm against my neck as he whispers in my ear. “Every dime was worth it, but you’d be temptation personified
even if you showed up in sweatpants. You walked in and made every woman here invisible.”
He’s toying with me. There are legendary beauties here tonight—daughters and wives of influential, beautiful people. I’m just a
girl wearing heels I can barely walk in and caught up in a situation I’m ill-equipped to handle.
“You’re full of it,” I hiss. “And don’t hold me like that.”
“Like what?” I squirm in his grasp, and he takes my chin in his hand, steadying my face. “Look at me. People are watching.”
Panic flares in my chest, tightening my lungs. People are looking at me? No.
“Don’t,” I gasp. “Stop it. I have to—”
“Shhh.” His arm around my waist loosens. “Keep your eyes on mine and focus on your breathing.” He applies gentle, rhythmic
pressure to my hip. “Feel that?” he asks. “Count in your head. Breathe, baby girl.”
I let his eyes hold me, and instead of overwhelming me, my anxiety recedes like a tide. My surging adrenaline suddenly drops,
and Arman supports me as my legs go weak. I wrap my arms around his neck, struggling to stay upright.
“Oh, Arman,” I whisper. “Don’t let me fall.”
“Are you kidding me?” He releases my chin, slides his hand to my cheek, and draws my face closer to his. “I’ll never let you
fall, my Lili. Never.”
The touch of his lips is electrifying. His mouth is soft, and I’m powerless to do anything but yield to his kiss. My body melts
against his, and I feel his heart pounding in his broad chest. The tip of his tongue seeks mine, sending a jolt of energy through
me. He growls into my mouth, deepening the kiss and asserting his control over me.
Don’t let him take advantage of you like this, for God’s sake!
I break the kiss, but he holds me in place. “How can you kiss me like that just for show?” I ask, tears threatening the corners of
my eyes.
Arman usually only looks at me this way when he thinks I’m not watching. It’s something to look directly into his eyes up close
and see that deep, almost hypnotic attention focused on me.
“I didn’t kiss you for them,” he says. “I kissed you for me. I needed to satisfy my curiosity.”
“What curiosity?”
He smiles. “I had to know what your lips taste like, tsvetok. Yes, you hate me now, but it didn’t make me any less desperate to
find out. If anything, it made me more determined.”
His arrogance annoys me, but I’m acutely aware of the entire length of his body pressed against mine. As he slides his thigh
between my legs, I’m ashamed to feel my core throbbing in response.
Dammit. My virgin pussy is clearly a complete slut for him.
Arman senses my tension and begins to speak, but a shout interrupts him. It’s Morgana, Vlad’s wife and my close friend. She’s
getting loose, her jumpsuit strap slipping.
“Have you finally decided to admit your feelings, Arman?” she asks.
Arman releases me from his embrace and takes a step back. “Give me a break,” he says in a lowered voice. “Don’t act like
Vlad hasn’t explained the situation to you. This is a marriage of convenience.”
“Sure.” Morgana waves her wine glass at him. “So all those long gazes were just in my imagination. How about that
possessive rage whenever you thought Lili was in trouble? All those times you indulged her every whim?” She pokes him in
the chest. “And you used to hide and listen to her play the piano without her knowledge. Every time she practiced, you’d sit out
of sight on the stairs, lost in the music.”
Wow. Did he really do that?
“You’re a trip, Morgana.” Arman playfully wags a finger at her. “Don’t drink too much. I’ll catch up with you both later.”
He makes a break for the other side of the terrace, where Sasha and some of our associates are gathered. I watch him go, and
Morgana chuckles.
“That man has been yours for as long as I’ve known him,” she says. “Surely you can see that?”
I stumble in my heels and sit in a nearby chair, with Morgana beside me. “Don’t tease me,” I say. “He wants the place he feels
he deserves in our bratva, and this marriage is the only legitimate way. All these people need to believe it’s real. He probably
thinks if he can convince me too, his life will be easier.”
Morgana shakes her head. “Lili, honey. You gotta get past your insecurities and see what’s right before your eyes. The marriage
isn’t the lie here.”
I look at her, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Arman is a deep guy. He’s been through so much in his life, and he’s terrified of how he feels about you. When he saw a way
to keep you, he took it. You say he’s doing it to become a Kislev; okay, that’s a consequence. But you are the reason he’s doing
this. You’re the reason Arman does anything.” She smiles. “I saw how he kissed you. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”
Arman’s lips. His hands, his body. His breath, those whispered words. He coaxed me back from the edge of the abyss with
nothing more than his presence. The man protects me from everything, even myself.
The music segues into a lilting waltz. Avel beckons me, so I leave Morgana hanging and slip gratefully into my brother’s arms.
Any minute now, I’ll have to dance with Arman. I’m no longer afraid of panicking in front of everyone, but new fears are rising
inside me.
Until now, I thought it was all a charade, and I was angry. Anger I can handle. But if Arman’s passion for me is real? I could be
in serious trouble.
Because I want him too, and I think he knows it.
 9

Arman
A vel's dancing with Lilyana, and I'm okay with that. As her twin, he's entitled to that privilege, but I can't stand by and watch
other men's covetous stares. If anyone else dares to touch her, they won't live long enough to regret it.
I tap Avel on the shoulder. "There are probably at least five girls in this room who'd die to dance with you, rebenok," I say.
"Leave Lili to me and go break a few hearts."
He smirks. "All right. Don't upset my sister, or I'll break your neck."
I nod with mock seriousness. "Consider me warned. Is it nearly your bedtime? Or are you just hungry or something?"
"Could be." Avel kisses Lilyana's cheek. "Have fun." He heads toward a girl in a black minidress who starts fussing with her
hair when she notices him.
I laugh and pull Lilyana into my arms. "Move with me," I say. "Don't overthink it."
The string quartet plays a piece that sounds complicated, but Lilyana could probably play it by ear after one listen. She
understands music effortlessly, turning strings and ivory into poetry on the air. I may not share her graceful genius, but I'm
content to stand beside her in the shadows, dazzled and humbled by her talent. How could anyone think she's less than pure
magic?
We sway slowly, and I feel her trembling. “What's wrong?" I ask. "Are you panicking again?"
"Yes," she says, her voice wavering. "It's you, Arman. We’re getting married, and I have no choice, but you don't have to mess
with my head."
I brush my lips against her ear. "You messed with me first, tsvetok. I'm just responding in kind, and we have to give these good
people what they want."
Vlad and Morgana are dancing beside us, locked in an embrace. Vlad's expression is venomous, and Morgana glares at him.
"Stop it," she says. "They're just dancing."
I can't look at Vlad; he knows me too well. He'll take one look at my face and see the truth, at which point he might bust out his
favorite party trick and toss me over the balcony.
As the song meanders through the final bars, Vlad decides we've shown enough performative affection and takes to the stage,
grabbing one of the mics from the stand in front of the cellist's chair. He waves us over, and Lilyana and I take our place beside
him, hand in hand.
"Good evening, everybody," he says. "We're here to celebrate the engagement of my sister Lili and our family's close associate
and friend, Arman Nechayev. It's my privilege to welcome Arman formally to my family and—"
"It's a fix!"
I don't know the heckler, but Vlad does. He falls silent, staring into the crowd.
"Would you like to come up here and say that, Ricardo?" Vlad asks. "I don't remember you seeking Lilyana's hand. Did you
think you were in the running?"
Ricardo is drunk and then some. Fuck knows how much he's put away, but the fat bastard is barely on his feet. "I just think it's
weird," he slurs. "Cuz I never knew she was available anyway. Did anyone get a go? Huh?"
That's more than enough for me. If God Himself stepped into my path now, I'd take Him down, too.
I throw a punch at Ricardo's temple, and he falls, knocking over a table of drinks. He groans and attempts to stand but cuts his
hand on a shard of glass, collapsing on his side.
"Thanks for saving me a job," Vlad says into the mic. "Does anyone else want to question Arman's feelings for my sister?
Because if so, your hands better move as fast as your mouth."
I eyeball Ricardo, but he’s not about to come back for more. All I care about now is getting Lilyana away from this party so she
can relax and be herself.
"The wedding is on Saturday, and all are invited." Vlad gestures at Lilyana. "But be warned—Lilyana Sergeyevna Kisleva is
spoken for. Any solicitations will be regarded as hostile and dealt with appropriately."
I love Vlad's formal style. It's just an erudite way of saying, 'Lili is not for the taking. Try it and fucking die.' His audience
understands and meets his words with respectful silence.
Vlad steps down from the stage, taking Lilyana with him, and the music starts again. Ricardo hauls himself into his chair,
wincing as he picks splinters of glass out of his hands.
I rejoin Vlad and Lilyana, ready to make my case for taking my fiancé away from this shitty atmosphere, but Vlad is way ahead
of me.
"Lilyana, you don't look well," he says, taking her hand. "What do you want to do?"
"I gotta go away from here." She wraps her arms around herself, seeming suddenly childlike. "Who was that guy?"
"A mob accountant," Vlad says. "He did time rather than rat out his clients, but he's no one's favorite guy."
"Oh." Lilyana's eyes widen as something occurs to her. "Is Aldo Moretti here?"
Vlad shakes his head. "No. He wasn't invited, and Giovanni is still in Italy. I won't be the one to extend an olive branch, but
you don't need to worry about it."
Big brother wants to reassure her, but that's my job now.
"I'll take her home with me," I say. "Like you said—she's gotta live with me now anyway, for appearance's sake."
"That was before you looked at her like a starving man would look at a steak and fries," Vlad replies brusquely.
Lilyana breaks the frosty silence. "Vladi, you're worked up over nothing. I'll go with Arman. I'll be fine on the couch."
"Couch? He'd better give you his room." Vlad continues to glare at me. "I mean it, Arman. Don't you dare fuck her. Promise
me."
"Vladi!" Lilyana cries. "How dare you say that, you—"
"Alright," I interject. "Calm down, for Christ's sake."
I guide Lilyana to the stairs, Vlad's eyes boring into my back.
While Lilyana gathers a few things, I wait in the car. Ten minutes later, we're in my apartment.
I have only one bedroom. I keep another room locked, but there isn't enough space to sleep in there anyway, and while
Lilyana's here, it's out of bounds. I'll have to buy a bigger place if my wife is to avoid me as much as she can.
So I'm couch-surfing in my own damn home. Not ideal, but to have Lilyana here and safe with me, I'd sleep on a bed of nails.
While she showers, I prepare my room for her. Clean bedding, a tidy nightstand, and low lighting to create a welcoming
atmosphere. A few throws and cushions are lying around the lounge, and with some rearranging, I assemble a workable bed on
the floor.
The bedroom door is closed, but Lilyana is naked in there. I attempt to put the thought out of my mind, but I may as well try to
fly—my imagination is too well-practiced to be dissuaded now.
Did Sebastian kiss Lilyana? I doubt the sad bastard ever made a woman melt like she did in my arms. My cock twitches at the
memory of her quivering body against mine, her panic disappearing like mist as I held her close and talked her down.
Something about her heats me inside.
Why did I promise Vlad I wouldn't fuck her? I'm not a saint. That girl is mine, one way or another.
The air is too still, and I crack the balcony door. Bruised clouds are gathering, and the hairs on my arms stand to attention,
spiked by static.
A storm is coming.
 10

Lilyana
W hen I step out of the bedroom, Arman has changed into navy sweatpants and a black singlet, and he’s barefoot, leaning
against the fridge. It’s a stark contrast; I’ve never seen him in casual attire. He’s usually all business when he’s around
me. Now, he appears softer, less imposing, yet still undeniably impressive. I have a good view of his tattooed arms and lean
muscles, and seeing him this way makes me want to stare at him forever.
He’s tall. Really tall. I’m five foot four, but he must be at least six-three. He used to have a buzz cut, but it’s grown out in the
last few months, his dark hair settling into short but unruly waves. As he brushes it back from his forehead, the low light
catches the shiny skin of the scar on his face. It’s prominent, carving his face from his eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone.
Vlad told me Arman put it down to a brawl that got out of hand.
He points to a saucepan. “Hot chocolate,” he says. “It’s a warm night, but I thought you might like some anyway. I know you
drink it year-round.”
“Thank you.”
I no longer resemble the bratva glamourpuss I pretended to be; now, I’m just myself. A girl in shortie pajamas, damp waves
framing my freshly scrubbed face, and with no idea what to do in the presence of a man like Arman Nechayev.
I wish so much I was someone else.
Rain begins to pour outside, transitioning from a drizzle to a torrential downpour. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I
shudder involuntarily.
“Are you cold?” Arman hands me a cup. “Don’t worry, tsvetok. You’ll be in my room. I have all the blankets you’ll need.”
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “I just hate thunder and lightning. I hope it doesn’t move any closer.”
Arman furrows his brow. “I’ll be right out here if you’re scared during the night. Don’t suffer alone. I never sleep much
anyway, so you won’t disturb me.”
“Okay. I suppose it must be a relief not to pretend to be the doting lover now that you’re home. Time to relax, right?”
Arman clenches his jaw. It’s no more than a twitch, but I’ve seen it before—it means he’s tense. He’s many things, but relaxed
isn’t one of them.
Outside, the sky splits, a fork of white lightning cleaving the clouds, and I freeze like a frightened deer.
“Easy,” Arman says, his voice steady. He retrieves some pillar candles from a cupboard. “We’ll be fine. It’s just a power
outage.”
It’s always been the same for me. I don’t run or fight; I remain rooted to the spot, waiting for the kill. It all goes back to the first
time in my life I was truly terrified, and on that night, the weather was just the same as it is now.
My father had hurt me emotionally throughout my life, using his words as his weapon of choice. He would hurl insults, leaving
my self-esteem battered, but he didn’t usually resort to physical violence—until one day when I was six. It was less than a year
after my fall and extended hospital stay, and Papa was disappointed in what he saw as my shortcomings. He couldn’t accept the
difficulties I faced after my brain injury.
I had mild aphasia, which meant I could read fine in my head but struggled to speak the words aloud, often substituting
incorrect ones. Stress and fear worsened it, and my father knew how to generate both. On that day, I suspect he was upset about
something unrelated and took it out on me because I couldn’t fight back.
He stood over me, his anger scorching my face. I tried to do what he asked, but he snatched the picture book from my little
hands and tore it apart. I burst into tears, and my cheek exploded in pain as he slapped me across the face. I fell out of my chair
and onto the rug, blood dripping from my lip. The thunder was so loud—
“Lili!” Arman is before me, shaking a match to extinguish the flame. He tosses it aside and holds my shoulders. “Look, tsvetok.
We have some light. Take deep breaths.” His thumb wipes away a tear from my cheek. “Come sit and have your drink. You can
stay here with me until the storm passes.”
I sit on the couch and finish my hot chocolate. Arman keeps his distance, settling into a chair near the balcony door. The
flickering candlelight and warm feeling in my stomach help to calm me, and exhaustion loosens my muscles until I’m a dozing
heap.
I’m vaguely aware of movement around me and open one eye. Arman is arranging his mattress nearby, setting up a bed. He
thinks I’m asleep, and rather than waking me, he’s staying in the living room to make me feel safe.
He blows out the candles one by one. The moonlight peeks through the clouds, revealing Arman’s broad back as he lies down,
shirtless. His muscles ripple beneath his skin as he shifts into a comfortable position.
As sleep claims me, I dream of Arman’s lips on mine, wondering if any real marriage could evoke as much passion as we did
in that perfect, blissful kiss.

I’m jolted awake by a high-pitched scream—my own. My body takes orders from some primal place inside me, propelling me
across the room toward Arman. I leap over him and pull the duvet around me, curling up in the space between him and the
wall. Lightning illuminates the room like an atomic bomb, followed by thunder so loud it sounds like it might smash the sky to
pieces.
Arman says nothing. Instead, he enfolds me in his arms, pulling me close. His hand rests on the small of my back while the
other is on my ribcage. He doesn’t seem to be fully awake, but he shifts his thigh over mine, keeping me securely in place.
The proximity sends me into a tailspin. I’m frightened, I’m panicking, but if he rolled on top of me now, he could fuck all the
terror right out of me.
I can’t help but notice his dick is swelling. I’ve never been this close to a hard-on before, apart from when Seb attacked me,
and he didn’t have anything to boast about. Arman’s cock is another matter. It grows against my core, getting thicker and firmer,
and my pussy responds with a needy pulse, wetness dampening my shorts.
I have to try and wake him. He’ll think I peed myself if I don’t escape his grasp.
“Arman,” I whisper. “Please.”
I try to move away but only succeed in increasing the pressure of my pussy on his erection. He growls deep in his throat and
shifts his hand, swiping my nipple with his thumb, and I stop moving, struck dumb by shock and arousal.
“Lilyana,” he murmurs. “Baby girl.”
Oh my God.
Arman fondles my nipple, manipulating it until it’s hard enough to cut glass. I should slap him awake, yell, anything, but my clit
is growing more sensitive by the second, primed by Arman’s attention and his cock rubbing against my sex.
I’ve never had an orgasm. I masturbate, but I just can’t get there, and I usually fall asleep with wrinkled fingertips and a
twitchy, frustrated pussy. Yet Arman’s gentle but insistent touch pushes me toward a precipice, and I only want to fall apart
beneath his hands.
Arman releases me and rolls onto his back, still asleep. I stay still, watching his chest rise and fall. It takes me a moment to
realize he truly is asleep—is he dreaming of me?
The storm has moved away now, the thunder a distant rumble. Carefully, I climb over Arman and return to my makeshift nest of
cushions, feeling hollow and frustrated. The soothing white noise of the rain washes over me; as I fall asleep again, a thought
echoes through my mind.
Maybe being Lilyana Sergeyevna Nechayeva won’t be so bad after all.

The next day…

After what happened last night, I can’t face Arman, so I sneak out of the apartment, heading for Juilliard. Heidi and I still need
to review her composition, and I’m two hours late.
A sinking feeling washes over me as I stand on the subway platform; I’ve left my phone behind. Vlad tracks it and checks in
with me regularly. It’s one thing to run off without telling anyone where I’m going, but it’s another to be incommunicado for a
whole day. It was charging in Arman’s kitchen, but in my haste to avoid him, I got ready in the bedroom and made a hurried
exit, grabbing his spare keys and my purse without considering whether my phone was in there.
I cautiously re-enter the apartment, hoping Arman has already left. Apart from a piano somewhere in the building, I can’t hear
anything and breathe a sigh of relief. Then I notice the fabric wall hanging has been taken down, revealing an ajar door that I
didn’t see yesterday.
Why didn’t he mention a second bedroom? He made a big deal about giving up his room for me, even though we both ended up
sleeping in the lounge. I take a few tentative steps, peering through the crack in the door, and a gasp escapes me.
The amateur pianist is Arman. He’s still only wearing the sweatpants he slept in, and he bends over the keys, concentrating on
the music. The top of the piano is covered in photos, but I can’t make them out from this distance.
His frustration is evident in the dull thud of the keys. Part of me wants to sit beside him and show him how to let the melody
come to him in its own time rather than force it, but it doesn’t feel right to intrude.
I retrieve my phone and leave, Arman’s playing still echoing in my ears.
 11

Arman
I dreamed of Lilyana in my arms, my hands tracing her curves. While such dreams aren’t unusual for me, they refused to
recede, even in the cold light of day.
Perhaps I only slept so soundly because she was safely here with me. Ironic, then, that she sneaked out while I was out for the
count. She was terrified of the storm and fell asleep on my couch, felt awkward this morning, and slipped away before I could
tease her about it.
There’s no way I’d ever mock her. She needs to have the utmost confidence in me, so I keep my insecurities to myself. Some
things scare me more than storms, but I’d rather die than show her a weakness.
After a brief moment of reflection, I send her a message.
Tell me when you’re done, and I’ll pick you up. We’ll talk then.

After tidying up the couch and restoring my bed to order, I unlocked my private study, my sanctuary. It’s here that I calm my
soul and find peace.
The baby grand piano was a real find. It’s almost identical to the one in the Kislev mansion’s foyer that once belonged to
Stefania, Lilyana’s mom. She taught her oldest son Vlad to play, and, in time, he taught his little sister.
Playing the piano makes Lilyana feel close to her mother. I understand that; I play because it makes me feel close to Lilyana.
I begin with a few warm-up arpeggio exercises. I’m not a natural pianist, but over the past year, I’ve improved significantly.
Some of my favorite pieces are the arias Lilyana adores, and I’ve grown particularly fond of one.
O Mio Bambino Caro. I know it so well that I could write the sheet music from memory, but my playing is stiff, and I curse as
the song I love so much loses its verve under my labored hands. I can’t bear to torture this wonderful music; luckily, I don’t
have to.
Once, while lurking in the shadows, I used my phone to record Lilyana practicing this piece so I could fill my apartment with
her sublime interpretation instead. I connect to my speaker, and with a crackle, her talent paints the air with beauty.
My eyes shift to the framed photographs scattered around my study. Morgana is a photographer and takes countless pictures,
some of which she organizes neatly and others she leaves scattered in albums. She loves having Lilyana as a subject because
she’s so photogenic, and whenever I was alone in the mansion, I sifted through them, amassing my collection.
Some photos were in formal settings, but my favorites captured her when she didn’t realize she was being watched. Stolen
moments of perfection where she was nothing more or less than her fascinating self.
I pick up a silver-framed photograph of Lilyana bathed in warm light, engrossed in writing music. Her tongue peeks out from
the corner of her mouth, and she’s tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
If only I could climb into the picture and sit beside her. I long to ask her about her music, feelings, likes, dislikes, wants, and
needs—everything and anything. She enthralls me in every way possible, whether she’s playing piano beatifically to a stunned
audience or battling to keep her fears in check.
I told Lilyana she wasn’t in charge, but that was a lie. I’ll willingly be her servant forever.
I throw on a T-shirt and grab my keys. As I step outside, something catches my eye, and I freeze in my tracks.
What the fuck?
Some piece of shit has keyed my car. My Rolls Royce Ghost, less than six months old and custom-sprayed in metallic black,
now sports a long, ugly scratch along the front fender and driver’s door. I had a nagging feeling that I should have parked it in
the apartment garage last night, but I was too focused on Lilyana and left it in the communal lot. I can access the security
camera footage, but it will take time and a few calls.
I climb into my car and head for the chop shop. I may as well kill two birds with one stone.

Raul gives a low whistle as he runs his finger along the scratch. “!Venga! And this happened right outside your home? The
nerve of some people! A Moretti, right?”
I’m suddenly less interested in my car. “Why do you say that?” I ask.
Raul raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been preoccupied with the girl, haven’t you? The Moretti famiglia is questioning your claim.
After Vlad and Sasha married civilians, it’s not surprising that they’re upset. Now their sister is marrying you instead of a
mafia man.”
“Vlad doesn’t want Lilyana to be hurt just so some jerk can put his hands on the Kislev bratva,” I explain. “Her father had
everyone convinced she was useless. No one would approach her with good intentions, but she’s safe with me.”
“But you’re in too deep with her, right?” Raul lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can tell, hombre. You say her
name like it’s a prayer.”
Great. If he can see how crazy I am about Lilyana, it won’t be long before everyone does, and that’s dangerous.
I swore to two things: that our marriage was a sham and that I wouldn’t sleep with her. The first was a lie from the beginning,
but why did I promise to keep my hands to myself when I could feel her body calling me whenever I got near? If she wants me,
I’ll be powerless to resist, even if it means risking my life.
“Mind your own business,” I snap, changing the subject. “Can you fix this or not?”
Raul nodded. “Of course, my friend. Want to use one of my spare cars while you wait?”
“I’ll take the Veyron. I used to own one; it’s a great ride.”
One of Raul’s guys goes to retrieve the Bugatti. “So, about this Moretti thing,” I continue. “Where did you hear it, Raul?
Because rumors like that can be dangerous for me. My marriage to Lilyana is about protecting her from harm, and I can’t have
those fuckers thinking she’s still fair game.”
Raul stares at his shoes. “The guys around here heard it on the streets, in the bars, that’s how it is. People talk. I wouldn’t pay it
much mind.”
He’s backpedaling. It’d be typical of Raul to blow something out of proportion, so I suspect he doesn’t know much.
I’ll make discreet inquiries, but I don’t want to involve Vlad yet. There may be trouble coming my way, and if Vlad catches on
to it, he might deem my marriage to Lilyana pointless. I can’t turn back when I’m so close to making her mine.
“I need you to grease the security guy in my building,” I told Raul. “I’d talk to him myself, but I prefer to keep out of it for now.
Download the security footage from the communal lot camera.” I hear the Bugatti engine outside and stand, giving Raul a nod.
“Call me when you’re done, alright? And keep your mouth shut. Until I find out who did this, you have no idea.”
“You got it.”
The car is outside, with the keys in it. My phone beeps just as I climb into the driver’s seat—a message from Lilyana.
I’m at Juilliard. Can you pik me up? Plz hurri.

Her off-kilter spelling only happens when she’s stressed. I dash off a quick reply.
I’m twenty minutes drive away, baby girl. But I’ll see you in ten. x
 12

Lilyana

Three hours earlier…

I can’t bring myself to give Heidi the full story of my eventful evening, but luckily, she’s happy to ramble on about her date
instead. It’s a relief when we finally start work on the composition, and after a couple of hours spent rewriting, her piece is
in good shape. She skips off to the gym, and I remain at Juilliard awhile, pretending to do my own work while I pick through
my thoughts.
Arman promised we’d talk about what happened last night. I had been secretly hoping that it was all just a hallucination or
something, but that wasn’t the case.
He took me to the brink of ecstasy, only to turn away. I never thought he’d treat me like a toy when he looked at me like I was
the most valuable thing on Earth.
I considered telling Vlad about it but dismissed the idea. My oldest brother is fiercely protective of me, and I don’t want
Arman’s murder on my conscience. I’m surprised he isn’t more cautious; I’d only have to say the word to bring the furious
might of the Kislev bratva upon him.
By the time I’m ready to leave Juilliard, I’ve resolved to have it out with Arman. He can play his games, but I won’t let him
con me with his hot kisses and warm, skilled hands. I’d rather live a lie than be fooled into believing it.
I head toward Starbucks, muttering irritably to myself. A black car passes me; it has dark tinted windows and no license plate.
A man in a chauffeur’s uniform is behind the wheel, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll ask for directions, but he drives away.
I put it out of my mind and focus on rehearsing the upcoming conversation with Arman in my head.
Can I look him in the eye and say I don’t want him? Of course I can, but the truth is, I respond to his touch as if I’m ravenous for
it. If I let him use my body, what kind of fool would that make me?
An engine purrs behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see the same car that passed me earlier creeping up behind me.
The sun is glaring, making it impossible to see the driver’s face under his peaked cap. I wait, half-expecting a catcall or an
insult, but it doesn’t come. The car continues to trail me like a stalking predator.
I turn around abruptly, and the car comes to a sudden stop. My heart races as I wait to see who might step out, but nothing
happens, so I break into a skipping run and cross the road fast, darting into Starbucks. The car pulls away quickly, and I exhale
through pursed lips.
I didn’t panic. Good job, Lilyana.
I text Arman, asking him to pick me up, but I keep the message brief. He responds, letting me know he’s on his way.
As I wait for my order, I ponder what to do. Scary as it was, nothing happened; stalking someone from a car is undoubtedly
creepy, but I have no license plate or detailed description to provide. All I could say was that a car slowed down behind me
and gave me a scare.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I’m just being paranoid. I’m probably just hypervigilant to both real and
imagined threats. Maybe the driver was just lost, but if I tell Arman, it could lead to an innocent man getting his head caved in.
I walk back to Juilliard to find Arman waiting for me beside an unfamiliar car.
“You’ve got a Bugatti Veyron?” I ask.
“No. Mine’s in the shop. Some asshole scratched it to shit.” He frowns. “What’s the matter? You got words wrong in your
message, which means you’re worked up.”
I decide not to tell him about the car. “I guess I am. “Arman, about last night—”
He raises his palm, immediately silencing me, and I’m surprised at myself. “I’ve thought it over, and there’s nothing to
discuss,” he says. “You can’t control your feelings, and if you ever feel that way again, I’m more than willing to help you out.
Don’t overthink it, tsvetok. You’re young, and you’ll eventually move past it.” He grins. “Now, let’s head home and get ready.”
He awakened my desires with his touch, and now he’s telling me not to worry about my schoolgirl crush on him. And to add
insult to injury, he’s offering to sleep with me as though he’s doing me a favor?
I climb into the car without saying a word, and he takes the driver’s seat.
“You’re a piece of work,” I finally say. “Are your promises worth so little?”
He starts the engine, giving me a puzzled look. “What do you mean? I said I’d always protect you. How am I not doing that?”
Ah, I see. He’s ensuring I understand that he’ll never give me his heart. How honorable.
“Never mind.” I remember his words from a minute ago. “Get ready? For what?”
“We’re going to Piccolo Cueco tonight,” he explains. “Sasha told me he’s made a reservation for the Barones and other
associates It’s our opportunity to mingle and showcase the authenticity of our relationship before the wedding.”
“A date.” I fold my arms, slumping in my seat. “At my brother’s restaurant, to impress your buddies and make them believe you
care about me. I never knew you were such a romantic.”
“Jesus, Lili.” Arman cuts off other cars as he maneuvers through traffic. “Why are you acting this way? When I realized what
was at stake, I gave up the chance for a real marriage just to keep you safe and protected in a fake one. Did you ever think
about that?”
I fall into a guilty silence. In fact, I had never considered it, but it’s not enough. After what happened between us last night, I
want him to desire me, not just for fun or to pass the time.
It stings to hear the truth, but at least he’s being honest. Regardless of what I might want to believe, the fact remains: Arman
might be willing to sacrifice real love to have me as his wife, but it’s for prestige and power. I’m nothing more than a nuisance
at worst and a pleasant diversion at best.

Back at Arman’s apartment, everything feels different. Although he’s only a few feet away on the balcony, he may as well be
worlds away. His shoulders sag, and I can’t help but wonder what terrible weight he bears. There are so many layers to him,
and he doesn’t want anyone, including me, to uncover them.
I could tell him about the curb crawler, but I’d only be doing it for a reaction. Arman was protective because it was his duty,
but now that we’re engaged, he’s tipped into full-blown possessiveness because it’s the bratva way. Women are viewed as
property, and like his car, he doesn’t want me harmed. Disrespect to me would be an insult to him.
This is nothing new; I was raised in this lifestyle. I had thought that my weird brain and crippling shyness would condemn me
to a solitary yet secure existence, living in the mansion and becoming a mad cat lady. Yet here I am, grappling with the erratic
nature of a bratva man who has claimed me yet keeps his heart locked away.
I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t do what he clearly wanted to do last night. He could have peeled off my shorts and
ravaged me; I wouldn’t have resisted. Instead, he rolled away and left me to my frustration.
I want to make him as uncomfortable as he’s made me. He dared to insinuate that I’m just a kid with a crush. Well, let’s see him
squirm for once.
I join Arman on the balcony. “I saw the door hidden behind the tapestry,” I begin, watching his reaction closely. “What’s in the
secret room? Taxidermy collection? Gay porn library? Sex dungeon?”
His stern expression cracks. “Remember when I used to tinker on your piano?” A flush creeps up his neck. “I’m terrible at it,
and yet I’m not the quitting kind. Don’t wind me up about it.”
“I won’t,” I say, my irritation replaced by curiosity. “Can I play it if I feel like it?”
“No. It’s my room. That’s why I keep it locked.”
“So it is a sex dungeon, just with a piano?” I laugh at his frown. “Sorry. There’s no need to be sensitive about it. I’m going to
be living here, and—”
“I said no, Lili.” Arman is already walking past me, heading inside. “Learn to listen.” He grabs the door handle and slides it
closed. I laugh and try to open it, only to realize that he’s locked it from the inside.
“Let me in, you idiot.” I smile and point at the lock, thinking he’s pranking me, but it becomes clear that he’s not joking. I watch
as he stretches out on the couch, folding his hands behind his head.
“Arman!” I yell. “Who the Hell do you think you are?”
With my face pressed against the glass, I feel foolish, so I lean against the railing and wait. Arman may believe he owns me,
but this is going too far.
A few minutes pass, and I glance over my shoulder to see him watching me. His casual disrespect makes me want to punch him,
but I can’t, so I flip him off and punch the door instead.
He moves fast, sliding the door so hard he almost breaks the runners. I try to dodge around him, but he’s too quick and grabs my
arm.
“I’m gonna talk, tsvetok, and you’ll listen.”
 13

Arman
L ilyana’s bratty outbursts are a significant issue. It’s not just because she infuriates me; it’s the overwhelming surge of desire
that washes over me when she acts out. Morgana was right; I’ve always given Lilyana whatever she wants because I can’t
bear to see her pout. It makes me want to tease her a little and then please her a lot.
Did I lock her outside just to see how she would react? Perhaps. What I do next will reveal my true intentions, and I’m unsure
if I can maintain control.
I release my grip on Lilyana’s arm and gently push her onto the couch. “Look at me,” I murmur. “I mean it, Lili. Eyes on mine
while I’m speaking.”
She glares at me for a moment before averting her gaze. Part of me bristles at her defiance, but I enjoy it more than I’d like to
admit. She avoids eye contact because she’s naturally submissive. It’s not an act—it’s who she is.
“You’re shy, right?” I ask.
She looks up at me, her wide eyes shimmering, and nods.
I lean in closer. “Well, I’ll let you in on a secret; I’m shy too. I just express it differently.”
Lilyana hugs her knees to her chest. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not distant and aloof because I want to be,” I explain. “It’s a defense mechanism to keep people from getting too close.
Then you try to uncover the secret corners of my life—look, no one else has ever been inside this apartment, let alone that
room. I can be an asshole at times, and I’m sorry for that, but you need to give me some space.”
“Okay,” Lilyana responds in a small, resigned voice. “I understand, but what happened last night can’t happen again.”
“Jesus, Lili.” I go to the kitchen and open the icebox. “You were scared of the storm, and I slept in the same room to help you
feel safer. It’s not a big deal.”
I prepare two glasses of vodka and tonic. Lilyana watches me with a curious expression as though something I said has sparked
her interest.
“So, was that what you meant earlier?” she asks.
I place the drinks on the table. “What else could I have meant? All I did was try to make you feel less embarrassed. Anyone
would think I’d fucked you, the way you’re making such a thing of it.”
Lilyana’s cheeks flush, and I regret my choice of words, but there’s no taking them back now.
If she wants my body, I’ll worship every perfect inch of her. I can resist as long as she rejects me, but if she willingly
surrenders? I’d defy God himself to be the first man to claim her. Lying to Vlad would seem like a minor transgression in
comparison.
She bites her lip, and I resist the urge to kiss her. “That brings up a question,” she says, looking up at me with heavy-lidded
eyes. “Are you gonna force me to marry you and make me live a sexless life?” She smiles mischievously. “Or are you gonna let
me step outside the marriage? You promised Vlad you wouldn’t take my virginity, so you can’t have it both ways.”
God help me. I don’t have the strength or will to keep that promise, not if Lilyana wants me to break it. Right now, she’s trying
to get a rise out of me, knowing if she let another man touch her, I’d break his fingers one by one, his spine after, and his neck
last.
Lilyana is a complex blend of passivity and challenge, and that’s precisely why I’m obsessed with her. Or maybe she’s just a
tease playing foolish games, oblivious to the consequences.
There’s only one way to find out.
“What are you trying to tell me, baby girl?” I lunge forward, pulling her onto my lap. “That you want me to be the one to make
you beg?”
I grip Lilyana’s waist as she straddles me. Her body tenses with the shock of being atop me, but she offers no resistance. I
grind against her, my growing arousal pressing firmly against her core as I move my hips beneath her.
“If you want me to take your virginity,” I murmur, “I’ll do it. I won’t hurt you. I’ll make you come again and again until you’re
dripping wet and ready to take me.”
She closes her eyes and begins to move, working herself against my length. I’m agonizingly hard; it’d take less than five
seconds to free my erection and give Lilyana her first taste.
Fuck. This shouldn’t be happening.
“Say something,” I whisper, reaching between us for my zipper. “Come on, Lilyana. Tell me to stop or ask me to bury my face
between your thighs.”
My cell phone starts ringing on the counter, and Lilyana’s eyes snap open as if she just awakened from a dream. She climbs off
me and runs into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
I hope it isn’t Vlad; it would be messed up to talk to him while sporting a hard-on caused by his little sister. I breathe a sigh of
relief when I see the caller ID.
“Raul. What’s the news?”
“Two things. Firstly, I can fix the car, but it won’t be perfect. I can’t imagine you settling for anything less, so I’ve ordered a
new one. Secondly, I got the tape you wanted.”
“Great,” I reply. “Excellent work, Raul. Consider my scratched-up car as your fee, and drop the tape at Piccolo Cueco after
you close the shop.”
I hang up and redial. Sissi Barone picks up after the fourth ring.
"Arman Nechayev, hello. What can I do for you?”
“I need to do some digging, but I can’t do it myself,” I explain, sipping my drink. “Are you up for assisting me?”
“Sure. We’ll be at your brother’s restaurant tonight—I’ll bring Timur along, and we can work something out.”
I end the call, glancing at the bathroom door. How fucking deluded was I to think I was in control? A few provocative words
from Lilyana were all it took to throw me headlong into trouble. If Raul hadn’t called, I might have acted out my favorite
fantasy, and consequences be damned.
What exactly is my endgame here? I’m marrying Lilyana and presenting it to everyone as a convenience, a meaningless gesture
to ensure her safety while strengthening the Kislev bratva’s power. I suppose I could eventually convince Vlad that I love his
sister, but that requires patience, something I’m sorely lacking, especially when she’s deliberately provoking me.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
dado fin a su xornada, y la
nocturna Diana principio a la
suya, con tanta claridad como si
el medio día fuera. Y estando de
la manera que aueys oydo, la
hermosa pastora le començó a
dezir lo que oyreys.
Al tienpo (o hermosas Ninphas de
la casta Diosa) que yo estaua
libre de amor, oy dezir vna cosa
que despues me desengañó la
experiencia (hallandola muy al
reues de lo que me certificauan).
Dezian me que no auia mal que
dezillo no fuese algun aliuio para
el que lo padezia, y hallo que no
ay cosa que más mi desuentura
acresciente, que pasalla por la
memoria y contalla a quien libre
della se vee. Porque si yo otra
cosa entendiese, no me atreueria
a contaros la historia de mis
males. Pero pues que es verdad,
que contarosla no será causa
alguna de consuelo á mi
desconsuelo que son las dos
cosas, que de mí son mas
aborresçidas, estad atentas, y
oyreys el mas desastrado caso
que jamas en amor ha succedido.
No muy lexos deste valle, hazia la
parte donde el sol se pone, está
vna aldea en medio de vna
floresta, cerca de dos rios que
con sus aguas riegan los arboles
amenos cuya espressura es tanta
que desde vna casa a la otra no
se paresce. Cada vna dellas tiene
su termino redondo, adonde los
jardines en verano se visten de
olorosas flores, de mas de la
abundancia de la ortaliza, que alli
la naturaleza produze, ayudada
de la industria de los que en la
gran España llaman Libres, por el
antiguedad de sus casas y
linages. En este lugar nasció la
desdichada Belisa (que este
nonbre saqué de la pila, adonde
pluguiera a Dios dexara el anima).
Aqui pues biuia vn pastor de los
principales en hazienda y linage,
que en toda esta prouincia se
hallaua, cuyo nombre era Arsenio,
el qual fue casado con una zagala
la más hermosa de su tiempo:
mas la presurosa muerte (o
porque los hados lo permitieron o
por euitar otros males que su
hermosura pudiera causar) le
cortó el hilo de la uida, pocos
años despues de casada. Fue
tanto lo que Arsenio sintió la
muerte de su amada Florida que
estuuo muy cerca de perder la
uida: pero consolauase con un
hijo que le quedara llamado
Arsileo, cuya hermosura fue tanta
que conpetia con la de Florida su
madre. Y con todo, este Arsenio
biuia la más sola y triste uida que
nadie podria imaginar. Pues
uiendo su hijo ya en edad
conuenible para ponelle en algun
exerçiçio uirtuoso, teniendo
entendido que la ociosidad en los
moços es maestra de uicios, y
enemiga de virtud determinó
embialle a la academia
Salmantina con intençion que se
exerçitasse en aprender lo que a
los hombres sube a mayor grado
que de hombres, y asi lo puso por
obra. Pues siendo ya quinze años
pasados que su muger era
muerta, saliendo yo un dia con
otras uezinas a un mercado, que
en nuestro lugar se hazia, el
desdichado de Arsenio me uio,
por su mal, y aun por el mio, y de
su desdichado hijo. Esta uista
causó en él tan grande amor,
como de alli adelante se paresció.
Y esto me dió él a entender
muchas uezes, porque ahora en
el campo yendo a lleuar de comer
a los pastores, aora yendo con
mis paños al rio, aora por agua a
la fuente, se hazia encontradizo
conmigo. Yo que de amores aquel
tiempo sabia poco, aunque por
oydas alcançasse alguna cosa de
sus desuariados effectos, unas
uezes hazia que no lo entendia,
otras uezes lo echaua en burlas,
otras me enojaua de uello tan
importuno. Mas ni mis palabras
bastauan a defenderme dél, ni el
grande amor que él tenía le daua
lugar a dexar de seguirme. Y
desta manera se passaron más
de quatro años, que ni él dexaua
su porfia, ni yo podia acabar
conmigo de dalle el mas pequeño
fauor de la uida. A este tiempo
uino el desdichado de su hijo
Arsileo del estudio, el qual entre
otras ciencias que auia estudiado,
auia florescido de tal manera en
la poesia y en la musica, que a
todos los de su tiempo hazia
uentaja.
Su padre se alegró tanto con él
que no ay quien lo pueda
encarecer (y con gran razon)
porque Arsileo era tal, que no solo
de su padre que como a hijo
deuia amalle, mas de todos los
del mundo merescia ser amado. Y
as si en nuestro lugar era tan
querido de los principales dél y
del comun, que no se trataua
entre ellos sino de la discrecion,
gracia, gentileza, y otras buenas
partes de que su mocedad era
adornada. Arsenio se encubria de
su hijo, de manera que por
ninguna uia pudiesse entender
sus amores, y aunque Arsileo
algun dia le viese triste, nunca
echó de uer la causa, mas antes
pensaua que eran reliquias que
de la muerte de su madre le auian
quedado. Pues desseando
Arsenio (como su hijo fuese tan
excelente Poeta) de aver de su
mano vna carta para embiarme, y
por hazer lo de manera que él no
sintiese para quien era, tomó por
remedio descubrirse a un grande
amigo suyo natural de nuestro
pueblo, llamado Argasto,
rogandole muy encaresçidamente
como cosa que para si auia
menester, pidiese a su hijo Arsileo
una carta hecha de su mano, y
que le dixese que era para embiar
lexos de alli a una pastora a quien
seruia, y no le quería aceptar por
suyo. Y asi le dixo otras cosas
que en la carta auia de dezir de
las que más hazian a su
proposito. Argasto puso tan
buena diligencia en lo que le rogó,
que huuo de Arsileo la carta,
importunado de sus ruegos, de la
misma manera que el otro pastor
se la pidió. Pues como Arsenio le
uiese muy al proposito de lo que
él deseaua, tuuo manera cómo
uiniese a mis manos, y por ciertos
medios que de su parte huuo, yo
la recebi (aunque contra mi
uoluntad) y vi que dezia desta
manera.

CARTA DE ARSENIO

Pastora, cuya uentura

Dios quiera que sea tal,
que no uenga a emplear mal
tanta gracia y hermosura,
y cuyos mansos corderos,
y ovejuelas almagradas
veas crecer a manadas
por cima destos oteros.
Oye a un pastor
desdichado,
tan enemigo de si,
quanto en perderse por ti,
se halla bien empleado;
buelue tus sordos oydos,
ablanda tu condiçion,
y pon ya esse coraçon
en manos de los sentidos.
Buelue esos crueles ojos
a este pastor desdichado,
descuydate del ganado,
piensa un poco en mis enojos,
haz ora algun mouimiento,
y dexa el pensar en ál,
no de remediar mi mal,
mas de uer como lo siento.
¡Quantas uezes has venido,
al campo con tu ganado,
y quantas uezes al prado,
los corderos has traydo!
Que no te diga el dolor,
que por ti me buelue loco,
mas ualeme esto tan poco,
que encubrillo es lo mejor.
¿Con qué palabras dire,
lo que por tu causa siento,
o con qué conosçimiento
se conosçera mi fe?
¿qué sentido bastará,
aunque yo mejor lo diga,
para sentir la fatiga
que a tu causa amor me da?
¿Porqué te escondes de mi,
pues conosces claramente,
que estoy quando estoy
presente,
muy más absente de ti?
quanto a mi por suspenderme,
estando adonde tú estes,
quanto a ti porque me uees,
y estás muy lexos de uerme.
Sabesme tan bien mostrar
quando engañarme pretendes,
al reues de lo que entiendes,
que al fin me dexo engañar:
mira sy hay que querer más,
o ay de amor más
fundamento,
que biuir mi entendimiento
con lo que a entender le das.
Mira este estremo en que
estoy,
uiendo mi bien tan dudoso,
que uengo a ser embidioso
de cosas menos que yo:
al aue que lleua el uiento,
al pesce en la tempestad,
por sola su libertad
dare yo mi entendimiento.
Veo mil tiempos mudados,
cada dia hay nouedades,
mudanse las voluntades,
rebiuen los oluidados,
en toda cosa hay mudança,
y en ti no la vi jamás,
y en esto solo uerás
quan en balde es mi
esperança.
Passauas el otro dia
por el monte repastando,
sospiré imaginando,
que en ello no te offendia:
al sospiro, alçó un cordero
la cabeça, lastimado:
y arrojastele el cayado,
ved qué coraçon de azero.
¿No podrias, te pregunto,
tras mil años de matarme,
solo un dia remediarme,
o si es mucho, un solo punto?
hazlo por uer como prueuo,
o por uer si con fauores
trato mejor los amores,
despues matame de nueuo.
Desseo mudar estado,
no de amor a desamor,
mas de dolor a dolor,
y todo en un mismo grado:
y aunque fuesse de una suerte
el mal, quanto a la substançia,
que en sola la circunstançia
fuesse más, o menos fuerte.
Que podria ser señora,
que vna circunstançia nueua
te diesse de amor más
prueua,
que te he dado hasta agora,
y a quien no le duele vn mal,
ni ablanda un firme querer,
podria quiça doler
otro que no fuesse tal.
Vas al rio, uas al prado,
y otras uezes a la fuente,
yo pienso muy diligente,
si es ya yda, o si ha tornado,
si se enojará si voy,
si se burlará si quedo,
como me lo estorba el miedo,
ved el estremo en que estoy.
A Siluia tu gran amiga
vó a buscar medio mortal,
por si a dicha de mi mal,
le has dicho algo, me lo diga:
mas como no habla en ti,
digo que esta cruda fiera,
no dize a su compañera,
ninguna cosa de mí.
Otras uezes açechando
de noche te ueo estar,
con gracia muy singular
mil cantarçillos cantando:
pero buscas los peores,
pues los oyo uno a uno,
y jamás te oyo ninguno
que trate cosa de amores.
Vite estar el otro dia
hablando con Madalena,
contauate ella su pena,
oxala fuera la mia:
pense que de su dolor,
consolaras a la triste,
y riendo le respondiste:
es burla, no hay mal de amor,
Tú la dexaste llorando,
yo llegueme luego alli,
quexoseme ella de ti:
respondile sospirando:
no te espantes desta fiera,
porque no está su plazer
en solo ella no querer,
sino en que ninguna quiera.
Otras uezes te ueo yo
hablar con otras zagalas,
todo es en fiestas y galas,
en quien bien o mal bayló,
 fulano tiene buen ayre,
fulano es çapateador,
si te tocan en amor
echaslo luego en donayre.
Pues guarte, y biue
contento,
que de amor y de uentura
no hay cosa menos segura,
que el coraçon más exempto:
y podria ser ansi
que el crudo amor te
entregasse,
a pastor que te tratasse
como me tratas a mí.
Mas no quiera Dios que sea,
si ha de ser a costa tuya,
y mi uida se destruya
primero que en tal te uea:
que un coraçon que en mi
pecho
está ardiendo en fuego
estraño,
más temor tiene a tu daño,
que respecto a tu prouecho.

Con grandisimas muestras de

tristeza, y de coraçon muy de
ueras lastimado, relataua la
pastora a Belisa la carta de
Arsenio, ó por mejor dezir, de
Arsileo su hijo: parando en
muchos uersos y diziendo
algunos dellos dos uezes: y a
otros boluiendo los ojos al çielo,
con una ansia que parescia que el
coraçon se le arrancaua. Y
prosiguiendo la historia triste de
sus amores, les dezia: Esta carta
(o hermosas Nimphas) fue
principio de todo el mal del triste
que la compuso, y fin de todo el
descanso de la desdichada a
quien se escriuió. Porque
auiendola yo leydo, por çierta
diligençia que en mi sospecha me
hizo poner, entendi que la carta
auia proçedido más del
entendimiento del hijo, que de la
afficion del padre. Y porque el
tiempo se llegaua en que el amor
me auia de tomar cuenta de la
poca que hasta entonçes de sus
effectos auia hecho, o porque en
fin hauia de ser, yo me senti un
poco más blanda que de antes: y
no tan poco que no diese lugar a
que amor tomasse possession de
mi libertad. Y fue la mayor
nouedad que jamás nadie uio en
amores lo que este tyrano hizo en
mí, pues no tan solamente me
hizo amar a Arsileo, mas aun a
Arsenio su padre. Verdades que
al padre amaua yo por pagarle en
esto el amor que me tenía, y al
hijo por entregalle mi libertad,
como desde aquella hora se la
entregué. De manera que al uno
amaua por no ser ingrata, y al
otro por no ser más en mi mano.
Pues como Arsenio me sintiesse
algo más blanda (cosa que él
tantos dias auia que desseaua),
no huuo cosa en la uida que no la
hiziesse por darme contento:
porque los presentes eran tantos,
las joyas y otras muchas cosas,
que a mí pesaua uerme puesta en
tanta obligaçion. Con cada cosa
que me embiaua, uenia un
recaudo tan enamorado, como él
lo estaua. Yo le respondia no
mostrandole señales de gran
amor, ni tan poco me mostraua
tan esquiua como solia. Mas el
amor de Arsileo cada dia se
arraigaua mas en mi coraçon, y
de manera me occupaua los
sentidos, que no dexaua en mi
anima lugar ocioso. Succedió,
pues, que una noche del uerano,
estando en conuersaçion Arsenio
y Arsileo con algunos uezinos
suyos debaxo de un fresno muy
grande, que en vna plaçuela
estaua de frente de mi posada,
començo Arsenio a loar mucho el
tañer y cantar de su hijo Arsileo,
por dar occasion a que los que
con él estauan le rogassen que
embiasse por una harpa a casa, y
que alli tañesse, porque estaua
en parte que yo por fuerça auia
de gozar de la musica. Y como él
lo penso, assi le uino a sucçeder,
porque siendo de los presentes
importunado, embiaron por la
harpa y la musica se començo.
Quando yo oí a Arsileo y senti la
melodia con que tañia, la
soberana gracia con que cantaua,
luego estuue al cabo de lo que
podia ser: entendiendo que su
padre me queria dar musica, y
enamorarme con las gracias del
hijo. Y dixe entre mí: ¡Ay, Arsenio,
que no menos te engañas en
mandar a tu hijo que cante, para
que yo le oyga, que embiarme
carta escrita de su mano! A lo
menos si lo que dello te ha de
succeder, tú supiesses, bien
podrias amonestar de oy más a
todos los enamorados, que
ninguno fuesse osado de
enamorar a su dama con graçias
agenas: porque algunas uezes,
suele acontesçer enamorarse
más la dama del que tiene la
graçia, que del que se aprouecha
de ella, no siendo suya. A este
tiempo el mi Arsileo, con una
graçia nunca oyda, començó a
cantar estos uersos:

Soneto.

En este claro sol que

resplandesçe
en esta perfeçion[1250] sobre
natura,
en esa alma gentil, esa figura
que alegra nuestra edad, y la
enrriqueze
hay luz que ziega, rostro que
enmudeçe,
pequeña piedad, gran
 hermosura,
palabras blandas, condiçion
muy dura,
mirar que alegra y vista que
entristeçe.
Por eso estoy, señora,
retirado,
por eso temo ver lo que
deseo,
por eso paso el tiempo en
contemplarte.
Estraño caso, efecto no
pensado,
que vea el maior bien quando
te veo,
y tema el mayor mal si vo a
mirarte.

Despues que huuo cantado el

soneto que os he dicho, comenzó
a cantar esta cançion, con graçia
tan estremada, que a todos los
que lo oian, tenia suspensos, y a
la triste de mí más presa de sus
amores que nunca nadie lo
estuvo.

Alçé los ojos por veros,

baxelos despues que os vi,
porque no ay passar de alli,
ni otro bien sino quereros.
¿Que más gloria que
miraros,
si os entiende el que os miró?
Porque nadie os entendió
que canse de contemplaros.
 Y aunque no pueda
entenderos,
como yo no os entendi,
estará fuera de sí,
quando no muera por veros.
Si mi pluma otras loaua
ensayose en lo menor,
pues todas son borrador
de lo que en vos trasladaua.
Y si antes de quereros,
por otra alguna escreui,
creed que no es porque la ui,
mas porque esperaua ueros.
Mostrose en vos tan subtil
naturaleza y tan diestra,
que una sola façion vuestra
hará hermosas çien mil.
La que llega a pareceros
en lo menos que en vos vi,
ni puede pasar de alli
ni el que os mira sin quereros.
Quien ve qual os hizo Dios,
y uee otra mui hermosa,
parece que vee una cosa,
que en algo quiso ser vos.
Mas si os vee como ha de
veros
y como señora os vi,
no hay comparaçion alli,
ni gloria, sino quereros.

No fue solo esto lo que Arsileo

aquella noche al son de su harpa
cantó. Asi como Orfeo al tiempo
que fue en demanda de su ninfa
Euridice, con el suabe canto
enterneçia las furias infernales,
suspendiendo por gran espacio la
pena de los dañados[1251]: asi el
mal logrado mançebo Arsileo,
suspendia, y ablandaua, no
solamente los coraçones de los
que presentes estauan, mas aun
a la desdichada Belisa, que desde
una açotea alta de mi posada le
estaua con grande atencion[1252]
oyendo. Y assi agradaua al çielo,
estrellas y a la clara luna, que
entonçes en su uigor y fuerça
estaua, que en qualquiera parte
que yo entonçes ponia los ojos,
pareçe que me amonestaua que
le quisiesse más que a mi uida.
Mas no era menester
amonestarmelo nadie, porque si
yo entonçes de todo el mundo
fuera señora me parescia muy
poco para ser suya. Y desde alli,
propuse de tenelle encubierta
esta uoluntad lo menos que yo
pudiesse. Toda aquella noche
estuue pensando el modo que
ternia en descubrille mi mal, de
suerte que la uerguença no
reçibiesse daño, aunque quando
este no hallara, no me estoruara
el de la muerte. Y como quando
ella ha de uenir, las occasiones
tengan tan gran cuydado de quitar
los medios que podrian impedilla,
el otro dia adelante, con otras
donzellas mis uezinas me fue
forçado yr a un bosque espesso,
en medio del qual auia una clara
fuente, adonde las mas de las
siestas lleuauamos las uacas,
assi porque alli pasciessen, como
para que uenida la sabrosa y
fresca tarde cogiessemos la leche
de aquel dia siguiente, con que
las mantecas, natas y quesos se
auian de hazer. Pues estando yo
y mis compañeras assentadas en
torno de la fuente, y nuestras
vacas echadas a la sombra de los
vmbrosos y siluestres arboles de
aquel soto, lamiendo los
pequeñuelos bezerrillos, que
juntos a ellas estauan tendidos,
una de aquellas amigas mias
(bien descuydada del amor que
entonçes a mí me hazia la guerra)
me importunó, so pena de jamás
ser hecha cosa de que yo
gustasse, que tuuiese por bien de
entretener el tiempo cantando vna
cançion. Poco me valieron
escusas, ni dezilles que los
tiempos y ocasiones no eran
todos vnos, para que dexasse de
hazer lo que con tan grande
instançia me rogauan, y al son de
vna çampoña, que la vna dellas
començó a tañer, yo triste
començe a cantar estos versos:

Passaua amor su arco

desarmado
los ojos baxos, blando y muy
modesto,
dexauame ya atras muy
descuydado.
Quán poco espaçio pude
gozar esto;
fortuna de embidiosa dixo
luego:
teneos amor, ¿porque passays
tan presto?
Boluió de presto a mi aquel
niño çiego,
muy enojado en verse
reprendido:
que no ay reprehension, do
está su fuego.
Estaua çiego amor, mas
bien me vido:
tan çiego le vea yo, que a
nadie vea,
que ansi çegó mi alma y mi
sentido.
Vengada me vea yo de
quien dessea
a todos tanto mal que no
consiente
vn solo coraçon que libre sea.
El arco armó el traydor muy
breuemente,
no me tiró con xara
enerbolada,
que luego puso en él su flecha
ardiente.
Tomome la fortuna
desarmada,
que nunca suele amor hazer
su hecho,
sino en la más essenta y
descuydada.
Rompió con su saeta un
duro pecho,
rompió una libertad jamás
subiecta,
quedé tendida, y él muy
satisfecho.
¡Ay uida libre, sola, y muy
quieta!
¡Ay prado visto con tan libres
ojos!
¡Mal aya amor, su arco y su
saeta!
Seguid amor, seguilde sus
antojos,
venid de gran descuido a vn
gran cuydado,
passad de un gran descanso,
a mil enojos.
Vereys quál queda un
coraçon cuytado:
que no ha mucho que estuuo
sin sospecha
de ser de un tal tyrano
sojuzgado.
Ay alma mia en lagrimas
desecha,
sabed suffrir, pues que mirar
supistes:
mas si fortuna quiso, ¿qué
aprouecha?
Ay tristes ojos, si el llamaros
tristes
no offende en cosa alguna el
que mirastes,
¿do está mi libertad, do la
pusistes?
Ay prados, bosques, seluas
que criastes
tan libre coraçon como era el
mio,
¿porqué tan grande[1253] mal
no le estoruastes?
¡O apresurado arroyo, y
claro rio,
adonde beuer suele mi
ganado
inuierno, primauera, otoño,
estio!
¿Porqué me has puesto, di,
a tan mal recado,
pues solo en ti ponia mis
amores,
y en este ualle ameno y uerde
prado?
Aqui burlaua yo de mil
pastores,
que burlarán de mi, quando
supieren,
que a esperimentar comienço
sus dolores.
No son males de amor los
que me hieren,
que a ser de solo amor,
passallos hia,
como otros mil que en fin de
amores mueren.
Fortuna es quien me aflige y
me desuia
los medios, los caminos y
ocasiones,
para poder mostrar la pena
mia.
¿Cómo podra, quien causa
mis passiones,
si no las sabe dar remedio a