Under Control: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance

“It’s not funny! Seriously, Merrick, he pointed a gun at me.”

Merrick doubles over. He’s laughing so hard his face is red and tears stream down his cheeks. I stand on a small platform in his studio on the top floor of his house while sunlight streams in through the big windows, and I’m thinking about murdering him.

“You have no idea how close you just came to getting killed,” he says, wiping his face, his other hand pressed to his stomach like he’s holding himself together.

“Great, thanks, I just exposed myself to a stranger and you’re cracking up like it’s the funniest thing you’ve heard all week. It’s not a joke!”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, sweetie, it’s not a joke.” Merrick’s grin suggests he most certainly does not mean what he’s saying.

“Who is that guy anyway? He had one of your paintings hanging on his wall.”

“Oh, you know, just an extremely scary and powerful member of a large multi-national organized crime family.” He says this while looking at his nails as if he was describing a new polish color he bought recently.

I cover myself with my arms.

For the second time today, I’m totally naked.

“Sorry, what now? Did you say organized crime?”

“That’s the rumor, anyway. Told you, you came extremely close to getting whacked just now. Then again, I wouldn’t mind getting whacked by Valentin Zaitsev.”

Valentin. So that’s the man’s name. His deep blue eyes and full lips play through my mind, and I’m uncomfortably aware of my nudity.

“How do you know he’s in the mafia?”

“Bratva,” Merrick corrects. “That’s what the Russians call it, anyway. And I’m not totally sure, that’s just the rumor. He’s got a shitload of money, keeps some really shady hours, and doesn’t seem to have a real job. I don’t know, seems pretty plausible to me.”

I start to pace. Merrick murmurs something and sketches as I move.

“Okay, great, so I just barged into a Russian gangster’s house and flashed him. That’s probably bad, right?”

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry. I mean, look at you. He probably liked it.”

I pause and frown into space. He was giving me an extremely sexy and serious look.

But I don’t feel like I’m anything special.

I’m lean from years of running track and cross country, and my boobs aren’t particularly big. I keep my hair too long and I really could use a manicure. I’m not even wearing any makeup right now—Merrick wanted me totally natural.

Still, the look Valentin gave me…

“No, definitely not.” I start pacing again. “You don’t aim a gun at naked girls if you’re into them.”

“I don’t know. He definitely gives off a fuck-then-murder kind of vibe.”

“That’s a vibe?”

“Sweetie, it’s very much a vibe.”

I shiver and shake my head. Merrick doesn’t know how little experience I have with men, and I decide that I don’t feel like enumerating my total lack of sexual history while standing butt naked in front of him.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I don’t plan on ever seeing your neighbor again.”

“Unfortunately for me, Mr. Gorgeous happens to enjoy investing in art, and he likes throwing a lot of cash around.” Merrick taps his lips with the end of his brush. “Actually, those are my favorite qualities in a man. Rich and willing to pay me. Now, keep pacing like that, I’m liking this movement and the light’s just right, but stop talking.”

I flip him off and do as he says, strutting around in the nude, and thinking about his dangerous and gorgeous neighbor, who I am definitely, absolutely never, ever going to see again.

It’s amazing how quickly I’m wrong.

I’m back home a few days later after a lunch shift at Stove and Smoke. The tips were few and far between but at least I got to pick up some extra hours, which I’ve been bugging my manager, Jared, about for weeks now.

Any money is good money at this point.

I find a stack of bills on the kitchen table. Electric and water mostly, though a few from the credit card company are thrown in there. We gave up on cable and internet a while ago and rely on our phones to get access to the outside world. Which is another bill I need to pay soon.

Mom’s not home. She went over to the church for her usual Thursday evening Mahjong socializing event where all the old ladies get together to talk shit about all the other old ladies that aren’t present. It’s one of the few activities that doesn’t cost money and gets her out of the house, so I’m all for it.

I start on dinner. There’s not much in the cupboards. The refrigerator is equally depressing. But at least there are potatoes, some olive oil, and a big box of salt. That’s enough to make some halfway decent French fries.

As I’m peeling and slicing, there’s a knock at the door.

I freeze and look at the time. It’s almost six in the evening. Who the heck would show up right now? I imagine a neighbor, freaking out because Mom’s hurt or something; or worse, a debt collector here to serve us with some kind of court papers. I wash my hands and think about pretending like I’m not home when there’s another knock at the door, and this time, a voice.

“I know you’re in there, Karine. I just want to talk.”

My jaw drops straight to the floor.

It’s him. Valentin. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Mostly because it’s been playing through my head on an endless loop ever since I last saw him.

But no, this is crazy, there’s no way he’s at my door right now. I don’t remember telling the guy my name, much less my freaking address.

“Karine, I can hear you breathing.” He sounds like he’s amused, which freaks me out. I clap my hands over my mouth. “And I heard that too. Open the door. I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Uh, sorry, I’m busy,” I say and mentally curse myself. I’m busy? Seriously? That’s just about the lamest excuse imaginable.

“If you’re fresh out of the shower, it’s not like I haven’t seen it before. Open up, Karine, before I force it open.”

I let out a sharp, surprised laugh, and storm over. He’s standing on the stoop in his black suit looking like sex and hell and death and heaven, a little stubble on his cheeks, his dark hair pushed back, his piercing blue eyes startling in their intensity. I’m about to tell him off, but all my anger fades.

I honestly forgot how insanely attractive he is.

“Oh, good, you have clothes on.” He brushes past me and into the house. I wheel around, slamming the door behind me.

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you even find me?”

He ignores my questions and looks around. I’m very aware of how shabby it must look to him, especially compared to his place. I share a South Philly row home with my mother, the same home she’s been in since before I was born. It’s old, not in particularly good shape, and all our furniture and decorations are from second-hand stores.

Back when Dad was alive, the place was spotless. He always tutted at Mom and said she’d end up like a hoarder as he straightened everything up and vacuumed under the carpet.

Dad wasn’t totally wrong. The place is much more cluttered than it used to be. But I think that’s partially because Mom fell apart after he died, and I’ve been left here trying to pick up her pieces.

“Are these your parents?” Valentin lifts an old photograph of Mom and Dad. They’re sitting together in Baltimore, the city where they first met, with the harbor in the background. Both of them look so happy and young.

I grab it from his hand and put the picture back. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

“I assume this is your brother, Luka.” He nods at a picture of Luka when he was six years old wearing a soccer uniform and beaming out from underneath his floppy black hair. “I don’t see any of you though.”

“I’m not photogenic. Did you come here to go through old family pictures or something?”

“Strange, that you wouldn’t be included.” He glances at me, eyebrows knitted.

“How did you know my brother’s name, anyway?” I’m tempted to scream at him, but I’m also too afraid of what he might do.

Valentin’s handsome, but he’s also big. He looms over me and his arms are the size of my head. He could crush my skull with one massive hand if he wanted to. And I remember what Merrick said: a fuck-then-murder kind of vibe.

He’s not wrong about that.

Right now, I’m a little bit more worried about the murder.

But only by a little bit.

He turns away from the pictures and sits down at the kitchen table. “Join me,” he says, again with that commanding tone.

I remain standing. “I didn’t invite you in here. You’re a total stranger. If this is about the mix-up from the other day⁠—”

“I’m here to offer you a job.”

That shuts me up. I grind my jaw, frustrated, but he’s only staring at me with a strange, neutral expression, almost like he’s bored. Like he barges into strange houses all the time.

“What kind of job?” I ask cautiously. “And who says I need one?”

“I assume you weren’t posing for Merrick for free. And something about you suggests that was your first time. Which, if I can follow the logic, suggests you need money. Am I wrong?”

I open my mouth and shut it again. I say nothing, only glare at him. I’m beyond furious, and honestly a little embarrassed again, but he’s absolutely right.

I really need money.

The stack of bills in the middle of the table isn’t really helping much right now.

“The girl Nikkita mentioned,” he starts, and I interrupt him.

“Your housekeeper, right? She said you were waiting for someone named Natalya?”

Valentin’s eyes narrow. He tenses and leans closer. “Please, do not interrupt me again.”

I gape, shocked at his sudden dark turn, but the look he’s giving me shuts my mouth again. The guy has a stare like an atomic bomb, like he’s contemplating how he can most easily eviscerate me.

Either that or how quickly he can tear off my clothes.

Murder and fuck vibe.

God damn it, Merrick. I hate him for putting that in my head.

“Are you going to pull a gun on me again if I do?” I blurt it out despite my fear, and I’m not sure which of us is more surprised.

He leans back in his chair and crosses his powerful arms. “I should not have done that, but in my line of work, it’s smart to be cautious of strangers. Even beautiful, naked women.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks and down between my legs. “What’s your line of work?” I ask, when what I really want to say is you think I’m beautiful?

“Importing and protection services,” he says, deadpan.

“I don’t really have any importing or protection services experience.”

His head tilts and he licks his lips. “I never said I wanted to hire you for that.”

“Then what’s the job?”

“That girl, Natalya. She was coming to negotiate a union between her family and my own. However, it turns out she went missing and likely has gone on the run somewhere in Europe. Which means I need to find a replacement. You could say this is a way to save face and to ensure there aren’t unnecessary conversations happening behind my back.”

I try to process what he’s saying, but it doesn’t come together.

A union between families? On the run in Europe?

It doesn’t sound like he’s talking about a job right now.

“What exactly would my role be?” I ask him, afraid of the answer. My heart’s racing and my fingers tingle with nerves.

“You will be my wife.” He studies my reaction. It’s so ludicrous, I don’t have one. “It will be a temporary arrangement. You will stand in for Natalya. You will smile and attend functions as needed. You will live in my house⁠—”

“I’m sorry, hold on a second. This is insane. You’re seriously talking about getting married?”

He leans forward again, jaw working. “What did I say about interrupting me?”

“I know, it’s just⁠—”

“If you do it again, I will hold you down against this table and spank your ass raw. Do you understand me?”

Oh, holy shit.

I go completely still. His terrifying blue eyes continue to keep me pinned in place. I squirm, thinking about his rough hand slapping against my naked ass, his hard mouth against my ear, calling me all sorts of degrading, nasty names.

Because I am a broken freak, that is wildly appealing.

Fuck and murder vibes.

He sits back as if nothing just happened.

“Natalya’s disappearance is an embarrassment both for me and for her father. Marrying you will help soften some of that blow. You will be our excuse for why this deal fell through. We will stay together for two years, and you will be compensated commensurate with your time and your effort. I will treat you well, provided you obey my rules and do not embarrass me, and I will grant you a lucrative and easy divorce when the time comes. This is a business deal, and nothing more.”

My core throbs with an eager intensity. I’m still a little stuck on the whole spanking thing. But I force the image of him roughly taking me from my head and try to focus on what he’s saying.

Marriage. Two years. Saving face.

Lucrative.

Compensation.

I look at the bills. I glance into the kitchen and the empty refrigerator. I think of Mom’s puffy eyes, her faraway and lonely stare, her aching hips as she shuffles over to the church once a week just to have some time away from her misery and grief.

I look back at Valentin.

“There’s absolutely no way I’m ever going to marry you,” I tell him.

His eyebrows raise as if he’s surprised, but how could this psychopath have actually thought this would work? People don’t just get married like this. Much less to total freaking strangers, who just might be legitimately unhinged.

The guy pulled a gun on me last time.

How can I ever marry a man like that? How could I ever be safe with him?

I’m not safe, not at all, especially not right now.

I push back from the table and stand. I put some distance between us, afraid of what he might do, but he doesn’t seem particularly upset by my response.

“I’m offering to take care of you, malishka. All of your debts will be gone. Any extra money you wish will be yours. Anything your mother might need⁠—”

I hold up a hand. “How do you know about my debts?”

His eyebrows arch as he looks down at the stack of bills. “I guessed.”

“My financial situation is not your business, okay? You’re talking about marriage. You’re not asking me to the prom. You’re not requesting a weekend of my time. This is marriage for two freaking years to a guy that pulled a gun on me and also threatened to spank me like I’m a child.”

“I find spankings are very effective.” His lips curl slightly in a devilish smirk.

I hate myself for finding that attractive. I could scream right now with frustration, but I bottle it up and shove it all down inside.

“No, thank you. I’m not for sale. I’m not going to marry myself off to some rich man just to take care of my family. I have a job. We’ll figure this out on our own.” I gesture at the door. “Please leave. And don’t come back.”

He gives me a long, hard look. It’s more curious than upset. Slowly, he gets to his feet, leaning his palms on the table. “If you reconsider, here is how to contact me.” He puts a business card on top of the stack of bills.

“Yeah, no thanks.” I walk to the door and open it. “It was great talking to you. Let’s never, ever do this again.”

He pauses as he moves past me. His body is so close to mine and a shiver runs down my spine despite myself. I smell grass and something deep and musky, his cologne or deodorant, or just the smell of his laundry soap. I don’t know, and I don’t care.

I’d wrap myself in wet sheets and breathe until I passed out if they smelled like him.

“I can make your problems go away, malishka.”

“I have a feeling that comes with more strings than I’d like. And stop calling me that. I don’t even know you.”

“I think you will know me soon.” He turns away, about to leave.

When my mother appears on the sidewalk.

She stops short, her dark eyebrows raised high. She’s wearing forest green walking pants and a navy-blue fleece. Her black hair is streaked with white and it’s pulled back into a loose ponytail. She looks from me to Valentin and back again.

“Mrs. Vardanyan,” Valentin says with a polite nod as he walks past her, hands shoved into his pocket.

“Uh, hello,” she says and watches him go with a puzzled frown. She turns to me. “Who was that?”

“Nobody, Momma. Come inside.”

“He looked like trouble.” She shakes her head as she comes up the stoop. “I think that man was trouble. Was he from the banks?”

“No banks, Mama. He was a friend of Merrick’s, that’s all.”

“The painter man from your job? I don’t like that, not one bit.”

“Mama-jan, please, it’s nothing, let it go.”

She grabs my arm once the door’s closed. The panic in her eyes makes me pause in surprise as her grip tightens. “Promise me you won’t get involved with a man like that, Karine-jan. I know men like him. We left Baltimore to get far away from them. Promise me.”

I’ve never heard her talk like this before. I knew she and Dad left Baltimore suddenly and always had regrets about it, but I never understood why. They didn’t like to talk about their past.

“All right, Mama, it’s fine. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. Don’t worry so much, okay? Now, I’m making some food if you’re hungry.”

She seems mollified by that, but I can tell it still worries her. I snatch up the business card he left—nothing more than his name, Valentin Zaitsev, and a single phone number—and hide it before she can say anything about it.

But her reaction keeps bugging me, almost as much that bizarre meeting.