CHAPTER 8

Matvei

I hated marriage and the whole idea of having someone in your life. But I was obsessed with humiliating my father, and somehow I ended up with the most disrespectful person I’ve ever met in my whole fucking life. I’ve met disrespectful people before—but they didn’t live longer than two minutes after that.

I should murder Sonia for this fucking mistake, but Geal would chew me alive, ranting and spitting shit everywhere—especially since he hasn’t fucked her yet. So I’ll give her the grace to live.

But she’ll be punished for this mistake. I said a fucking submissive girl, not a dangerous, curvy bitch with dark brown hair that falls down her back and stops right at her beautiful curves. Not big, sexy brown eyes with long natural lashes that make her look like a fucking cartoon character designed to ruin men.

She was designed to ruin me; she’s my temptation.

Fuck. My eyes trace her body too much. And every time her anger and disrespect hit me, I snap and remind her exactly who the fuck she’s talking to. She thinks that because of her body, I’d choose only her. Fuck that. I will never be a one-woman man—but she will be a one-man woman. She’s my wife, and she doesn’t have the right to fucking flirt.

I lost my shit and killed a spy sent by the Irish mob. I was supposed to stay calm and see what the fucker was up to, but I completely lost my fucking mind when I saw my wife on top of him. Fuck.

I haven’t even been on top of her yet, and some stupid bastard got there first.

Was that even her first?…

I don’t want to know right now, but I will find out—and I’ll kill anyone who has ever seen her naked or been on top of her before. I can’t get my mind off the blood gushing from her fingers. She pushed me too far, and I lost my shit again. Fuck.

I’ve never felt this bad about blood. I didn’t mean to hurt her, and for the first time in my life, I actually feel bad for hurting someone. I didn’t feel this fucking bad when I shot my father in his right arm at ten years old. I’ve never felt bad for killing anyone.

Geal was there for her, and I just stood there, completely frozen by the fucking mess I caused. I hurt the one person I was supposed to protect, and I don’t even know how to deal with that shit.

I slammed my laptop shut in my office and walked straight to the room, only to overhear her talking to Geal. Fuck. She doesn’t even talk to me like that. She hates me just for grazing her fingers with a bullet—at least I didn’t shoot her in the head, considering how angry I was. She should be grateful for that. But no. She fucking hates me.

She doesn’t have the right to hate me.

“Get your hands off her. She’s not leaving this room,” I growled, my cold gaze piercing Gael. He immediately stepped away from her and walked toward me.

“Matvey, yey nuzhno spokoystviye i svoboda, a ne zapirat'sya v komnate,” he said in Russian. I know he wouldn’t dare speak to me like that in her presence—like he’s fucking defending her.

She needs calm and freedom, not to be locked in a room, Matvey.

“Ona moya zhena, i ya znayu, chto yey nuzhno,” I sneered, glancing at Araceli. Her head was lowered, lashes fluttering like she was trying to piece together what we were saying.

She’s my wife. And I know what she needs.

“YA prosto khotel kupit' yey morozhenoye i posmotret' s ney fil'm—eto yeyo uspokoit,” he shrugged, following my gaze. “To, chto ty sdelal, yeyo nemnogo travmirovalo.”

I just wanted to get her ice cream and watch a movie with her—it’ll calm her down. What you did kind of traumatized her.

He left the room, and I closed the door, turning to face Araceli. She wants ice cream, right? Then I’ll get her ice cream. Then she’ll fucking talk to me the way she talks to him. I’m her husband—I should be the only one with that privilege.

I caught the flicker of hurt in her eyes, so I walked toward her, and she started shaking. Fuck.

“Let’s get ice cream and watch a movie. You like that, right?” I gritted my teeth, pissed the hell off as she trembled like I was some vampire about to suck her blood.

“I-I… I don’t want ice cream.” Her pretty little voice disagreed with me.

She doesn’t want ice cream, but she wanted to get some with Gael. She’s fucking ignoring me. Fuck. I made an effort for the first time in my life to spare some fucking time to do something with her, and she shut me down.

I clenched my jaw and grabbed her wrists.

“It was not a request,” I sneered.

I pulled her, and she started shaking, trying to get her hands off me—but I was way stronger than her. I dragged her to the kitchen. Nobody was in the house. I hadn’t assigned a bodyguard to her yet, so I ordered everyone to stay outside.

“Sit,” I ordered.

She sat on the stool, still shaking. Tears streamed down her face, soaking her long, sexy lashes like she’d cried a whole fucking ocean today. I furrowed my brows and clenched my fists.

“Why the fuck are you crying?!” I growled.

She flinched and cried even louder. Fuck.

Her sobs were so loud they scratched at my ears. “Are you a fucking baby? Are you a child? Why the fuck are you crying like that?” I sneered.

It fell on deaf ears. She kept crying like I was beating her, when all I wanted was to get her ice cream.

I hissed and ran my hands through my hair, frustration and anger crawling under my skin. I fucking hate this. I opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bucket of ice cream, and slammed it in front of her. She flinched and kept crying.

I grabbed her jaw and forced her face up so she had to meet my cold gaze.

“Now scoop that ice cream and put it in your fucking sexy mouth.”

She froze, staring straight into my eyes. No one has ever dared to do that. But her—those big brown eyes, those long lashes framing her doll-like face. I fucking love it. And I fucking hate it. It makes me weak when I’m angry. I felt it on our wedding night—that’s why I ordered her to lower her head back then.

Now I don’t even have the guts to tell her to do it.

Fuck.

I stepped back immediately. This girl will be the fucking end of me.

She went quiet and started eating the ice cream. Her lashes fluttered nonstop, blinking way too much—I guess it was getting into her eyes. I stared at the wall clock. It was almost time for dinner, the one my lovely wife had cluelessly agreed to.

“Get dressed,” I ordered and walked out of the kitchen.

“Are you taking me back home?” Her soft voice was filled with happiness.

It pissed me off.

I froze instantly, then turned back to her, my fists clenched as I walked toward her with heavy steps.