Chapter 7 – Discipline and Reward

Dominik

Restraint is not my nature.

Men like me are forged in violence. Every instinct in me wants to break her quickly and brutally, to press her until her fire gutters out and she learns that obedience is simpler than resistance. But I’m not a man ruled by instinct. Instinct makes men sloppy, and sloppy men die.

So I choose restraint.

Eve doesn’t understand yet. Her fury, her defiance, her stubborn silences, they’re not obstacles. They’re the marrow of why I want her. A docile woman is as useless to me as a broken weapon. I need her sharp, burning, impossible to ignore. I need her to fight me every day, because when she finally turns that fight into want, it will be explosive and eternal.

Until then, I will tolerate her rage the way a general tolerates enemy gunfire. As part of the battlefield, not the end of it.

I watch her through the glass wall of my study. She’s in the garden again, flanked by two guards who pretend not to notice that she’s seething.

She stands under the shade of an oak, arms folded, posture stiff. The breeze toys with her curls, and the sunlight threads her eyes into molten glass. She looks like she belongs on a canvas. One of those 19th-century heroines painted mid-rebellion, on the brink of burning the world.

My world.

I close the file in front of me. Enough business for today. Some things demand more immediate attention.

When she returns inside, I meet her in the corridor. “You’ll dress for dinner tonight,” I say, voice quiet but absolute.

Her eyes flash. “I was dressed for dinner last night. I assume there would have been more staring if I was naked.”

“Let me rephrase that in terms you can understand. Tonight, you will dress for my viewing pleasure.”

I let my gaze drag over her jeans and T-shirt, deliberately dismissive. “You’ll wear what I approve. A dress will be laid out for you each evening.”

“You think I’m a doll you can play dress-up with?”

“You’re my fiance.” I pause, savoring the way the word makes her jaw tense. “Which means you reflect me. I won’t have you wandering this house like a stray student on holiday.”

Her lips part in a retort, but I cut it off with the next rule. “You don’t leave the grounds without permission. You don’t walk around unescorted. Your movements are accounted for at all times.”

“Like prison,” she spits.

“Like marriage.” I step closer and she tilts her head back to keep our eyes level. I like her anger, it sharpens her beauty, makes every flicker of her pulse more vivid.

“You want your father breathing? These are the terms. Public obedience is not negotiable. In private, you can scream until your throat shreds.”

Her fists curl at her sides. “I wish you would crawl back under whatever rock spat you out.”

“I’ll send you a postcard,” I say, brushing past her, my hand grazing her hip just long enough for the cameras to catch it.

Dinner that evening is a performance. The long table gleams with polished silver and crystal. Half a dozen of my capos sit along the length of it. Men with shoulders wide from carrying my orders, jaws scarred from enforcing them. They drink my wine, eat my food, and remember their places.

Eve enters in the dress I had sent to her suite. Black silk that clings to her waist and flows around her thighs, neckline low enough to remind every man here why they’ll die if they look too long.

She’s not wearing it willingly. I can tell by the way her spine is rigid, her chin lifted high, her smirk as sharp as a scalpel. But she’s smart enough to know what will happen if she doesn’t obey.

I walk to my seat at the head of the table, stopping to hold out the chair on my right for Eve.

Enzo looms behind me, silent, broad as a mountain, watchful as a wolfhound. The men glance at Eve as she lowers herself into her seat, and I can feel their curiosity prickling. Who is this girl I plucked from nowhere and set at my table?

Eve feels it too. She glares at them one by one, daring them to meet her eyes. Brave. Stupid. Perfect.

Conversation hums around us. Territories, debts, weapons shipments. I let the men talk. My attention is fixed on her. She picks at the edge of her napkin, jaw tight. Every line of her body screams with the effort not to show fear.

I lean closer, let my lips almost touch her ear. “Relax,” I murmur. “You’re making the china nervous.”

She jerks slightly, her knuckles whitening against the tablecloth. “Don’t whisper to me like-”

Before she can finish, I act. I hook an arm around her waist and lift her, smooth and sudden, into my lap. Gasps ripple down the table, but they’re quickly stifled. No one dares laugh or comment. Enzo doesn’t move. He knows this is mine to handle.

They’ve never seen me be openly affectionate with a companion before. I’m sure none of them thought I’d ever get married. There’s no precedent for this type of behavior and none of them are willing to gamble on saying or doing the wrong thing. Instead they sit in silence and stare.

Eve stiffens like I’ve burned her. Her hands plant against my chest, pushing in an effort to create space between us, but I don’t budge. My palm spreads across her back, keeping her body pressed to mine. Her pulse slams under my fingers and the sensation is enthralling.

“You son of a-” she hisses, low enough that only I can hear.

“Careful,” I whisper back, my breath brushing her cheek. “They’ll hear. And then they’ll know exactly how much you hate sitting on your husband’s lap. I won’t tolerate that.”

Her nails dig into my shirt, not deep enough to break skin but close. I smile against her temple. “Be still. Let them see how well you fit.”

She trembles and I can feel her fury, shame, and something hotter beneath. Exactly what I wanted.

I lower my voice further, just for her. “You look exquisite tonight. Black suits you. Do you feel them staring? My men? They’re wondering how you taste. I’m wondering too. Shall I describe it to them?”

Her breath catches, sharp. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I won’t share. I don’t share. But I might let them imagine what I whisper in your ear. That you’ll come with my cock inside you long before dessert is served. That I’ll paint your throat with my seed and tell you to swallow like a good little wife. That soon I’ll keep you spread and dripping until your womb does its duty.”

She goes rigid in my arms. Her skin flushes, a storm of red climbing her throat to her cheeks. She hates every word, but a traitorous shiver races down her spine, a current of heat that has nothing to do with shame.

I feel the faint quickening of her breath, the sharp hammer of her pulse under my palm.

Fuck. It’s perfect. I want her so much it’s painful. My balls have never been this swollen before. But that’s good. More sperm to fill her with when the time comes.

I press my mouth to her ear, letting my teeth graze the shell of it. “Your body doesn’t lie, Eve. It never will. You can spit venom until you choke, but when I touch you, you’ll answer me.”

Her voice trembles, thick with rage. “Let. Me. Go.”

I tighten my hold just enough to remind her who decides. “Never. You’re exactly where you belong.”

At last, I release her, guiding her back into her chair with a hand firm on her waist. She doesn’t look at me. She stares straight ahead, jaw clenched, cheeks flushed. To anyone else, she looks like a furious bride humiliated in front of her new family.

To me, she looks like victory waiting to be declared.

Because I felt it. Her pulse racing under my hand, the way her breath faltered, the heat she couldn’t hide. She hates me, and still her body responds. She’ll crave me as deeply as I want her. I’m fine with our relationship only being physical.

I sip my wine and let conversation resume as if nothing happened. Enzo shifts slightly behind me, his massive frame blocking half the light. The men keep their eyes on their plates. No one will speak of it, not if they value their tongues.

Eve seethes beside me, vibrating with fury. Her pulse is still wild though, betraying her arousal.

I smile into my glass. Restraint pays dividends if you exercise a little patience.