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

The elevator door opened and the humid smell of chlorine wafted down a short tiled hallway that ended with a single double door.

“He’s right in there.” Roza didn’t make a move.

“You’re not coming?”

“Nope, I got more work to do.”

I hesitated and looked down the hallway. I thought of what she said upstairs—just get in the pool—and felt a little chill in my fingertips.

“I’m not sure I want to see him right now.”

“Though luck, kiddo. The boss wants to talk, so it’s time to go talk. Don’t worry, he’s in a good mood. Swimming always makes him happy.”

“Of course there’s a pool in this underground nightmare.”

“I told you, there’s way more to this place than you realize. Now get in there.” She gave me a gentle nudge.

I stepped off the elevator and sucked in a deep breath. The taste of the pool in the air reminded me of swimming at the YMCA when I was a little girl. My father took me for lessons, and I used to spend hours kicking around on a blue floating paddle board, laughing as Dad backstroked alongside me, grinning that whole time. Afterward, he’d take me into the director’s office and I’d take a piece of candy from a bowl on the man’s desk.

In retrospect, that poor man likely owed my father money or worse.

I didn’t have a lot of good memories of him, but despite the criminal undertones, that was one of the best.

“Are you sure I should—“

But before I could finish, the elevator doors slid shut, and I was alone.

“Damn,” I finished softly to myself then walked down the hall and pushed open the doors.

The pool room was exquisite. The walls were painted in an underwater lake motif with floating plant life and shockingly detailed fish. Even the ceiling was painted to look as though it were the top of the water, looking up from the bottom. The pool itself was Olympic sized with multiple lanes, though only one was in use.

Roman swan a leisurely freestyle with measured, precise strokes.

I drifted into the room, pacing down along the pool. Bunches lined the walls, old and wooden, like antiques. I barely saw them though.

I was too busy staring at Roman’s arms, at the muscles in his back and legs, at the way he slid gracefully through the water like he’d been born to swim.

He reached the far side and paused. Before he kicked off, he noticed me standing there on the edge, watching.

A smile bloomed across his lips. It shouldn’t have sent my heart into a tailspin.

But it did.

He swam over toward me lazily, floating on his back, then treaded water a few feet away.

“You came down.”

“Roza didn’t give me much choice.”

“She can be dramatic sometimes.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Another, smaller smile. “Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

“I’m not sure how I feel right now, if I’m honest. I’m still trying to process.”

“Come swim with me. That’ll help you think.”

I hesitated, looked away.

Getting in there, with him, definitely wouldn’t help me think.

I could barely keep it together as it was, looking down at his bare arms, his wet hair, his frosty eyes.

Get in the pool, he’ll like that.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

He pointed toward the far corner. A screen was set up, blocking off a portion of the room. “I brought something for you and I thought you might like privacy.”

“You got me a bathing suit?”

He looked at me like, of course he did, because of course he did, then began to swim again. That perfect, smooth, measured stroke, muscular arms slicing through the water, legs kicking in an even rhythm.

I wandered over toward the screen. It was old and covered in a stitched mountain motif. I wondered how much it cost.

I wondered if I could sit on a bench and watch him swim.

But I stepped behind and found a single stool with a bikini set on top.

Deep, ruby red. I picked it up, held it against my chest.

Small, but not overly revealing.

The bottoms were standard—not too cheeky and high waisted.

I hadn’t worn a two-piece in years, not since the incident, but the bottoms looked like they’d reach up over my scar.

He could’ve gotten me something ridiculous. Instead, this was surprisingly tasteful.

Smart man.

Otherwise, I never would’ve considered it.

I stripped off my clothes, put on the top. It fit me shockingly well. I wished I had a mirror, but had to trust that I was put together enough to be presentable. I got the bottoms on then paused. I tugged them up and made sure they’d cover my scar with plenty of room. It’d been so long since I wore anything that wasn’t a very conservative one-piece. Winter was constantly berating me for it, kept saying that I had an amazing body and should show it off more.

She could be right, but the thought of people seeing my scar—it made my hands shake with anxiety.

I heard him still swimming out there, that steady tide like a metronome.

What was I thinking? I didn’t know why I wanted to get in a pool with him. Maybe it would feel good to swim. Maybe he was right and it might help clear my head.

Or maybe I wanted him to see me in nothing but a little red bikini.

I stepped out from behind the screen, my cheeks probably the same shade as the bathing suit top. He reached the near wall again and stopped.

And stared.

My cheeks were an eight, at least.

He looked at me like I was a revelation. I wanted to get back behind the screen and throw my clothes back on.

I wanted to wrap my arms around my chest and cover my breasts, or down to cover the scar across my belly, but I knew at least that was covered by the bottoms.

I couldn’t stay there and let him look at me. It was too much, too overwhelming. His gaze was a spotlight and I was a criminal caught breaking into a bank. He wanted to ravish me, to peel beneath my exterior and tunnel in as deep as he could, and there was a wild, reckless part that invited it.

That wanted him to break me.

I jumped into the pool.

It wasn’t graceful, but I went right under and got my hair wet. Might as well get it over with.

When I came back up, he was still watching.

“I’m surprised. I didn’t expect you to get in.”

“I’m a very spontaneous person.” Which wasn’t true at all.

“I bet you are.” He drifted over toward me. The pool was warm, comfortable. I tread water with ease. “Are you a strong swimmer?”

“I’m okay. Not great.”

He circled to my left like a hungry shark. I let him go all the way around, trying to keep him in view the whole time.

“My father taught me. He said swimming could make a man strong. When I was little, he took me and my brother down to a lake behind our summer house and made us swim to the far side and back every morning at sunrise. He’d row a kayak alongside and shout encouragement and warnings, and when it was over, we’d lay on the beach and let the sun dry us until it was time to eat.”

“That sounds kind of nice.”

“It wasn’t.” He came into view. His face was flat, lips tugged ever so slightly down. “Those first few weeks were a nightmare. I would’ve died more than once if my brother hadn’t kept my afloat.”

“Are you close? With your brother?”

“I was. He died a long time ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He did a lazy backstroke then looked at me again. “I don’t know why I find swimming so calming. It isn’t a good memory, but maybe that was a simpler time.”

“Is your father still around? Are you close with your parents?”

“He passed two years ago. My mother lives in upstate New York in that house on the lake. I speak with her every day if I can, but I wouldn’t say we’re close.”

“I know what you mean. My mom died when I was little and my dad was sort of… He was sort of absent.”

“Absent is an interesting way of putting it. You mean he was too busy running a gambling ring and extorting small businesses into paying him protection money to spend much time with you.”

“I wasn’t going to put it that way, but yeah, that’s probably right.” I felt a sudden pang of anger. I didn’t know the judgmental tone he took when he talked about my family. “I didn’t know any of that. It wasn’t like he told me. I thought he was just another normal Dad.”

“When did that change?”

I leaned back and floated on my back. “I was a teenager when I realized things were weird. You know, when I was old enough to notice my friends’ parents, how they lived and stuff. We always had cash. My dad paid for everything in cash, and he had bundles of the stuff lying around the house. That was so weird, but I guess it makes sense now.”

He floated next to me, drifting closer. The room was so quiet except for the hum of the pool filters and my breathing and the water lapping against my ears.

“Why did you run away from home?”

The question made my fingers curl into fists. “Something happened. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I heard his face turn toward mine. But if he wanted to press, he chose not to. “Do you miss Boston?”

“No, not at all.”

“Do you miss the family? All those MacKenna bosses?”

“Not even a little.”

“That’s good. I think they won’t be happy with you.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

He came closer. His arm brushed against mine. I was suddenly self-conscious—my scar might be showing. I dropped down under the water and swam away then came up and tread water.

He looked at me curiously.

“You look good in the water, you know. The wet hair suits you.”

“That’s a weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”

“I wasn’t sure about the red though. You strike me as a girl that wears black or dark blue, but it suits you too. Brings out the pink in your cheeks and the slight red highlights in your hair, at least before you jumped in.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

He swam toward me. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Based on the color of your lips and the way you’re looking at me, I think you’re okay.”

“You know you have this way of looking at people, right?”

“No, I don’t. Describe it to me.”

“It’s like you want to rip me to pieces.”

Another quirk of his lips. “More like rip that bikini to pieces.”

“You could’ve chosen something more revealing, you know.”

“Would you have put it on?”

“No, probably not.”

“Then I chose right. You look good in that, Cassie. I think you’d look good in less.”

“You can think about it all you want.” I floated up onto my back again, heart racing, nipples stiff with excitement. “I’m not sure I want to give you the real thing.”

I turned and started to swim away. I wasn’t very fast though and he easily caught up with me. But instead of passing, he moved to the side and grabbed my hips.

I sucked in a shocked breath as he wrapped his arms around me—

And pulled me tight against him.

We tread water together, his arms around my lower back, my hands flat against his wet chest.

I felt something stir against me. Something hard.

Something thick and very, very hard.

His other hand moved down and gripped my ass hard.

“I think you’d let me untie that bikini right now if I wanted it,” he said softly, almost a whisper, and yet his voice filled the pool, bouncing off the tiled walls and ceiling. “I think you’d let me push you up against the wall, or pin you down to one of those benches, and let me strip off that tip, those bottoms, and let me have my way with every inch of your delicious skin.”

“I don’t think you know anything about me.”

“Let me find out.”

I tried to push him off. “Let go of me.”

“No.” He held me tighter. His hard cock pressed against my core, between my legs. “You’re breathing hard. Are you going to have another panic attack?”

“No, I’m not, asshole.”

“Then that’s arousal.” His head tilted. “I’d reach between your legs and confirm, but we’re already in a pool and you’re wet by definition.”

“Let me go.”

“I don’t think I will.” He leaned closer, lips so close to mine.

We were alone, so very alone, and he was wrapped around me like an anchor. He could drag me under and drown me if he wanted, and there was nobody in this world that could touch him for it.

Real fear set in then.

I was deep underground with this man I barely knew—

A man that freely admitted he was more dangerous than mobsters.

And here I was wearing one of his bathing suits and all alone with him in a pool.

I could die here, and who would mourn me?

Winter would. Maybe my dad.

Nobody else. I’d be a footnote at beast. The world would move on.

His lips brushed mine.

“Tell me a secret,” he whispered.

“I don’t have any.”

“I’ll give you one if you promise me one in return.”

“I don’t want to play, Roman.”

“I think you do.” He kissed my neck. I sucked in a sharp breath. God, I hated him and wanted him in equal measure. “I can feel your heart racing. Your nipples are so hard they might rip through that top. Don’t pretend like you aren’t as aroused as I am.”

“Let me go.”

“Promise me a secret and I will.”

I chewed on my lip. His mouth moved up my cheek.

“Fine. One secret. But only if yours is worth it.”

“Oh, Cassie, my life is built of secrets, but I promise, they’re all worth it.”

And he kissed me then. His lips pressed to mine and his tongue slid between my teeth and I let him in, let his taste flood my mouth, the spicy delight of him warring with the chlorine of the pool water, and I moaned into that kiss as he tread water for the both of us, barely keeping us afloat. He turned and moved me back toward the wall but I wasn’t aware of anything but those lips, moving against mine, his tongue and teeth, the way he bit me, the way his hands moved on my ass, up my chest, cupped my breast—

Then I was lifting up.

I gasped as he put me onto the edge. I longed for those lips again as I stared down at him. He raised up onto his elbows, up between my legs. I moved back, my ass scraping against the rough tile—

I quickly adjusted my bikini bottoms, making sure the scar was covered.

“Do you still want a secret?” He kissed my neck, my chest. His hand cupped a breast as he moved down, my stomach, my belly-button—

Too close—

“Please,” I said, squirming.

“You signed something upstairs, didn’t you?”

A cold chill run down my spine. He spread my legs wider, kissed my inner thigh. I sucked in a breath and suppressed the pleasure-sigh that tried to escape.

“Roza told me not to mention it.”

“She said it was an NDA, correct?” His mouth moving closer to my pussy and I moved my hips, not sure if I was trying to escape or trying to get closer to those lips.

“To keep me from talking about this place. She said it was an NDA and some other contract, I don’t know. I didn’t read it.”

“I didn’t think you would.” He stopped, inches from my core. I moaned and wanted to grab his hair, but he pulled himself up, pushing with his powerful arms and I scrambled back to make room for him. I leaned back on my hands as he stood up, water dripping off him in waves, down his gorgeous, chiseled chest and lips, that mouth I loved and hated and wanted, down his muscular legs and over the outline of his barely-contained erection, thick and massively long, shockingly large, and even that I wanted, all of it, all of him—

“What’s the secret, Roman?” My lips hung over. My breath came in ragged gasps.

“You didn’t sign an NDA, kukolka.”

“What did I sign?”

I didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to know.

“You signed a pre-nuptial agreement and a marriage certificate.”

I stared at him in horror and scrambled away until my back smashed up against the bench behind me.