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

I woke up to an empty bed, stretched out, groaned, and stared at the ceiling.

The night before returned in flashes.

His hand on my ass. His lips locked tight on my nipple. Biting his shoulder, digging my claws into his back.

His cock between my legs and the orgasms flowing past like a river, rolling from one to the next in an endless procession of bliss, a trumpet-blast of ecstasy, a sustained note of perfection.

And all throughout, his hands pinning me down, spanking me, hurting me just enough to make the pleasure scream from my raw throat even louder.

God what was wrong with me? How did I end up here?

Married to a perfect monster.

I climbed out of bed and showered. I wanted to regain at least some of my dignity. Last night was a blur, though there was proof of it all over my skin: bruises on my ass, on my arms, on my thighs.

On my throat

I sighed and touched them, staring at myself in the mirror.

Roman’s lips pressed against my scar. The loving way he caressed my body.

Did he mean it about my flaws? Did he really think it made me more attractive?

I only remembered my father calling me damaged. Sneering at me like what happened was my fault.

As if I wanted to get assaulted.

I pulled on a robe and slipped back into my room. I got dressed in jeans and a black top with a latticework of straps across my chest. There was a bruise in the shape of his teeth on my right breast, and it was only barely covered. I smiled, touched it gently.

I wanted to show it off. That made me sick, didn’t it?

A knock at my door. “Come in.”

Roza looked inside. “Oh good, you’re dressed already. He said you’d be in his room. I was worried I’d find something inappropriate.”

I blushed a deep crimson. An eight, at least.

“Nothing like that.”

“Right, sure, totally, I get you. I’m just saying, Roman is an attractive man. You’re single, he’s single—“ She stopped then grinned at me. “Well actually, you’re both married, but to each other. So that works out.”

“Roza.”

“Okay, not my business.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Only saying, I think you should go for it. If you want to, anyway.”

“You think I should have sex with your boss, who is also the man that basically kidnapped me and tricked me into marrying him? Is that about right?”

“Pretty much. Although he didn’t kidnap you.”

“Okay fine, but you get my point.”

“Loud and clear.” She smiled brightly. “I still think you should fuck like rabbits. He hasn’t been with anyone in a while, you know.”

I hesitated, glanced at myself in the mirror. “Really?”

“Really. It’s weird. He was on a total dry spell for months and then bang, here you are.”

I tugged at my hair, frowning. Roman had plenty of women—that was obvious, based on the way he pleased me and knew what he wanted—but it hadn’t occurred to me that I might be something… special.

Something different.

“That’s good to know.”

“I bet it is.” I looked over and she was grinning at me. “Anyway, come on, he’s waiting. I hear you two have a very busy morning.”

“I guess we do.” I tugged at my shirt, straightened it, wondered if I should change.

I hadn’t seen my father in three years. Maybe showing off a bruise on my breast was a bad idea.

But no, fuck him. He wouldn’t notice, and I didn’t care either way.

He thought I was a broken piece of trash, so I might as well give him what he wanted.

Roza led me into the main room. Roman was waiting near the elevator in a simple pair of dark slacks and a white shirt that molded to his body. He nodded at me and his gaze fell to my chest, and my heart skipped a slight beat when he licked his lips. He was staring at the bruise—I knew he’d notice—

“Thank you for bringing my wife.” Roman didn’t look away from me.

“Anything else I can do, boss? Or are you going to stand here and stare at Cassie like she’s a wedding cake?”

“That’ll be all.” He glared at Roza. “I’d order you to respect boundaries, but we both know that won’t happen.”

“One of these days we’ll get there. Just keep trying.” She squeezed my hand then walked off.

Roman sighed, hit the elevator button.

I stepped up next to him, standing close.

“You were gone this morning,” I mumbled.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me there.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

“What do you think? Would it have been nice to find my arms wrapped around your body?”

“Probably not. It would’ve led to something else. We both know you’re not exactly a paragon of self-control.”

“I can deny myself pleasure if I want to. Only I don’t want to with you.”

We stepped onto the elevator and rode it down in a thick, tense silence.

My conflicted feelings rushed back. I was still angry to find myself trapped in a marriage I never asked for, used in a plan that was so far beyond anything I understand, locked away with a man that might be a psychopath, and yet none of that seemed to matter, because the moment he looked at me I felt my stomach twist and my nipple stiffen and my pussy drip down into my panties.

Because I knew what he could do to me if I let him.

And god, I wanted to let him.

I struggled to banish all thoughts from my mind as we walked outside. Roman’s motorcycle was parked by the curb and one of his men stood beside it. Roman put on his helmet and I pulled on mine, then climbed onto the back. We rode out into traffic.

I leaned against him again. This time, I didn’t hold back. I touched his stomach, his chest, and even let my hand drift down to his thigh. I wanted to mess with him, tease him—and maybe we’d die in the process.

But what a way to go.

I felt his cock stiffen as he drove faster, almost recklessly fast, weaving in and out of traffic. He dodged a pedestrian as I squeezed his tip then stroked his shaft, and I felt something humming, maybe the bike, maybe his body, I didn’t know.

I had no clue where he was taking me, and I didn’t care.

The bike zipped between cars then rolled to a stop in a quiet neighborhood. He killed the engine and I pulled my hands back, grinning to myself as I hopped off the bike and took off my helmet. I shook my hair out and raised an eyebrow at him.

He stayed seated for several long moments, helmet hiding his expression.

I could only imagine the rage and desire in his eyes.

“Are you coming, husband? Oh, sorry, I meant, are you getting off the bike anytime soon?”

He grunted and stood up, removed the helmet, and shoved the key into his pocket.

“You’ll get us killed doing shit like that.”

“Oh, I have full faith in your driving abilities.”

He moved to walk past me then stopped and cupped my chin, looking into my eyes with that molten stare. “You really shouldn’t.”

His tongue was like heaven, his lips like the pearly gates. I sneered at him, happy to have a little bit of control back.

He let me go then strode toward a small green door with the words The Smuggler’s Bay painted above it.

The interior was dim and smelled like beer. The floors were sticky and everything was covered in wood molding, but it was a decent looking Irish pub, with a long bar and stools on the left and tiny cramped booths on the right and Irish-themed art along the walls. There was nobody else in the place and half the chairs were left upside down on the tables, and I was going to ask if he got the wrong address until we moved further into the back and I saw him.

My father with a pint of Guinness on the table and a scowl on his lips.

I stopped in my tracks. Roman continued on.

Dad looked like he had the day I left. It’d only been three years and I didn’t know what I expected, but something stabbed at me, seeing him like that, as if no time had passed at all. Slick dark hair, graying in the front, a severe, thin face, short nose, pursed lips like the room didn’t quite meet his standards. He was skinny and pale and angry, and I remembered that rage, whip-sharp and unrelenting.

He didn’t hit me. Didn’t beat me. Didn’t shout at me.

But if I stepped a toe out of line, if I got a bad grade or talked back, he punished me, and my punishments could be severe. Three weeks locked in my room for leaving the dishes dirty. A month with nothing but bread and water for calling him too strict.

I worked so hard to get away from this man. I never wanted to feel like this again—so small, so worthless.

But as soon as he looked in my direction, I was a little girl all over again.

Roman realized I wasn’t with him and glanced back. I couldn’t move, couldn’t do this. I wanted to turn and run.

He turned to me, took my hand in his own, and leaned forward. He kissed my cheek. “Be strong,” he whispered, “and breathe.”

I nodded and took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

We approached the table and Dad smiled.

“Cassie. It’s good to see you again.”

“Hi, Dad.”

Roman stepped forward, putting himself between me and my dad. “Thank you for meeting with me, Eamon.”

Dad looked at Roman and there was a hint of fear in his expression. I’d never seen that from him before. “When a man like yourself requests a discussion, a man like me doesn’t say no.”

“That’s good. May we sit?”

“Please.”

Roman pulled a chair out for me. I sat and looked at the floor, avoiding my dad’s gaze. Roman sat and leaned forward on his elbows, commanding my father’s attention.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“I have some guesses, but I’d rather hear from you.”

Roman tapped his finger on the table. “How much do you know about your daughter’s life since she left Boston?”

“She lives above a girl named Winter. I believe they’re best friends. Her landlord’s name is June, a batty old lady, wanted to kick them out many times over the years, but was amenable when I told her very firmly that it wasn’t an option. She works at several bars, especially one with a Lobster in the name. Keeps to herself. Rides her bike.”

I leaned back, stunned.

I hadn’t spoken a word to him, and yet he knew all that.

Worse, he meddled in my affairs.

“Thank you for confirming,” Roman said and covered one of my hands with his own. It was comforting and protective all at once, and it kept my heart under control.

My breath was ragged. I worked on getting that even and smooth.

Dad never let me alone. Roman hadn’t lied.

He’d been watching me this whole time.

I wanted to scream.

Why would he do that, when he made it so clear that he didn’t give a damn about me back home?

If he wanted to be in my life, he never should’ve acted like I was ruined.

He made that choice, not me.

And yet he never left me alone. He was watching out for me.

The realization made my stomach twist with nausea.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Lenkov, I want to know why you brought me down from Boston for this.”

“Call me Roman.”

“Okay, Roman. You know who I am, and you know that I’ve been involved in my daughter’s life from a distance, but I still don’t know what you have to do with any of this.”

“I met Cassie at a party over a month ago. Since then, we’ve been seeing each other in secret.”

Dad’s eyebrows raised. “Seeing each other? I would’ve heard that. I knew she left with you—“

“Do you really think you would’ve known?” Roman spoke quietly, intensely. His fingers tightened on my hand.

Dad glanced at me and paled. “I suppose not.”

“Your daughter and I are married. We made it official several days ago, and I’m here to ask for your blessing.”

Dad rocked back in his chair and his mouth fell open.

I’d never seen him surprised before.

I wished Roman would kick him in the teeth.

“Married?”

“I’m here to ask for your blessing, and to request that you and Oisin both attend the ceremony. We’re having a wedding, Eamon.”

“Wedding.” Dad barked a laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“There’s no joke here.”

“You despise my family. I know the history between you and Oisin. There’s a reason I didn’t want to come, but I thought, I wasn’t involved in what happened. Surely you’d understand that.”

“And I do.”

“Why this charade? You, marrying my daughter?” Dad laughed again, shaking his head. “Why the hell would you want someone like her?”

Roman moved fast.

He reached across the table, snatched up Dad’s beer, turned the glass sideways, and smashed it into his face.

Dad grunted in shock and pain as his chair tipped and he fell backwards with a crash. Beer spilled out all over the table and floor, dripping down onto Dad’s fallen body.

The silence that filled the room afterwards was thick.

Roman tossed the glass aside. It hit the ground and rolled beneath a booth.

“Get up.”

Dad grunted and struggled. He stood, his clothes stained with Guinness. He righted his chair and sat. He bled freely from a cut in his forehead.

“Do you want to try that again?” Roman asked.

“You can hit me as much as you want, but it won’t change the fact that Oisin will never agree to any of this.”

“Oisin’s been living in a cave for the past three years. My men have been searching for him day and night, and that stupid old man knows that if he ever emerges into the world again, he will die. You will go back to your boss and you will tell him that this is his only chance to survive. I’m married to your daughter, and I want your boss to pledge fealty to me. Tell him that if he wants to have a life again, he’ll come to the wedding, get down on his knees, and beg my forgiveness.”

Another silence like the bottom of the ocean. Thick, black water, drowning me.

Dad’s blood dripped down onto the table.

“You’re serious,” he said at last. “We take money from Darren Servant.”

“I know that. You’ll end that relationship.”

“He won’t be happy.”

“Do you think I give a shit? I have the Drozdov Bratva and the Liberto Mafia in the palm of my hand. When Oisin gives me the MacKenna, I’ll take control of the east coast and push deeper into the Midwest. None of the others will stand against me.”

Dad watched Roman for a long, tense moment. Neither of them moved. My brain screamed that I should get up and run away, because something violent as about to happen—

But it already did.

“I’ll tell him.”

“This is his only chance. He will swear loyalty to me on his knees and beg my forgiveness, and then together we’ll take the country by storm.”

Dad dabbed at the cut on his forehead with his fingers and nodded almost to himself. “I have to admit, this isn’t what I expected.”

“Whether Oisin accepts or not, I’m married to your daughter. The ceremony is only a formality.”

“I’ll see what he says.”

Roman stood. “Convince him. There’s power in being my father-in-law.”

That did it.

Before, Dad wasn’t convinced—I could still see the doubt. Even if he tried to hide it, I knew him well enough to peer beyond the mask.

But that changed his mind. Now Dad leaned forward, an almost eager smile on his lips.

“I should say congratulations then. My daughter made something of herself after all.”

Roman took my arm and helped me to my feet. He turned me and pushed me toward the door. I took several steps then looked back.

Roman loomed over my father.

“If you speak to her like that again, I will kill you, and it will bring me great pleasure to do so.”

He turned away, rage etched into every inch of his body. He took my hand and pulled me out of that pub.

Dad’s curious smile lingered after me as we stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

We approached the bike. Roman got on and held my helmet out.

I took it, but didn’t put it on.

Seeing Dad broke something in me. It was like I was that girl again, the ruined, barely alive girl, at rock bottom with no future in sight. I hated feeling like that and wanted to go back in there and scream in my father’s face.

Instead, I met Roman’s uncertain frown.

“Take me somewhere we can talk.”

He nodded slowly. “We can walk around Central Park.”

“I want you to know what happened to me.” I reached out and took his hand. I hadn’t told anyone about the incident since that day in the hospital and I never wanted to speak it out loud ever again—until I watched Roman slam that glass into my father’s face.

Roman was the only person in this world that would ever stand up for me. It was startling, how quickly he acted, how ruthlessly and violent.

And now I wanted to give him this piece of me.

One secret for one secret.

“Get on,” he said.

I pulled the helmet on over my head and climbed onto the back. I wrapped my arms around my husband and felt the engine roar to life. I pulled myself tighter against him as he pulled into traffic and rolled back toward home, and my stomach twisted into knots.