King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 25

Murphy

I’M UNCHARACTERISTICALLY NERVOUS for tonight’s talent show, reception, and board meeting. It’s my turn to host this quarter, and it will be Stella’s first true experience with the four families.

She knows as much as I’ve told her, which is to say, nearly everything. I’ve revealed truths in bits and pieces over our first six weeks of marriage, leaving the most dehumanizing aspects of our trade for the past week.

She’s angrier with me than she’s been for a while, and an entirely new level of her fury has been unleashed. Her attitude is wearing on me and she’s brought it with her into our newly refurbished opera house on our castle grounds.

I stand on the plush, purple carpet at the bottom of the house to look out upon my arriving guests. I’m quite pleased with how the renovations have gone. The opera house is luxurious, a place fit for royalty; the purple and gold opulence is similar to our bedroom.

Nearly everything is new, with the exception of the seating. The rows of wood seats are original to the space, which was built generations ago. I had them stained dark and reupholstered in violet velvet, tacked in gold brackets. Boyd thinks my design choices are garish, but I think his were mind-numbingly dull.

My favorite part is the brand-new crystalline chandelier that hangs from the center. The massive fixture costs as much as a car and was worth every dime. There’s just something in the way the modern decoration casts a new light on the old, wood-carved balcony boxes—the intricate flourishes carved on the box walls seem more detailed with the contrast of contemporary fixtures.

Stella sits facing me, in the first row of seats near the stage, a surly expression plastered to her beautiful face. Her legs are crossed and one angry foot bounces with her rage-fueled energy.

I can see she’s not open to discussion with the way her arms are folded across her body. She’s angry with me for who knows which of the details I shared with her in advance of tonight’s events—her first night joining me as a member of the board. And angry as she is, she looks fucking stunning. Her crimson dress hugs her body and the deep V cuts down between perfect breasts.

She’s a goddamn distraction, to say the least.

She refuses to stand beside me tonight. As my wife, she has the right to make that choice, but she knows there will be consequences for it in private—personally, I look forward to granting her consequences for her bad attitude. Still, she’s pressing her luck with me, and tonight will be quite the test on our relationship.

I reach forward and tap beneath her chin, forcing her to lift her head and look at me. “You’re being a brat.”

“Well, everyone in this room is an asshole, so we’re in good company.” She jerks her chin from my grip, and I let my hand fall away.

I flash a tight smile. “You know what being a brat gets you.”

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me later.”

“You can be certain I will, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Fine, princess.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.”

I let out a heavy, frustrated breath and adjust my cufflinks.If she wants to be a bitch tonight, she can be a bitch. I need to make sure my guests are tended to and that everything runs smoothly.

I spot Anya Mikhailov moving toward me from down the aisle. She’s looking much healthier these days since she’s been in Renata Vittori’s care—not that I’d ever credit Renata for caring for anyone other than herself. Renata simply understands what’s at stake. Her orders were to ensure Anya’s health through her pregnancy until we find out who the child’s father is and whether it’s a boy or a girl. All of which, we’ll find out tonight at the board meeting.

Anya nervously rubs her hands over her skirt on her way to greet me, drawing my eye to her rounded belly that’s covered in layers of light pink chiffon. It reminds me that I need to have a discussion with Stella about the expectations for her to produce an heir.

Though, it’s not just about producing an heir for me.

I ache to see her belly full like that with my child. She would be an incredible mother—fiercely protective and stubbornly attached to them. She needs to provide a boy to someday take over my position as the O’Shea Head of House, but when I picture my future family with her, I see a baby girl…a strong, powerful daughter who talks back and stands up for herself as much as her mother does.

The vision of it brushes goosebumps down my forearms. Stella has no idea the kind of power she holds over me.

I’m weak for her.

I’ve allowed her to sit there like a brat, refusing to stand by my side, and it’s only because she demands the right to choose. She doesn’t even know all the things she could demand from me that I would give her.

But tonight, I need her fucking support.

Anya puts on a smile I easily recognize as forced as she approaches. I greet her kindly, taking her hand and gripping her elbow softly as we lean in to kiss each other on the cheek. “You look well,” I tell her. “How are things with the lady Vittori?”

“If you’re asking me whether she’s doing as she was told to do, then things are going as expected. My care has been managed.”

I nod. “Good. I look forward to hearing from your joint family board at the meeting tonight. For your sake, I do hope profits are climbing.”

Her eyes flicker with regret. “Yes. Unfortunately for the lives that were stolen, our profits are up.”

Stella snickers. “I like her.”

My jaw ticks. “Anya, this is my new bride, Stella. She doesn’t quite understand her place yet as an O’Shea wife. Perhaps I should develop a training program.” I raise my eyebrows at Stella expectantly as she unfolds her arms and straightens in her seat.

“Maybe I’ll develop a training program for you on the health risks associated with trying to mansplain your way through marriage,” my wife snaps. She even has the balls to finger quote the word marriage.

My weight shifts as I prepare to round on her, but Kostya Federov appears in front of me, stepping between us.

He turns and extends his hand to Stella, speaking in his thick Russian accent. “Good to finally meet you.”

She takes his hand kindly but watches him with a sneer that indicates her wariness. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Kostya Federov. I’m with the Mikhailov family.”

“The Mikhailovs?” Stella turns sideways in her seat, looking around behind her to spot Anya as she retreats. “Anya, that’s the one you told me about?” She turns back to look at me. “The slave turned Mikhailov by a forced, secret marriage?” She huffs, slumping in her seat again. “I should go sit with her. We could start a club.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You were never a slave, Stella.”

“Wasn’t I? You had me sunk in so deep, I was a slave to my phone for seven months before you took me.”

“Would you like to go speak with Anya and compare experiences? I assure you, sweetheart, you’ve been treated with nothing but kindness and respect in comparison.”

“In comparison to a slave. Did you seriously just say that?”

“We’ll talk more at the reception, Kostya. Will you excuse us for a moment?”

He walks away and I swiftly move to take the seat beside my wife, quickly putting my arm around her shoulders and harshly tugging her against my side. I let my fingers dig into her shoulder as I hold her against me.

I lean in and put my lips to her ear, whispering softly, “I’m asking for one night…one goddamn night where I don’t have to worry about your attitude impacting my business.”

She pulls away from me sideways, snapping her head to look at me squarely with a bratty smile on her beautiful fucking face. “If you didn’t want a woman with an attitude impacting your business then you shouldn’t have fallen for a woman with an attitude.”

Bloody fucking hell.

I lean forward and kiss her hard, taking her off-guard. She lets me kiss her because she wants it—she always wants it. Sometimes I think she fights me so hard just because she likes to light a fire under my arse to be rough with her. I pull away to witness her gobsmacked expression and perfect pout.

“I’m gonna tie you to the bed and whip your ass raw with my belt tonight. So please, keep it up, sweetheart; piss me off enough to make you cry.”

She narrows her eyes at me, but I don’t miss the flush of her cheeks or the sharp rise and fall of her chest. “I fucking dare you to try.”

I smirk at her. “Never dare me. You know better than that by now.”

I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, then pull my arm away and push to stand. I wink at her once before heading toward the stage to greet our audience and introduce Fiona for her first performance as the O’Shea talent slave.

“Welcome.” I stand behind my seat at the head of the table in our boardroom. “I think it’s best that we avoid the pomp and circumstance and get right down to handling business, shall we? The changes we’ve seen in the organizational structure of the four families over the past year have been unprecedented and dramatic. We have some major decisions to make tonight and we’re going to dive right in. The finalized agenda is in your folder.”

Stella sits in the chair beside me, taking in a noisy breath of annoyance. I’m equally annoyed that she sits with her arms crossed when she should be opening the black leather folio placed in front of her.

“Any changes, additions, or objections?”

I object to all of this,” Stella says loudly and intently.

I snap, leaning across the corner of the table and wrapping my fingers around her throat, knowing it’ll turn her on enough to shut her up. “Be quiet, lass, or I’ll make certain you won’t speak again.”

Her eyes flash with hunger for the promises I’ve made—promises to tie her to the bed and rough her up before I fuck her smart mouth.

I cock an eyebrow at her as I unwrap my fingers one at a time from her delicate throat. She visibly swallows and adjusts in her seat, a little wiggle of her hips that no one else in the room would notice except for me.

I straighten my spine and smooth my waistcoat. “Changes, additions, or objections?” I repeat, looking directly at my stubborn, sexy wife.

Her eyes meet mine with a flash of heat, igniting a spark deep inside my stomach that makes me ache to have her bound, naked, and at my mercy. Perhaps this is the reason they didn’t give Heads of House a bride until they were forty. The goddamn distraction of my bride threatens to unravel me entirely, though I know in truth it wouldn’t matter what age I was…Stella will slowly unravel me until the day I die.

Begrudgingly, I drag my eyes from hers. “First item of business is the matter of Anya Mikhailov, the gender of her unborn child, and the DNA result which determines family placement.”

“You know the gender and the father?” Anya asks nervously.

I open my folio and pull out the white sealed envelope which contains the gender result. I’d had it specially couriered from Anya’s physician directly to me to ensure it didn’t end up in the wrong hands. I’ve kept it carefully concealed until tonight. I haven’t opened it, so I have no idea what it says. I felt it only fair that Anya should be the first to see it, though I needed her in my presence in case the result is…unfavorable.

I find myself somewhat anxious to know whether her baby is a boy or a girl. If it’s a boy, the decision making for tonight will be easy; Anya will be the mother of a future Head of House regardless of the DNA paternity result. Whether the child belongs to Vigo or Nikolai, both now deceased, her boy will be raised as their heir.

But if her baby is a girl, some upsetting decisions will have to be made. My lingering humanity grows stronger each day and sometimes, I fear I won’t have the strength to ignore it forever, not when I have the spark of Stella to light it on fire.

I place the envelope on the table and slide it across the tabletop toward Anya. Kostya grabs it and pushes it over to her. Her hands twitch holding the envelope and she looks up at me as if waiting for direction.

“Open it,” I tell her.

She tears it open quickly, tugs the paper from the envelope, and unfolds the page…but she doesn’t look at it. She places it on the table and pushes it to Kostya. “What does it say?”

I feel Anya’s tension from across the room—the concern she has for her own well-being, but also for the well-being of her unborn child. My gut twists with the anxiety she feeds me from across the room.

“Boy,” Kostya says.

I struggle to hide my relief with a stoic expression as he slides the paper back across the table to me. I give it a cursory glance, confirming the result Kostya stated. “Alright. Well done, lass. You’ve created the next Head of House.” I tug out the second white envelope from my folio. “Now to find out if he’s a Vittori or a Mikhailov.”

I slide this envelope to Renata Vittori to read. She’s cared for Anya well during her pregnancy and the child might belong to her deceased brother. But truthfully, I hope it reads Mikhailov and that she’ll be the first to see that she doesn’t have a new nephew to grant her some peace from her brother’s death.

Renata tears into the envelope and pulls out the paper inside, her eyes scanning it quickly to find the relevant information. Her face falls with disappointment and I have to fight my smile.

She’s already pushing the paper back across the table to me before she says, “He’s not a Vittori.”

I glance at the page to confirm, but I’m confused. “Hmm. Apparently, the DNA result from Nikolai was inconclusive.”

Why would it be inconclusive?

We collected clean DNA samples from Vigo and Nikolai both.

“So, what does this mean for me?” Anya asks.

I rake my hand across my beard, my eyes narrowed on the page in consideration. “Leo?”

“So, we assume the child is a Mikhailov since we know it isn’t a Vittori,” Leo Leblanc states. “I say, let her remain in the care of the Vittoris. She seems to be doing well there now and it makes sense for her to stay given that the Mikhailovs and Vittoris are making joint business decisions. Let her stay for a year and if she proves herself trustworthy, then she and Kostya can move back to Mikhailov Manor to run the business.”

“What about the next quarterly meeting?” Anya asks. “It’s the Mikhailovs—it’s our turn to host. I’d like to host it in my home.”

“No,” I insist. “It’s too close to your due date in January.”

“But I’m due a week before the meeting—”

“And will be in no condition to travel to Russia with a newborn. You’ll host from the Vittoris’ home. That’s final.”

Cordelia leans forward and I brace myself for frustration. “Why do we need to give her any time with the baby at all?” she asks. “I would gladly take over care of the child after Anya gives birth. We won’t need her after that. She can be decommissioned like the slave whore she’s proven to be.”

Did she really just suggest decommissioning the wife of a Head of House?

I would never stand for such a dishonor to someone in my position, dead or alive. “She’s a Mikhailov wife. We’ve been through this, Cordelia. We can’t just off her.”

“Can’t we?” Renata feels the need to chime in.

Fury wraps around my heart and squeezes at the mere thought of it. I slam my fist down on the table to release the tension of this building rage. “No. We can’t. That’s final. You can’t just kill a wife because her husband is dead. If I died and you pulled this shit with Stella—”

I turn my head to glance at my wife as she slowly uncrosses her arms, her hardened expression softening. She catches my gaze and holds it with her fiercely kind brown eyes, telling me with a single look that she appreciates my defense of her position…of Anya’s position. Her unspoken gratitude soothes the rising anger within me as I take a deep breath.

“The matter is settled,” I affirm. “Renata will continue to coordinate Anya’s care for another year. We’ll reevaluate at the next O’Shea-hosted meeting.”

Renata scoffs and it sets Anya off. “Don’t be such a bitch about it. Honestly, Renata, the way you behave is so childish. Sometimes I think you need a keeper. Really, Murphy. That woman is emotionally unstable. She’s lucky she has Lorenzo to help make her decisions because otherwise, she wouldn’t know what side of the bed to get out of in the morning.”

Well done, Anya.

I look at Stella to find her pressing her smiling lips tightly together to hold back her cheer. And I find myself doing the same.

“Darling girl, your lover still belongs to me,” Renata says.

I hold up my palm to Stella, sensing her internal preparation to start screaming in Anya’s defense. I’m nearly inclined to let her loose on the bitch, but I don’t want Stella falling in bad favor with the women of the board—she may someday require their assistance. Still, I feel her electricity spark beside me and I can’t wait to strike the match that sets her on fire.