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Again, Kira isn’t shy to spill all of my steaming hot tea. “Arsen’s in the doghouse and he’s trying to win Laila back with?—”
“Trinkets and flowers and a lot of bullshit I don’t need!” I explode. “Honestly, it’s insulting.”
It’s also a little endearing, which is another kind of insult.
“I did sense a little tension between the two of you at the restaurant the other night,” Guilia admits. “But considering I’ve seen wives pull steak knives on their husbands during those stupid political dinners, I didn’t make much of it.”
I didn’t plan to breathe a word about our situation to Guilia in case she’d think less of us, but I forgot who I was talking to. Whatever is going on with me and Arsen, she’s seen weirder.
So I launch into the whole sordid explanation. Guilia listens intently. She doesn’t interrupt once… until I mention the forced exile.
“Oof. That’s a tough one to recover from.”
“Thank you!”
“But—”
I palm my forehead. “Not you, too. I don’t want a ‘but.’ I’m so, so sick of ‘buts.’”
Guilia smiles sympathetically. “He’s thepakhanof the most powerful Bratva in the country, Laila. He’s used to doing things his way—calling all the shots all the time.”
“And I’m used to freedom. Why should I be the only one who has to give up what they know?” Kira and Guilia share a look that tells me they have a ready answer for that question, but I don’t want to hear it. “He’s not my boss. I won’t defer to him for everything. That’s for employees, not partners.”
“And no one expects you to,” she agrees. “But you need to figure out how to handle the man. You need to embrace your position instead of rejecting it.”
“I don’t want the position at all! I asked him for a divorce.”
Somewhere, a record scratches.
Both women look at me like I just stripped nude in the middle of the restaurant and started dancing on the table.
“Laila,” Kira breathes, “you can’t be serious.”
I guess that answers the question of whether Dom can keep my secrets or not. If he keeps it up, maybe I’ll get him that cubicle he’s always dreamed of.
“This marriage isn’t working for me.”
“You really don’t love him anymore?” Guilia studies me, waiting for an answer that isn’t coming. I play with my water glass instead, avoiding her gaze, until she snaps her fingers. “That’s what I thought. You have feelings for him.”
“Hadfeelings. They’ve faded. Or, they will fade. Eventually.”
She laughs and pushes the Tiffany box towards me. “I get it—you don’t want to be bought. I respect that. But you could have a lot more fun if you played his game.”
Kira and I exchange a glance, and I know she’s as lost as I am.
Guilia ushers us closer. “Let me take you young doves under my wing. I have much knowledge to impart. Consider this your first lesson inHow to be a Bratva Wife. All you’ll need is Arsen’s credit card.”
“I already told you: I don’t want his money.”
“You don’t have towantit,” she says. “Actually, for this lesson, it’s better if you don’t. He’s lavishing you with gifts and spending money on you—so, whatever he spends, you need to spend more.”
“How does that help?”
“You’re going to hit him where it hurts. You’re going to push him to his breaking point, and find out exactly how much leash he’s willing to give you before it snaps.”
I frown. “You want me to start a fight.”
She clicks her nails on the table, a sly smile on her face. “It sounds to me like he started the fight. We are finishing it, darling.”
