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Gedeon salutes me with his mug. “Good morning to you, too. I slept fine, thanks for asking.”
“No one gives a shit how youslept,mudak.” Dominik turns to me with a sheepish smile, clearly trying to make amends for yesterday’s spat. “How was your night, Arsen? Tired? Sore, perhaps?”
“Just annoyed.” I’m too tired to play along. And too proud to admit it. “Where is my wife?”
I can’t remember the last time I shared a bed with a woman. I sure as hell can’t remember the last time I woke up and wished there was a woman in my bed.
But I rolled over this morning, still half-asleep, and reached for Laila. It wasn’t even a conscious thought—it was an instinct. Some primal urge to find what’s mine and hold her close.
“She wasn’t there when I woke up this morning,” I explain when myvorycontinue staring at me blankly. I snap my fingers. “Where the fuck is she?”
Dominik shakes his head like he must be imagining things. “She walked past with her yoga mat half an hour ago.”
“She didn’t look very rested, either,” Gedeon adds under his breath.
I should’ve known. Laila does yoga every morning. It’s her routine.
Then again, there was nothing “routine” about what we did last night. But if she’s sticking to the status quo, I can, too.
I snatch the mug from Gedeon’s hand and drop down into one of the patio chairs. “Give me an update.”
“Update: that was my coffee,” Gedeon grumbles.
“About the Italians,” I grit out. “Or Natascha’s funeral. Has Rolan reached out again?”
Dominik waves me off. “We’ve got everything handled. You’re supposed to be in the honeymoon phase.”
We aren’t taking a honeymoon. I’ve never taken one, actually. Natascha and I skipped it in favor of never being in the same room longer than necessary.
And Laila would rather wake up early… and do yoga, apparently.
“Update,” I snarl again. “Now.”
Dominik sighs. “I found out where Laila’s father lives.”
“Who asked you to do that? Was it Laila?”
Because it wasn’t me, though I was thinking it loudly last night.
“She didn’t need to ask. He’s been bothering her.” Dominik’s hand tightens around his mug. “I took the liberty.”
“He’s a real piece of work, this guy,” Gedeon agrees. “Has she told you about him?”
It’s a simple question, but it sets off a domino effect of insecurity inside of me. Laila wouldn’t even let me see her phone last night, but she’s talked to other people about her father.
I’m her husband.
I should be the one she talks to.
I should be the one she wakes up next to.
“I want to know what you know,” I respond, dodging the question.
“Not a ton as of yet,” Dom says. “I saw her fighting with a bouquet of flowers months ago and wanted to know why. Apparently, they were a gift from the bastard. He’s been in and out of prison since his divorce from Marie.”
“For what?”
“Petty theft, embezzlement, fraud—all stupid, white collar bullshit,” Dominik rattles off. “He likes the high life, but he sure as hell hates working for it.”
