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A remark to remind me that this is all fake. That this is all for show. That he’s just using me.
But he says nothing, and that’s when I know that we’re in trouble.
23
KONSTANTIN
I checkmy tie for the fifth time. It’s straight as a ruler, the knot symmetrical in all corners, and the black complementing my cream dress shirt. It doesn’t need to be smoothed or fixed, but I keep doing it anyway.
Because Emily will be here any second.
In just two short days, Emily has managed to drive me insane in every sense of the word. I’ve never dealt with anyone like her before. She is determined to make this process be as difficult as she can. Her antics at the photoshoot tested every bit of self-restraint I had.
I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
No, I wouldn’t tradeherfor anyone else.
I tug my tie again until I start choking myself.
“Remember what this is for,” I whisper. “She’s just a means to an end.”
It’s become a common refrain to myself in the past two days. Yet each time I say it out loud, I find myself believing it less and less.
“Konstantin Yurevich,” the tailor, Buric Kotka, comes in, interrupting my thoughts. “Welcome to my shop.”
The man is short, and the measuring tape draped around his neck as yellow as his teeth. Yet his work is top of the line, which is the only reason I’ve opted to make an excursion from the castle grounds to his shop.
Under protection of dozens of guards all around, of course.
I’m not an idiot. Just last night, Sima informed me that there have been several reprisal hits in Taranto for the men I’ve killed in New York. Apparently, the corrupt cops on both Ferrata and Siderov payroll are having a hard time keeping things from boiling out to the surface.
If this keeps going, it could spell the end of both organizations.
Augusto should’ve thought about those consequences when he kidnapped Alisa.
My mood darkens again, and I feel the strong urge to break something.
“Let me go!”
Emily’s voice breaks me out of my dark mood and I turn just in time to see her walk through the door, wrenching her arm from Sasha, theboeviktasked with bringing her here. She’s wearing a simple green blouse and a knee-length lavender skirt. On any other woman, it wouldn’t even warrant a second look from me.
But on her? It’s positively entrancing.
Sasha bows to me when he sees me, but all I feel is anger when I spot Emily rubbing her arms where the man’s hand has been.
I don’t care that the man has been loyal to me since the day of his initiation.
Hedaresto manhandle Emily in front of me.
Nobodyis allowed to touch her like that.
Nobody exceptme.
In three quick strides, I grab the cuff of his shirt in my fist.
“If Ieversee you touch her like that again, Sasha,” I snarl as I slam him against the doorframe so hard that the wood splinters. “I will kill you where you stand.”
“P-please, Konstantin Yurevich!” he stammers. “I was just following your orders.”
