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“What do you mean?” I asked. It felt like some shitty “when you’re older, you’ll understand” speech.
“Mutual respect for your wife isn’t a form of weakness. It takes a real man to learn humility and meekness. A good leader—leader of the home or leader of the Bratva or leader of a country—knows that bullying is a form of cowardice, not strength. A true leader learns from everyone. A good man knows he’s nothing without the strength of a woman beside him.”
I felt frustrated. Angry, even, that he’d lecture me, but I did truly want to know what the hell had changed.
“I’m not talking about bullying,” I snapped, still so fucking angry.
“Iam,” he said, steel in his voice reminding me that he was still in charge.
Yeah, I didn’t forget that. But I don’t know if Renata betrayed us. I do know that her best friend doesn’t trust her anymore, and she’s orchestrating this so that she doesn’t get away from me.
“Did you put an offer in on a house yet?”
My gaze snaps to hers, then back to surveillance.
“A house?” I never told anyone else I was looking for a house. It felt sacred. Special. Something only the two of us knew and talked about.
“Yes,” she says softly, not meeting my eyes. She’s playing with a strand of her hair, twisting it around her fingers. “The last time we talked, you were looking at houses. You said you were ready to put down roots and thought you might put an offer down.” She swallows. “You particularly liked the one with the Brazilian rosewood floors and those quirky little stained-glass windows.”
How does she remember those details?
“No,” I say, shaking my head. The sound of a car approaching makes us both go silent. My phone beeps with a text. “Got a little distracted with an escaped hostage.”
Mikhail: Ride approaching. Sent cuffs for Renata. Cuff her on the way here
“That’s our ride.”
“Why not?” she asks, standing. “Why didn’t you put an offer in? It’s one phone call.”
I frown, watching the approaching car. “I don’t want to put down roots only to pull them up again, and I wanted to see what my wife thought about moving before I did.”
I don’t want to talk about me. I don’t want to talk about us. I have to cuff her and bring her in.
“Your wife?” she asks sharply, meeting my gaze. The car comes to a stop in front of us.
“Yeah,” I mutter. The driver opens the door and hands me a set of cuffs. I don’t want to talk about this. “Now come here.”
Renata looks puzzled.
I hold her in front of me, her hands on my chest. “You said your brother’s watching. I want him to know exactly what’s happening next.”
“So we are going to a safe house?”
“Fuck a safe house. No. We’re going to make your brother come out of hiding. We’re going to piss him off and throw down the gauntlet. You game?”
Her eyes spark with excitement, though she can’t hide her fear either. “Hell yes, I’m game.”
I thread my fingers through her hair and cup the back of her head. Our breaths mingle. The chemistry we had before felt like an old dream, something poignant and meaningful but fading with every breath that I took.
But now… with her so close to me, our wedding on the horizon, and my need to claim her pushing me forward, I lower my mouth to hers and brush her lips with mine.
I stifle a groan. She tastes as good as I remembered—sweet and addictive, like whiskey on the rocks after a long, hot day.
I lick her tongue, and she lets out a low moan. I slide my hand along her lower back and draw her to me. I want her so close that I don’t know where she begins and I end. Her lips are soft and her body pliable as I deepen the kiss, losing myself in the heat of the moment, her body next to mine, our connection undeniable.
I pull away when our driver clears his throat.Shit. I lost myself there.
I have to stay alert.
