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“I got married. Never thought I’d be saying I do by an altar at twenty. God, Liam. The Mafia? Bratva?” I sighed, scratching my forehead as I crushed a dry twig with the sole of my brown sandals. “I didn’t see any of this coming. It wasn’t in the plan.”
“You are right; none of this was part of the plan. I dragged you into this fucking mess,” he sounded more like he talked to himself than to me. A deep, frustrated groan came through the speakers. “It’s all my fucking fault.”
“No—”
“Yes.” That was final. He had concluded that he was the harbinger of the disaster that had befallen us, and there was no changing his mind. “I caused this, and I am so sorry, Juliana. Tell me, are you okay, Julie? Is everything fine?” he became agitated. “I swear, if that fucking bastard so much as lay a finger on you ...”
Oh, Liam. You have no idea. Not one finger, but two. And it wasn’t on me, but inside me. Warmth spread down to the spot between my thighs. Focus!
“...I’ll fucking kill him. I swear I’ll bring him down and make him pay for all the hurt he has caused us. I swear it.”
The aggression in Liam’s voice was new. It made Rafail’s voice reecho. You are so fucking gullible … You think your cousin is a fucking saint, don’t you?... He has blood on his hands.
I had tried to get rid of the uneasy feeling that he was lying and making false accusations against Liam, but the new shades I began to see made me think otherwise.
“Did you do it?”
He fell quiet, and then I heard him sigh. “Julie ...”
“Just tell me the truth, did you do it? Rafail calls you a traitor. He says you worked with them and betrayed them. Are these accusations true? Talk to me. He says you have blood on your hands. What does that even mean? Did you try to murder someone?”
It didn’t matter how many questions I fired; he remained silent. And I knew he wouldn’t answer them. “I’ll come back for you, Juliana. I promise. Just hang in there until I come back. Right now, I’m working on something big that can take down Rafail Varkov, and I’m going to save you. Just trust me, okay?” And that was all.
Something shuffled in the background and the phone went silent.
Shit!
The stranger took the phone and walked away. I stared after him, my throat tightened, and my stomach churned. I had the sickening feeling that Liam was guilty.
Chapter 14 – Rafail
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The locks on the front door clicked shut automatically behind me and I trudged up the stairs in the dark, heading for the bedroom. The light was off when I entered and I flicked the switch on, expecting to see her small frame curled up under the covers. But she was nowhere to be seen.
I had been avoiding her for the last two days. I was still so angry with her for having the audacity to mention her cousin the day after our wedding night. But no matter how angry I was, I still craved her regardless. For heaven's sake, she's my wife! And I was desperate for her in a way I didn’t realize I had in me. She’s mine and mine alone. I wanted her. I wanted to fuck Liam out of her head, once and for all.
I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned my shirt, and had a quick shower. Then, I decided to join her game of hide-and-seek. My first guess was the kitchen. I tucked my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants and sauntered down the hallway to the kitchen. I stopped at the doorway. The corners of my lips twitched. The light was dimmed, and there she was, looking cute and sexy at the same time, in her silk robe and nightgown set that ended below the curves of her ass.
She was busy, promenading the kitchen, grabbing a coffee mug from the cupboard, and placing it on the kitchen table. The coffee machine was on, and the sound deafened her to my footsteps as I crossed the threshold and stood motionless behind her. Briskly, I wrapped an arm around her small waist, and pulled her flush against me, she jumped in fright. She gasped, and her body froze under my touch. Then, she glanced at the arm holding her, and the tension in her shoulders rolled off.
Her ass pressed against the hard ridge of my erection, and I whispered in her ear. “Making coffee, I see.”
She turned to me, her eyes wide and her face as red as a ripe tomato. Heat spread through my lower region; it was so fucking intoxicating the way she reacted to me like that. “I couldn’t sleep. So, I decided to get busy.”
“You decided to get busy with making coffee?” I arched a brow.
She lifted her shoulder nonchalantly. “It’s better than trying to burn your house down. That is if I decided to be creative on the stove. Making coffee seemed like a much safer bet.”
I let go of her and sat down on one of the chairs at the table. “Okay. You can add a second cup. I'd like to try your coffee.”
My request surprised her. Her eyes had narrowed into an appraising look, trying to understand why I would suddenly ask her to do something after we had spent the last few days in silence. But in the end, she didn’t refuse. She was quick on her feet and soon we were sitting together at the table—her facing me from the opposite side—with hot, steaming cups of coffee in our hands.
“You were distant, not around much,” she commented without looking in my direction. “I didn’t expect ... I didn’t think you’d be here to have a cup of coffee with me at this hour, after ...”
The memory still stung. I stared at the cup in my hands. “That day was insignificant.”
“I pissed you off, and I want to know how. Why?”
