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Ricardo is drunk and then some. Fuck knows how much he's put away, but the fat bastard is barely on his feet. "I just think it's weird," he slurs. "Cuz I never knew she was available anyway. Did anyone get a go? Huh?"
That's more than enough for me. If God Himself stepped into my path now, I'd take Him down, too.
I throw a punch at Ricardo's temple, and he falls, knocking over a table of drinks. He groans and attempts to stand but cuts his hand on a shard of glass, collapsing on his side.
"Thanks for saving me a job," Vlad says into the mic. "Does anyone else want to question Arman's feelings for my sister? Because if so, your hands better move as fast as your mouth."
I eyeball Ricardo, but he’s not about to come back for more. All I care about now is getting Lilyana away from this party so she can relax and be herself.
"The wedding is on Saturday, and all are invited." Vlad gestures at Lilyana. "But be warned—Lilyana Sergeyevna Kisleva is spoken for. Any solicitations will be regarded as hostile and dealt with appropriately."
I love Vlad's formal style. It's just an erudite way of saying, 'Lili is not for the taking. Try it and fucking die.' His audience understands and meets his words with respectful silence.
Vlad steps down from the stage, taking Lilyana with him, and the music starts again. Ricardo hauls himself into his chair, wincing as he picks splinters of glass out of his hands.
I rejoin Vlad and Lilyana, ready to make my case for taking my fiancé away from this shitty atmosphere, but Vlad is way ahead of me.
"Lilyana, you don't look well," he says, taking her hand. "What do you want to do?"
"I gotta go away from here." She wraps her arms around herself, seeming suddenly childlike. "Who was that guy?"
"A mob accountant," Vlad says. "He did time rather than rat out his clients, but he's no one's favorite guy."
"Oh." Lilyana's eyes widen as something occurs to her. "Is Aldo Moretti here?"
Vlad shakes his head. "No. He wasn't invited, and Giovanni is still in Italy. I won't be the one to extend an olive branch, but you don't need to worry about it."
Big brother wants to reassure her, but that's my job now.
"I'll take her home with me," I say. "Like you said—she's gotta live with me now anyway, for appearance's sake."
"That was before you looked at her like a starving man would look at a steak and fries," Vlad replies brusquely.
Lilyana breaks the frosty silence. "Vladi, you're worked up over nothing. I'll go with Arman. I'll be fine on the couch."
"Couch? He'd better give you his room." Vlad continues to glare at me. "I mean it, Arman. Don't you dare fuck her. Promise me."
"Vladi!" Lilyana cries. "How dare you say that, you—"
"Alright," I interject. "Calm down, for Christ's sake."
I guide Lilyana to the stairs, Vlad's eyes boring into my back.
While Lilyana gathers a few things, I wait in the car. Ten minutes later, we're in my apartment.
I have only one bedroom. I keep another room locked, but there isn't enough space to sleep in there anyway, and while Lilyana's here, it's out of bounds. I'll have to buy a bigger place if my wife is to avoid me as much as she can.
So I'm couch-surfing in my own damn home. Not ideal, but to have Lilyana here and safe with me, I'd sleep on a bed of nails.
While she showers, I prepare my room for her. Clean bedding, a tidy nightstand, and low lighting to create a welcoming atmosphere. A few throws and cushions are lying around the lounge, and with some rearranging, I assemble a workable bed on the floor.
The bedroom door is closed, but Lilyana is naked in there. I attempt to put the thought out of my mind, but I may as well try to fly—my imagination is too well-practiced to be dissuaded now.
Did Sebastian kiss Lilyana? I doubt the sad bastard ever made a woman melt like she did in my arms. My cock twitches at the memory of her quivering body against mine, her panic disappearing like mist as I held her close and talked her down. Something about her heats me inside.
Why did I promise Vlad I wouldn't fuck her? I'm not a saint. That girl is mine, one way or another.
The air is too still, and I crack the balcony door. Bruised clouds are gathering, and the hairs on my arms stand to attention, spiked by static.
