AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Without Valentina’s help.
A seed of anger pulses in my heart.
She was supposed to stay by my side through everything—all the challenges, all the strife, all the bloodshed. But she ran.
I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive her.
But in the end, forgiveness isn’t necessary for marriage. I can crave her, claim her, ruin her, but I don’t have to forgive her.
Still, she will need to be respected among society, regardless of how anyone feels about her departure. This party is a good place to start reminding everyone exactly where they belong—at our feet, whether kneeled in front or beneath them.
The party is as extravagant as expected, and Valentina captures attention from every single person in the room, from the servers carrying trays across the room to the most prominent members of society.
I’ve been coming alone to the mayor’s parties for years. There’s only one woman I’ll ever entertain by my side. This is known far and wide, because I’ve put a personal stake in finding her. The entire city knows this, so they know who Valentina is the moment she steps into the room, regardless of if they’ve met her before.
Our Bratva heir has returned, and she’s more radiant than ever.
Valentina clings to my arm with a vice grip every time we come into contact with someone from our past she doesn’t like, and there are several. I start veering us in their direction for the sport of it. We’ll have to reintroduce ourselves to everyone in time, so it doesn’t matter who we go to first.
I just like the way she feels wrapped around my arm extra tight.
When she’s forced to play along and laugh at whatever joke someone’s attempted to pull, she digs her nails into my arm and flashes those emerald eyes my way, as if to say you’ll pay for every second of this, jackass.
I cling to her just as hard, squeezing her hip with enough force that I’ve no doubt, when she peels away her dress later this evening, there will be a heavy bruise for each of my fingertips, if not the entire palm. Similarly, I’m expecting tiny half-moon pricks up my entire forearm.
It’s almost like a game, seeing who can mark the other the most.
I like to think it’s because we’re claiming each other’s territory, but I know the truth.
She doesn’t realize that she was born to play this part. She wouldn’t hate it as much if she leaned into it more. The guests drink up her smiles and laughter like addicts. It makes me proud.
The photographer comes around without warning and takes photos of every attendee, sometimes trying to be clandestine in the background, other times getting right in people’s faces to land a candid, if not annoying, shot.
When the photographer rounds on Valentina, he steps on her dress and makes her trip. I’ve got her, so she’s not in any danger of falling, but the man should be more careful. His camera clicks as Valentina’s skirt rustles around her legs, and his eyes quickly jump up from my wife’s ankles to his next target.
I whip in his direction so fast that he flinches. My smile hides the malice I feel thrumming beneath the surface. “Excuse me. You stepped on my wife’s dress.” The man looks confused, and my jaw clenches as I fight the urge to punch him. “Apologize,” I command, pulling Valentina closer to my side.
She digs her nails into my arm, but her voice is smooth as velvet when she speaks. “Darling, don’t scare the poor man. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
I bend at the waist to be closer to the cowering man’s height. “So, I imagined his camera dipping low enough to peer under your skirt, did I?”
The man’s eyes bug out, and a layer of sweat breaks out across his brow. “I swear, I didn’t see anything.”
My smile could crack diamonds. “But you tried to, didn’t you?”
“Let him go,” Valentina murmurs harshly, trying to pull me away from the fucking scum standing before us. “You’re causing a scene.”
“This man deserves to rot,” I say loudly, enjoying the way the photographer squirms.
“What’s the meaning of this? Mr. Leonov?” The mayor of Harlin Heights appears to my right, a balding, fat, jovial man whose pockets I line quite generously. “Is something wrong?”
“Your photographer.” I nod toward the man in question. “I believe he’s been peering up ladies’ skirts all evening. If I may, I’d like for my wife to check his footage. Is that all right, Mayor?”
The mayor blusters but nods all the same. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“Thank you.” I snatch the camera from around the scumbag’s neck and hand it to my wife. “Check the images, darling. Perhaps I’m wrong, and this is all a misunderstanding.”
I’m not.
