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She moans, loudly, and my hand travels lower to the back of her thigh. I start to lift it over my hip when someone rudely interrupts us, clearing their throat from behind me.
I pay them no mind and hook my wife’s calf around my hip, thrusting my length against her molten core.
Valentina chokes on her moan and starts smacking my shoulder in quick, repetitive bursts. “Get off. Get off!”
“That’s the plan,” I grumble, relenting, despite how shitty it feels to release her. I press one final, heated kiss to her lips before grabbing her hand and turning to see who the fuck interrupted us.
Mikhail stands there in his usual suit and tie, a Cheshire grin making him look even more sinister than usual.
Murder crosses my mind as he chuckles, but there’s no mistaking the deep thread of desire in his voice. I can’t blame him, but if he wants to join in, he could have waited a single fucking minute.
Valentina’s face burns crimson as she straightens her dress back over her hips. “Mikhail! What are you doing here?” She looks positively scandalized, but her swollen lips only make her look that much more fuckable.
I’m sure Mikhail thinks the same.
He reluctantly turns his gaze from Valentina to me, and I immediately get the sense that something’s wrong. His smile falls in an instant, and he taps his cell phone in his hand. “We’ve got messages from Ezra. You’re gonna want to look at them.”
“This couldn’t wait?” I run a hand through my hair. It must be bad if Mikhail interrupted his day to come find me.
Mikhail taps his phone again. “Let’s get in the car. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Valentina hesitates near the elevator. “We’re leaving? What about the party?”
I smile at her. I thought she didn’t want to go back up. “Party’s over, darling.” I kiss the top of her head. “But don’t worry, I’ll throw you a better one soon.”
At our wedding. Very soon.
We follow Mikhail to the SUV, and all three of us slide into the back seat, with Valentina taking the middle. Our driver takes off as Valentina’s attempting to buckle her seatbelt, and Mikhail and I both put a hand on one shoulder to steady her.
“You haven’t been checking your phone.”
It’s not an accusation, but I frown at Mikhail all the same. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”
He grins, hooking his finger on one of Valentina’s curls and twirling it. “So, I see. Tell me, malyshka, how does all that power taste? I bet it got your panties all wet, didn’t it?” He licks his lips and Valentina smacks him, blushing furiously as he laughs.
While Mikhail keeps Valentina distracted, I run through the message chain my brothers left me. Videos of an empty workplace. A staged home. A baited apartment, with dozens of pictures of my wife set up in some sort of shrine.
I understand the obsession, but she’s mine.
As we travel across the city and I sift through possibilities in my head, one thing about what Valentina told me earlier bothers me.
I interrupt whatever the fuck Mikhail’s saying to ask her a question. “Valentina.” I stare her down, hoping to catch a lie if she dares tell one. “The letter from your mother. Where did you find it?”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “It showed up in my dressing room. I was given a lot of cards that day, and it was tucked in with them. It looked different than the rest, so I opened it first.”
I remember the influx of wedding gifts and private messages meant for only the bride or only the groom before the ceremony began. Well-wishes and words of wisdom, or the like. At least, that’s what they were supposed to be.
Someone planted the letter in Valentina’s things.
Someone sabotaged our wedding and silently encouraged Valentina to leave.
I squeeze Valentina’s knee in thanks and speed-dial Ezra. He picks up on the first ring.
“Where is Katya?”
Ezra’s voice is tight with fatigue. “Katya is not here. I cannot find her, nor can I find that suka.”
“Keep looking. Put your men on it. You sound like shit.”
