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Wren’s hand in mine spasms. “You’re sending me home? What, like some naughty child?”
Now, she wants to stay? I love this woman more than anything else in the world, but fucking hell, she knows how to set me off. “You’re extremely pregnant. No one would think twice about you leaving early to get some rest.”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“I’m not alone. Aleks is here. My men are here.”
“I don’t care. I want to stay.” I fix her with a glare, but she’s utterly unmoved. “I’m not gonna run and hide every time there’s a small sign of danger. If I do, there’s no way I’ll stand a chance in your world.”
Once again, she has a point. A very good one at that. If we weren’t standing in the same vicinity as the man who abducted and held her hostage for weeks, I would be hard as a rock.
“For once in your fucking life, Wren, you will do as you’re told.”
Her eyes narrow into thin, feral slits. “Need I remind you, I’m your wife. Not one of your men. I don’t follow your orders like they do.” She turns back to the table pointedly and picks up her glass of “champagne.” “There’s no point wasting a pretty dress.”
I scan through the crowd again. Still no Cian, but I do catch sight of Aleks, who extends his chin and?—
There.
Cian is wearing a dark gray suit and engrossed in a conversation with Louis Arnaud. But every so often, his eyes veer around the room like he’s looking for someone. If the Irish bastard is here, that means without a doubt that he’s brought backup. There’s no way I’ll be able to get near him without causing a scene.
On the upside? The same is true for him.
Neither one of us will risk blowing our covers tonight. Which means one thing: the only reason Cian’s here at all is to force me to hear him out. I’ve been denying his requests for a meeting. Him coming here, now, like this?
It means he’s desperate.
Pavel appears at my side, muttering low in my ear. “Arrived five minutes ago. Appears unarmed, but unconfirmed.”
“His men?”
“We counted twelve. There may be double that number outside the ballroom.”
I nod. “Make sure he keeps a wide berth. I don’t want him coming anywhere near?—”
“Wren!”
He’s got to be fucking kidding.
I follow the sound of that infuriating accent to find Cian approaching Wren. When he sees me striding to join her, he smoothly shifts to allow me to step in between.
“Dmitri,” he croons. “How nice to see you both.”
He has the gall to greet us like old friends. He has the stones to so much as look at my wife after what he did to her?! I’m this close to breaking my own rules and opening fire, witnesses be damned.
What’s the worst that could happen? I blow my cover? I spend a few years in a maximum security prison? It’d be worth it to see that slimy fucker’s brains on the marble of the dance floor. To paint the walls red with his blood.
The only thing that stops me is the gentle pressure on my arm as Wren gets to her feet and stands by my side. That pressure reminds me of just how much I’d be losing if I went the gun-happy route.
Sure, Cian would be dead. But I’d lose years with Wren. I’d miss my son’s birth.
No, nothing is worth that.
“Cian,” I growl instead, refusing to return his simpering smile.
He glances at Wren. “You look beautiful. It’s great to see you.”
Wren increases pressure on my arm. “Cian,” she says in a somber voice, “what are you doing here?”
