Matvey's jaw tightens. "And if it is? If someone's waiting for us at every location?"
"Then we deal with it." I meet his eyes. "We've dealt with worse."
He doesn't look convinced, but he nods. That's all I need.
A commotion upstairs makes both of us tense. Raised voices, footsteps, and then Mariya's voice cutting through it all, loud and furious.
"Get out of my way!"
I'm on my feet before I realize I'm moving, my hand instinctively going to the gun at my hip. Matvey stands too, his body coiled and ready for action. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline flooding my system. If someone got to her, if they hurt her…
"I said move!" Mariya's voice is closer now, coming down the stairs.
Relief hits me so hard, I almost stagger. She's okay. She's angry, but she's okay. I force myself to breathe, to relax my grip on the gun.
I hear her footsteps in the hallway, quick and angry, and then she's walking past my office. She stops abruptly and backs up when she sees me through the open door. For a second, we just stare at each other. Her blonde hair is disheveled, like she's been running her hands through it, and her green eyes are blazing with fury. She's wearing one of the T-shirts I'd bought her yesterday and a pair of leggings that hug her ass and thighs so lovingly that my cock twitches. The shirt is loose, hanging off oneshoulder, and I can see the curve of her collarbone, the smooth skin of her neck.
Christ, she's beautiful. Even furious and exhausted, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
She doesn't wait to be invited inside. She storms into my office, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Your guards," she says, her voice tight with barely controlled rage, "weren't going to let me out of the room."
I glance at Matvey, who's watching this exchange with what might be amusement in his dark eyes. "Is that so?"
"Yes, that's so." She takes another step toward my desk, and I can see the exhaustion beneath the anger. Dark circles under her eyes and the slight tremor in her hands. She didn't sleep either. "If I'm going to be the Pakhan’s wife, then they damn well had better treat me with respect. I'm not a prisoner anymore."
The corner of my mouth twitches. She's magnificent when she's angry, all fire and defiance. I want to pull her across this desk and kiss her until she forgets why she's mad, want to strip those leggings off and remind her exactly what being the Pakhan’s wife means. "I'll take care of it."
Matvey nods once and stands, moving toward the door. He pauses when he reaches Mariya, and for a moment, I think he's going to say something. But he just gives her a slight nod, something that might be approval, and then he's gone, closing the door behind him.
The silence that follows is awkward. Heavy. Neither of us seems to know what to say. The air between us feels charged, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. I can smell her perfumefrom here, something light and floral that makes me think of summer.
I gesture to the chair Matvey just vacated. "Sit."
She doesn't move, just stands there, her arms crossed over her chest, and I can see her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her shirt. No bra. The realization sends heat straight to my groin. I force myself to look at her face, but that's not much better. Her lips are slightly parted, and an image of those lips wrapped around my cock pops into my brain.
"I'm fine standing," she says.
Of course she is. Stubborn woman.
I pour another drink, then pour a second glass and slide it across the desk toward her. "You look like you could use this."
She eyes the vodka for a moment, then moves to the desk and picks up the glass. She doesn't sit, but she takes a sip, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. When she sets the glass down, some of the tension has left her shoulders.
We both start talking at the same time.
"About last night?—"
"I need to know?—"
We both stop, and I almost smile. Almost. I shake my head and hold out my hand, indicating that she should go first.
She takes a deep breath, her fingers wrapping around the glass like she needs something to hold onto. "Why do you really hate my father? Why do you believe so strongly that he was behind the massacre and that he stole your family's heirlooms?"
I lean back in my chair, studying her face. She deserves the truth. All of it. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes her hate me more than she probably already does.
"Your father had been under suspicion for a while," I say. "All the families knew about his quest to gain more power. His suspicious behavior. Things seemed to disappear from homes after he'd visited. Small things at first. Jewelry, documents, and items that wouldn't be missed right away."
