He swirled the wine in his glass and reclined in his chair, his gaze unwavering.
“You do realize I know why you’ve come, right?” I asked him. “You might as well stop stalling and get to the point.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “I personally don’t have an issue with who you decided to marry. You’re a grown man capable of making your own choices.”
A pause.
“But there are people within the high ranks who aren’t…pleased with your choice.”
“I don’t live my life to please people, Uncle.”
“I know that. Hell, everyone knows that.”
“You asked me to find a wife. I did. I don’t see the problem.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping lower than normal. “The problem is that your wife isn’t….” He hesitated, as if considering his next words carefully.
“Isn’t what?” I stared right at him, daring him to say what’s on his mind.
“Let’s just say she’s not cut out for a world like ours,” he answered.
“Why?” I asked. “You don’t even know her.”
“I know she was working on Daniel Vetrov’s case as a school project before you kidnapped her,” he said.
Silence.
“Eliza Hendy is an average American with no political affiliations. Your union with her doesn’t in any way benefit the Bratva,” he said.
“It’s Eliza Tarasov now,” I corrected him, my voice steady. “You might not see her potential yet, but I do. She’s smart, intelligent, and possesses the mental capacity to carry the Tarasov name.”
He leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass to his lips.
“Trust me, Uncle, I knew exactly what I was doing when I married her,” I said to him. “She’s not a liability.” I paused, allowing the words to sink in. “She’s my most valuable asset.”
His lips curled into a mischievous grin. “For someone who said marriage is overrated, you speak so highly of your wife.”
I wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment. But I felt the need to defend her image. That’s when I realized I was beginning to go down a path I might not be able to come back from.
Fuck.
Chapter 17 – Ellie
He’d been busy with work, so I hadn’t seen him in over five days. He came back late at night and left very early the next morning. While part of me was grateful for the distance between us, the other part couldn’t help but think he was intentionally avoiding me.
Why?
Did I repulse him now?
He’d finally had his way with me, finally seduced me, and fucked the hell out of me. Of course, he’d moved on as if nothing had happened. It’s what men like him did to vulnerable women.
I knew I might be overthinking this, but it just felt better to be mad at him about something. Even if he’d used work as an excuse to stay away from me, I shouldn’t have been bothered by it. I hated his guts anyway.
Yet his absence, for some reason, left a void in me that nothing could fill. It was strange and frustrating, and that frustration only fanned the flames of my anger. I was pissed off at him for keeping his distance and still pissed at myself for noticing it.
I was the one who said the sex didn’t change anything. Yet I was the same person who couldn’t let go of the memory of our time together. The taste of his tongue still lingered on mine, and I could still hear his deep groans in the back of my head.
How could I forget how he made me feel? It was almost as though he’d burned himself into my soul. The man knew how to make me feel alive. He touched me in all the places I wanted to be touched. His kisses were deep and intense, his thrusts…oh, his thrusts!
