"I'll see what I can do."
His voice hardens. “Yes, you do that.”
Translation: This isn't a request.
I'm about to end the call when Volkov speaks again, his tone softening in a way that catches me off guard.
“Corsini, I want your personal guarantee that Polina will be protected and unharmed. She's been through hell. She deserves better than what life's given her so far."
Well, whadda ya know. This brutal, calculating psychopath has a soft side.
I think of Polina's bruises. Her broken bones. The years—fucking years—of abuse.
He doesn’t need to ask. No one will ever hurt her again. Not while I'm breathing. I don’t tell him that, though.
Instead, I say, “I’ll do that, but, since we’re trading favors, I’ll ask for one in return.”
Another pause. “Go on.”
My voice goes cold as winter. “I want to be the one to end Lebedev.”
“Done.”
Polina
“Try not to feel overwhelmed by all the attention,” Dante murmurs against my ear, causing my nipples to tighten, and a rash of heat to rush through my body. “Everyone wants to meet the new wife of the Don.”
We enter the ballroom, and he guides me through the sea of expensive suits and designer gowns. Everyone is here to celebrate us. To celebrate our marriage.
I’m wearing emerald silk, a dress I chose myself.Dante's hand rests possessively on the small of my back, and for the first time in my life, I feel beautiful.
Dante introduces me to so many people—capos, soldiers, their wives.—and I’m surprised by the reception. I don’t know what I expected. Suspicion? Mistrust? Contempt? But everyone is beyond amiable and gracious, congratulating us and welcoming me with kindness and generosity.
We stop in front of a distinguished older man with silver hair and shrewd eyes. Beside him stands a woman in her late twenties. She’s beautiful with lush curves and cultivated poise. Her black dress clings to her gorgeous figure.
"Polina, this is Antonio Falcone and his daughter, Bianca."
"Congratulations on your marriage," Antonio says warmly, taking my hand. His grip is firm but respectful. "Dante is a lucky man."
"Thank you." I smile, genuinely. "That's very kind."
Bianca steps forward, smiling at Dante and completely ignoring me. Something in her smile makes my skin prickle. “Dante, congratulations.”
It’s obvious she doesn’t mean it.
Her hand lingers on Dante's arm as she speaks. Her fingers trail down his sleeve in a gesture that could be innocent but isn't.
“It's been far too long since we’ve…rendezvoused,” she purrs. “We should get together when you’re free.” Then she adds a suggestive wink for good measure.
The nerve of this hussy.
Dante's expression doesn't change. “I’ll pass on that, Bianca. My wife has dibs on all of my free time."
"Of course." Her eyes slide to me. "How lovely."
She doesn’t mean that either.
Fortunately, Dante steers us across the room, and more introductions follow.
