Page 17 of Lord of Justice

"Not to my fucking sister-in-law!"

"Why not? She's ideally suited.” I outline all the reasons I'd given Iris and he is no more receptive to them than she was.

There's a brief sound of the phone being wrestled away and then Violet's shouting. "You bring my sister right back right this minute! I don't know what bizarre game you're playing, but you're not going to include Iris in this. For fuck's sake, Andrey, she's only twenty!"

"I'm aware of her age." I unbutton my shirt with a sigh of relief. "However, all the reasons I've outlined here are still valid. You know that I will treat her with respect. She'll want for nothing."

"That's not a good enough reason!" Violet sounds frantic. "How could you do this? You're an adult! How could you take advantage of her?"

"Do you know, Violet," my tone is cold and precise, "that she was facing attempted murder charges? That suddenly, three more felony arrests popped up in the NYPD records once she was arrested? Would you prefer that I leave her there in that jail to stand in front of a judge later today and face a laundry list of charges?"

"Attemptedmurder? Iris?There's- there's no way." Violet gasps before charging ahead."You could have fixed that without marrying her."

"I had to call in a ridiculous number of favors to make those charges disappear," I say, pouring myself a drink. "Roman may not be affiliated with the legal side of the business, but I'm sure he can tell you that."

"Is this because you needed a bride? You just looked around and thought, oh, that girl, she seems fine?" Her voice is rising with every word and I pull the phone away from my ear.

"It was a felicitous moment," I say. She lets out a shriek of outrage. "As I said, your sister will want for nothing. I will take care of her."

"She's not a pet!" Roman shouts.

"That's true." My tone is colder than the ice in my drink. "She is a felon who was about to face an attempted murder charge. If she's adult enough to bring that kind of hell down on herself, thenshe's old enough to be married."

"She's been… wait. Rose and Iris havestillbeen doing 'play' crime?" Violet says. I hear the despair in her voice and for a moment, I almost feel sorry for her.

Almost.

"Let Iris sleep in," I say, pretending I didn't hear her sad little question. Let Roman handle it. He knew what they were up to the night of his anniversary party. "We'll see you here at the penthouse at noon.”

"You- okay, you don't get to tell me when I can see my sister," she snarls. "Iris has been in captivity before and I willnotlet this happen again!"

Roman murmurs something gentle to her, but I hear a scuffle as he tries to take the phone from her. I check my watch with a sigh. He finally regains control of the phone. "Noon, Andrey," he says, his tone back to furious. "We'll be there at noon."

I don't sleep. I do a brutal workout. I lift more than I should, I run longer than is necessary. As the sun rises over the buildings behind me, I have never felt better.

Iris is curled up on her bed, still wearing her wrinkled wedding dress, mascara smudgeddown her cheeks. Seating myself next to her on the mattress, I attempt the gentlest tone I have.

"Wife, wake up. We need to talk."

She bolts up, instantly awake and nearly slamming her forehead into my nose. I pull back just in time. Scrambling back against the headboard, she holds a pillow to her chest. "Every time we ‘need’ to talk, everything gets worse."

"Marrying me does seem to be an upgrade from twenty years in prison." I hand her a mug of coffee. She takes it, eyeing it suspiciously before her gaze lands on my glass.

"What are you drinking?"

"A kale and protein smoothie," I take another drink as she watches me in horror.

"Oh, god," she moans. "You're one ofthose."

I shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I am. I've never had a woman look at me like this. "One of those?"

"Yeah, kale smoothies and energizing morning runs? You probably don't eat anything but organic greens and chicken breasts, so you can drink heavily but keep your muscle mass up?" Iris stares at me judgmentally.

I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt, the long sleeves stretched around my biceps. "You enjoy categorizing men, don't you?"

"And you don't?" she asks, folding her arms over her chest. This pushes her breasts up higher, but I don't look down.

"Drink your coffee," I say instead. "You're going to need the caffeine boost."