Page 45 of Then We Shatter

I disarm him with a broad grin. “Oh, how I miss my stilettos. And stabbing people in the face with them.”

My uncle tugs on my arm. “Behave, moya lyubov.” My love.

Like fuck I will. Eric’s remark about not letting me leave has rattled me.

I’m seated next to Eric with Vasili penning me in on the other side. Sasha and Grigor are facing, the perfect position to enjoy their reaction when I strike up a conversation. “I expect you heard the sad news about Vlad,” I tell Grigor. “Such a shame that all your intensive training was for nothing.”

The brigadier glances nervously at his pakhan. “He let us down.”

The disgraced guard’s limp dick had been hanging out of his pants when I’d left his body outside my bedroom, leaving no doubt as to why I’d been able to get close enough to snap his neck. His body had been disposed of without ceremony.

“And who’s Vlad?” asks Eric.

“Oh, just one of my soldiers,” Vasili says as a seafood salad is placed in front of him. “This looks fresh. Caught today, Eric?”

“Anything older becomes compost,” he replies before turning in his seat to face me. “You knew him?”

“He was my bodyguard.” I spear a piece of raw tuna with my fork. “He died in action.”

Sasha has food in her mouth and almost chokes on her laughter.

“Quiet, wife,” Grigor hisses.

“My apologies, lyubimiy.” Beloved. “I meant no disrespect, but I’d forgotten how amusing Katarina could be. We used to laugh at her together. Remember?”

He remains grim-faced. “Now isn’t the time to rekindle old wars.”

“Or rekindle anything, I should hope, husband,” Sasha says as her hand disappears beneath the table. Grigor’s expression immediately switches from annoyance to surprise.

“Some things never change,” I say to no one in particular. The quickest way to improve our camp commander’s mood had been to rub, suck or sit on his cock.

Vasili clangs his fork on his plate. “Grigor, if you and your wife need to continue your private discussion, take it somewhere else. The rest of us would like to eat.”

Sasha’s smile is coquettish as her hand reappears and her cheeks pink up. I never did learn the trick of blushing on command. “You have our full attention, Vasili.”

“Not mine,” Eric says, reaching over to take my hand. He holds my gaze as he kisses my fingers. “I have eyes only for this beauty.”

I hear a few murmurs of approval from around the table, but not the couple opposite.

Eric examines my French manicure. “These nails would have complemented the lace dress I picked out for you perfectly.” The chastisement is subtle, but it’s there.

“Alas, like the dress, the nails aren’t my style.”

My fingernails are longer than they were a few hours ago, but the white, blunted tips of my French manicure are nothing close to the talons I prefer.

“Your manicurist appeared unable to understand my request,” I continue.

Eric ghosts his lips over my fingers. “We can work on language barriers.”

“I’ve never had an issue dealing with the Irish before,” I say, loud enough for Vasili to hear. “In fact, I’ve always been very good at communicating my needs.”

“I was talking about the language barrier between us,” Eric clarifies. “As my wife, your style should complement my own, which is why…” His mouth tugs into a half-smile as he produces a velvet ring box and sets it down on the table.

I get my diamond back. Hoo-fucking-ray. I’d treasured that rock more than my first three fiancés, but it lost its luster after I met Killian. He saw it for what it represented. A shackle. And now I hate it too.

Eric covers the box with his hand. “Before you open it…”

I wasn’t going to open it, but still. Eric digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small plastic bag. At first glance it appears to be a teaspoon’s worth of sand, but the grains are more like splinters that catch the light.