Page 37 of Lord of the Underworld

When I come out, Vadim is sitting in one of the big armchairs over by the fireplace, holding a drink, and looking out the window at the city lights.

What is the protocol here?

Of all of the endless manners and behaviors, rituals and expectations they drilled into me as one of the Moscow Six, wedding night behavior by the bride was never included. "Um, do you have a certain side of the bed?" I venture.

He looks up. "I sleep closest to the door."

"Fair enough," I say, climbing in on the left side. "Goodnight, Vadim. Thank you again for saving my life today."

He doesn't say anything else, he just keeps sipping his drink and staring out the window, and as I watch him, I eventually fall asleep.

Chapter Sixteen

In which we all deserve a wakeup call like this one.

Vadim…

I've never slept well, even as a child. My mother would tell stories of checking on me in my bed and I'd be awake. "You'd be lying there," she said, "watching the patterns of shadows on the ceiling, tracing your little fingers across the seams of your blankets. I don't know how anyone survives on such little sleep."

I do fine. I work until I'm tired. I sleep until I wake again. There's no deep meaning attached to it. However, I tend to be awake when everyone around me is deep in slumber.

Oksana looks beautiful in my bed, her virginal little white slip standing out from my dark sheets.

I've spent hours watching her sleep. First in her bed, now in mine. Scanning the feed from the cameras I'd placed in her room, I'd look for nightmares, hoping there wouldn't be any. Once I'd swapped out a gentler sleep medication for the garbage her father was forcing her to take, I was concerned that the new meds would allow the nightmares to slip through.

Instead, there were dreams, clearly erotic, since her fingers were buried in her panties when she woke up, orgasming wildly and clearly shocked by it.

Bozhe moy, the sight of her when she comes, her breasts and her face blushing a glorious shade of pink. The way her back arches, and that pretty mouth opens. Her lips move, but it's always silent. Once I could have sworn that I heard her say my name.

She found one of my cameras, the day before the wedding when she'd been packing. I went back in and took them all out that night before I was forced to attend my "bachelor party" with the Morozov cousins.

Rising and stretching with a silent groan, I take my phone outside on the terrace, still watching my wife in bed. I Facetime Ivan, and he answers instantly.

"Hello, boss."

"Ivan," I say. He looks tired, but this is his usual state. "Report."

"Gemma, the head design engineer is very pleased. She said the modifications on the 3D printers are going to work perfectly. They engineered a material that can maintain the flexible hold with the handgrip and the rigidity of the muzzle at the same time."

"Good."

He's used to one-word answers, so he continues. "No interest in our activity from the locals, though you did make a generous donation to the Chicago Police Benevolent Fund last week."

"Anything on the federal side?"

"None," Ivan says proudly. "This is the tightest outfit we've put together and since everything you've ever handled is always buttoned up tighter than a nun's ass, that's saying something."

"Highly visual," I say dryly, watching Oksana let out a long sigh and clutch her pillow tighter to her chest. "Anything else of concern?"

"Not exactly," he says.

"What?" The question comes out sharp and he hears my change in tone.

"Nothing on our side, of course," he assures me quickly. "You asked me to keep an eye on Miss Oksana's house, and there's been activity. My understanding is the household goes relatively quiet when she's out of the country. But there's been unusual traffic around the house. A supposed handyman who claimed he's been contracted by Miss Oksana. The housekeeper was having none of it and wouldn't let him in. That's not as important, though, as the activity in the woods."

"What activity?" My hand is gripping the iron railing of the terrace tight enough to cut my finger on a rough patch on the metal.

"Someone's put up trail cameras to face the back of the house." Ivan says.