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“I barely touched her—”
“You touched her period. She’s mine to touch,” I snarled, my temper snapping off its leash at his paltry excuse. “You don’t lay a fucking finger on her, or I’ll consider this my barely touching you, and the next time, I’ll blow your fucking head off. Do you understand me?”
He gulped, then glared at Inessa, but my hand snapped out to reach for his other foot, and he cried, “I understand! I won’t touch her.”
“Good. You won’t even fucking look at her with malice. You will leave her alone. You will not expect her to spy on us, because if you think we’re that fucking stupid, you’re mistaken.” I bent down, leaning my elbows on the rail once more as I declared, “You can blame me, and you can start a war with your new allies, or we can fight the scourge in our city. A family who everyone hates. Or, by blaming me, you can make the men under you wonder exactly what you did to your daughter that had me punishing you in such a fashion.”
His nostrils flared at that. “You fucker.”
I smiled. “I know.” I stood, reached for Inessa’s hand, and as I squeezed it, said, “Say goodbye to your father, Inessa.”
Her voice was blank, free of emotion, and I had to admit, I gave her credit for that. “Goodbye, Father.”
She turned away before I could say another word and, smiling at Vasov who was glaring at me with all the loathing in his blackened soul, we retreated from the ward.
Camille had her arms folded, her gaze on her feet. She was too thin and looked like she was cut up about something—her hands clasped her elbows like she was comforting herself, and her shoulders were faintly hunched. I recognized the sight of someone in pain, even if it was emotional and not physical. Considering her father’s skills at parenting, I had to assume it wasn’t his being shot that put her in a depressed frame of mind. Victoria was bristling at her side, bouncing on her toes like she wanted to smack something.
I knew how the Russians treated their womenfolk—like dolls. The girl needed martial arts or something to help her control her temper. I recognized it because I’d been that way. One big bundle of energy, and I’d had anger issues until Da had shown me how to beat the shit out of a punching bag.
Still, that wasn’t my place, so I nodded my chin at theboyeviksguarding the private ward, wondering what position Maxim held because he seemed to be above them but was still given only guard duty at the hospital, as Inessa hugged her sister farewell.
“You have my house phone?” she was saying to Camille, who cut me a look before nodding. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t be.”
That seemed to surprise Inessa, because she frowned. “You’re not going back?”
“I have things to tie up, but no.”
“Why not?”
“Does it matter?” Victoria snapped. “She’s coming home!”
“You won’t like Svetlana—”
Inessa’s predication had Camille’s mouth twisting. “I’ve dealt with worse sluts than her.”
Inessa tensed, but Victoria evidently didn’t get the double meaning, because her gaze swung between her sisters like she was at the U.S. Open Finals.
Sensing an argument brewing, I called out, “Inessa?”
She twisted back to give me her attention, then nodded when I merely cast her an expressionless look.
“We have to get going.”
She stiffened a little more, then blew out a breath and muttered to her sisters, “We’ll speak soon.” A quick hug for each of them was the only other farewell she granted them before she was huddling at my side, having rushed over to stand next to me.
I didn’t let her waver—I grabbed her hand and slipped our fingers together, tangling them in a way that reminded me of our legs this morning in bed.
Married life hadn’t started out the way I’d anticipated, but it was definitely interesting. I couldn’t call it anything else.
As we strolled down the corridor, I felt the guards’ eyes on my back, and though I itched like I was in the sight of someone’s crosshairs, I highly doubted a gunfight was about to go down in the hospital. Not with the all-out preparations Lukov and Abramovicz, Vasov’s right and left hand men, were currently engaged in for the upcoming war that was about to hit the streets.
As we retreated to the car—my Aston Martin again, because driving it the other day had put a smile on my face—and with a beautiful woman at my side, an enemy tucked away in a hospital bed, and the threat neutralized, what better day to blast some tunes as I drove her to my parents’ compound?
She was quiet on the ride through the city, and I didn’t necessarily blame her. Coming to terms with a punishment was always different than the desire for vengeance, but I knew she hadn’t liked my words, and more than that, was mad at her sister.
“Did you look into Camille’s past?” she asked softly when we came to a halt at some traffic lights on the West Side. It was quite good timing, considering the last song died off, so I leaned over and turned down the stereo.
