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Just like when he visits me at night.
I struggle to speak around the lump that’s made a home in my throat. That’ssucha cozy spot for it. Honestly, it’s the most normal I’ve felt all damn week.
Aside from shame.
I lick my lips while setting my mug down. My fingers seek refuge in my knitted cardigan, looping into the holes that have loosened from use. “I’ve been thinking that…you’re doing too many things at once.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I’ve seen your brigadiers leaving your meeting all week looking like they’re about to march to death’s door,” I say. “I see a lot, Pavel. More than you think.”
“I don’t need you to see, Liya,” Pavel replies. “I need you to be pregnant. Are you pregnant yet?”
I frown, crestfallen at his blunt refusal to listen.
“Have you gotten pregnant at some point between last night and this morning?” he presses.
My angry gaze could set him on fire. Oh, if only I could burn him to a crisp—reduce him to ashes in the sun like a vampire, then let the wind sweep the dust from the face of the earth.
All my issues would be gone in a second, just like that.
“No,” I reply flatly. “I haven’t gotten pregnant yet.”
He nods while lifting his mug. “Then you are unable to help.”
Everything felt normal for two-point-five fucking seconds.I glare at Pavel, keeping his focus fixed on me.Becoming his queen means acting like one.
I dust myself off. I square my shoulders, imagining the tattooed crown shifting on my body. I draw myself taller, even if he still looms larger than life before me.
Calm, confident, cold—I’ll just act like him to get my point across.
It might not work, but what other options do I have?
“I’m not blind and deaf, Pavel. I can see and hear the aftermath of your meetings.”
He arches a brow. “Running a Bratva is different from taking drink orders.”
I roll my eyes at the jab. Has he ever had to deal with running a bar?
Managing expectations in a bunch of assholes who all think they’re God’s greatest gift on earth? Listening to their problems and telling them what they want to hear? Keeping a calm and cool head in a place so loud you can’t even hear yourself think?
Yeah, I think I’ve got some pretty good experience there.
But I don’t say anything to him.
He sets his mug on the table with a definitive thud. “This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing. Do you need to be reminded of your duties?” He smirks. “Right here on the terrace? Table or railing, Liya?”
It’s scary to see that mischievous twinkle in his eye.
More than that, it’s downrightfrighteningthe excitement I feel from the suggestion.
I’m picturing him closing the distance, bending me over the rail, tits exposed for the world to witness. We’re so high up that it’s hard to say anyone would see us.
Then again.
Isn’t that part of the thrill?
But I’m not backing down. Not now. And I won’t let him push me around either.
