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“Drop it.”
“No can do. You’re trusting her too much when she hasn’t proven to be loyal to you since she returned.”
“How the fuck is she supposed to do that when she believes I hurt her family?”
“How about not thinking you’re subhuman enough to orchestrate the murder of children?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s annoyingly right, and I want to punch him, but since that option isn’t available through the phone, I release a breath. “Have you heard from Makar lately?”
He pauses, probably caught by surprise at the change of subject. “No. Doesn’t he have direct contact with you?”
“Look for him. The last location I know of is that he was in Chicago.”
“Why should I locate him?”
“Because he’s the traitor. Sasha thinks I tried to kill her in that cottage, because she saw Makar. I want to know who the fuck sent him there.”
“On it.” He pauses. “And be careful. I’m not in the mood to collect corpses.”
I stare at the phone after he hangs up. The asshole is being more daring than usual lately. It’s mostly due to a lack of sleep, which I should probably be apologetic for.
The thing is, I didn’t ask him to be an annoying shadow. He picked that position himself, and he needs to take full responsibility for it.
“Was that Viktor?”
I slowly turn around at Sasha’s voice. I fully expected her to go to sleep, or pretend to, and to have to wake her up for round two.
Good thing no waking will be happening, since it’s guaranteed to make her cranky.
She stands by the stairs, wearing a woolen dress with a cut-out in the middle. It’s one of the pieces of clothing I had delivered here earlier today when I devised this plan to corner her in a place where it’s only the two of us.
No Karina, Rai, Anna, Kristina, or my fucking guards.
What? She chose to direct her attention toward them instead of me, and I’m not a fan of being a side character in my wife’s life.
I head to the minibar and pour two glasses of vodka, then offer one to her. “Yeah. Viktor.”
She takes a sip and side-eyes mine. “Since when are you a vodka person?”
“Since I’m trying to placate my wife.”
She stops herself before rolling her eyes, but she smiles and hides it by taking another sip.
I mirror her, tolerating the bland vodka. Now, I’m sure my Russian ancestors would turn in their graves and curse me to the lowest pit in hell for that statement. Viktor even accused me of being a ‘fake Russian’ for slandering the holy messiah of his existence.
Maksim also said I should apologize to his Russian blood.
Lucky for them, my beautiful wife loves the drink, and, therefore, I’ll refrain from any unnecessary shit-talking.
Sasha takes her vodka seriously. She sits on the sofa, her stance somewhat relaxed as she relishes every sip. My attention is completely stolen by the soft features of her face and the wet blonde strands that fall to her neck.
But the masterpiece is the large hickey I left on the side of her throat earlier. The belt’s red marks surround it, bruising her skin as evidence of who owns her.
Spoiler alert: That would be me.
After a few moments of silence, she raises her head, and her eyes widen the slightest bit when she finds me leaning against the cabinet and staring.
She clears her throat. “You’re really asking Viktor to look for Makar?”
“Someone’s developed eavesdropping habits.”
“I didn’t mean to… I just happened to be passing by.”
Just how much of the conversation did she hear? Thankfully, she couldn’t have listened to Viktor’s atrocious comments, since those certainly don’t play in my favor.
“If you asked Viktor to search for him, that means you don’t know where he is.”
“Or what he’s done.”
“Or that,” she repeats in a low, soft voice.
“Do you believe me now?”
She takes a long sip and releases a sigh. “I don’t even know what to believe anymore.”
“Do you think the men who attacked us tonight were sent by your family?”
She shakes her head. “At least, I hope they weren’t, considering they were trying to kill me and all.”
“How great is the chance of them coming after you to save Anton?”
“Seventy percent?” she says with a pained smile, and I want to kill each and every one of them who put the pain there.
This is troublesome.
If her own family won’t protect her, she’s under serious threat. I’m fine with them coming after me, but if they attempt to hurt her, I’ll have to rip their hearts out. And she might hate me for it.
“That high?”
“I never mattered in the great scheme of things.” She stares out the window at the endless darkness. “When I was a child, I was the clueless, sheltered tomboy who only cared about playing. After the massacre, I was transformed into a soldier for the family. Almost overnight, I became a weapon to be used to protect our assets and to exact revenge. I’m only a support to Anton, a tool he can use when he becomes the heir. The saddest part is that I don’t think I’ll have a purpose after all of this is over. Once everything ends, I’ll have to find myself another role.”
