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His mouth forms a silent O.
“Shut up,” I snarl.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I can hear you thinking it.”
“Then I might as well say it.” He shrugs, stepping inside and closing the door. “It seems more likely that you slept in here to avoid sleeping with your wife. Or avoid ‘sleeping’ with her, if you catch my drift.”
I snort. “I’m not avoiding either one. This is my house. And I’ve made it very clear that this will not be a sexless marriage.”
“If you were having sex, you wouldn’t be sleeping in your office. I’m not old-fashioned, but you really should legitimize this marriage with—”
“It’s been legitimized,” I interrupt. “We took care of that the night of the wedding.”
Konstantin gives me a pitying look. “Nothing since then, though? That’s rough. It’ll be okay, old sport. Every couple has these dry spells.”
“What the fuck would you know about it?”
“More than you, apparently,” he says, gesturing to my makeshift bed on the couch. “For instance, if you want to fuck your wife, you should probably sleep next to her.”
“That’s a line of intimacy that I will not cross,” I say abruptly.
Konstantin shakes his head in amazement. “So what you’re saying is, you want the sex, but not the relationship?”
“She agreed to it.”
“Haven’t you heard by now? It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. You may not have much experience in relationships, but I sure as hell do. Remember Yulia?”
I roll my eyes. “I remember the two of you sucking face at Christmas.”
“We were standing under mistletoe.”
“For three hours,” I drawl. “Pretty sure you scarred Ilya for life.”
“The kid learned a valuable lesson that night: always knock.” He waves his hands as if brushing the story to the side. “Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that Yulia had to be in a good mood to put out. She needed to be wined and dined before she could be sixty-nined. She needed to feel like I cared about her before we had sex. If you’re just coming at Paige with an erection like a fencing sword, I doubt she’s going to be turned on.”
“Yulia was a moron,” I snap. “Paige is different.”
Konstantin beams like I fell right into his trap. “Maybe you should tell her that. A compliment might actually get you laid.”
Before I can tell him to stick his advice where the sun doesn't shine, my phone rings. I answer, if only so Konstantin will shut up.
“This is Misha.”
“D-don Orlov,” a shaky voice says. “It’s Borya… Borya Vasiliev. We were… we were just attacked, sir…”
It takes me a moment to place the name. Anton Vasiliev was one of my father’s Vors. The man died shortly after my father, but the business he ran was passed down to his son. A business that still operates as a clandestine front for some of the more minor Bratva dealings my men broker in that district of the city.
“At the laundromat?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.” He’s out of breath, wheezing like he’s on his deathbed.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
I hang up and sprint for the door. Konstantin is right behind me. He’s transitioned seamlessly into action mode. “An attack?”
“Yes. Vasiliev Laundromat.”
