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Maxim scowls. “You turn up. Barge into my home. Chat up my wife at some unseemly hour. What is it you want?”
“I need to talk to you. It’s a matter for men. And only men.” Anatoli looks pointedly at Alessia.
“I am not going anywhere,” Alessia exclaims. “If you have something to say to my husband, you can say it to me. I’m not in Kukës anymore.”
“No, carissima. This is for your husband’s ears only.”
* * *
Alessia turns her bewildered gaze to me. It’s obvious she has no idea why the Arsehole has appeared on our doorstep. I blow out a breath. “Her name is Alessia. Or Lady Trevethick, to you. Now, say what you have to say, and then you can leave.” I give him a frosty, fuck-off smile, and Anatoli narrows his eyes.
“Is there somewhere private we could go?”
Fuck’s sake.
“Not really. Unless we step outside. This is Alessia’s home too.”
“Maxim, why don’t you go into the living room, and I’ll bring you another glass of wine.”
“There she is!” Anatoli grins. “Alessia, you are an Albanian woman to your soul.” His face lights up. He’s still smitten with my wife.
It’s sickening.
“No. Arsehole, you’re not welcome in this house. You took Alessia from here against her will. You threatened and abused her. And you have the fucking nerve to turn up here and expect us to invite you into our home—”
“I am an associate of Lady Trevethick’s father. And he has a message for you, asshole.”
* * *
Alessia is tempted to step between them as they glower at each other.
“Let’s take this outside,” Maxim says through gritted teeth.
Alessia looks up at him, eyes wide and her face etched in panic. He gives her a reassuring smile and turns his attention to Anatoli.
* * *
The Arsehole’s icy glare doesn’t intimidate me.
“Are you armed?” Alessia asks him suddenly, the words coming from her mouth in a distraught, breathless rush.
What the fuck?
He shakes his head. “Not this time.” And he smirks. “I came by air. Okay, Englishman, have it your way.”
I don’t even want to think about the implications of Alessia’s question. No wonder it was easy for him to take her—the monster was fucking armed. I scowl at him, trying to keep a rein on my temper. He brought a fucking gun into my home and threatened my wife.
Or me.
That’s how he was able to whisk her away.
Fucking monster.
“Well, Englishman?” he says.
My blood boils, but I grab my jacket and head out, not bothering to wait for him. I don’t take the lift—I bolt down the stairs, buoyed by my anger, and quickly reach the small foyer on the ground floor.
We’ll do this. And then he’s gone.
For good. Hopefully.
He follows me down the stairs, and I know he didn’t expect me to move so fast because he’s breathless when we reach the bottom.
It’s hugely satisfying.
Fucking bastard brought a gun into my home.
“Here,” he shouts when he reaches the foyer before I can leave the building. “There’s light.”
I stop, and he pulls out a newspaper clipping from the inside of his coat and hands it to me. It’s from an Albanian newspaper, so I don’t understand the headlines, but there are grimy photographs of two men.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise in recognition.
Those fuckers!
The traffickers.
I shoot my gaze to him.
“This them?” he asks.
I nod. “Why?”
He says nothing and then produces another newspaper cutting. It’s the photograph of Charlotte kissing me.
Oh shit. “This reached Albania?”
“It did. It made the papers. Jak thinks you should be more discreet with your affairs.”
“Whoa!” I hold up my hand. “This is not what it looks like.”
“No?”
“No. For the record, I’m not having an affair. Also, it’s none of Jak’s or your fucking business.”
“Alessia has seen this?”
“Of course she’s seen it. She was there.”
“Oh.” He looks crestfallen—so much so that I feel a nanoparticle of pity for him. He still holds a torch that shines brightly for my wife. He loves her. In his own way.
What an idiot.
“You know,” he growls. “You fuck this up between you and her—I’m here. Waiting. It’s obvious your gutter press, they don’t approve. The snobbery and disdain is in every word they write about her. I’ll be in her home country where we love her. I love her.”
“No, you don’t. And keep away from my wife. If you hadn’t mistreated her, she might be with you now. But you did. You fucked up. And she’s mine now. In every way. And I don’t give a flying fuck about the press. Leave Alessia alone. Now, you can see yourself out.”
Without looking back at him, I vault up the stairs, and when I reach the top floor, I’ve expended enough energy to calm down.
Alessia is still in the hallway. “Where is he? What did he want?” she asks.
“Nothing important.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Maxim. Tell me.”
