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“Don’t let her smiles and silly clothes fool you, Filip. There’s much more than meets the eye where my wife is concerned. Honestly, I’d be surprised if she doesn’t already know how to fire a gun.”
I leave my second-in-command standing with a confused expression on his face and exit the warehouse. When I get behind the wheel, I take out my phone to check the messages. There are two, both from Keva. The first is a photo of my wife crouching in a pool of white foam, collecting it into a bucket with a soup ladle. She’s wearing sparkling red high-heeled boots with a matching bow on her head. The second is a text, letting me know that my wife poured liquid soap into the dishwashers.
I open the photo again, zooming in on Sienna’s face. Her eyes are huge and intent on what she’s doing, and if I paid attention only to them, I’d assume she’s panicking. But her lips are drawn into a huge smile. This woman is such a contradiction.
I close the image and type out a message.
17:10 Drago:Ask my wife if she knows how to shoot a gun.
The reply arrives less than a minute later.
17:11 Keva:Sienna? What’s wrong with you? Of course she doesn’t.
17:12Drago: Ask her.
The phone vibrates with a new text.
17:14 Keva:Yes. God help us.
I stare at the message for a few moments, then burst out laughing.
Chapter 15
I lean my shoulder on the doorframe and regard my wife. She’s at the kitchen island, cautiously cutting up something with measured slides of her knife. Despite being busy with domestic chores, she’s wearing another crazy outfit paired with gold faux fur slippers. Her fashion choices are completely ridiculous, but she’s beautiful as hell, even when wearing her absurd getups.
When I came home last night, Sienna was already asleep. As I do every night, I carried her to my bed. I ate her perfect pussy while she was still half-asleep, and then I fucked her. Hard. I held her in my arms all night, but still took her back to her room this morning before heading to work. I don’t know why I keep doing it. I am so fucking angry, but can’t determine the reason behind my rage. Is it her lies, or that she lied tome? Maybe I’m angry at myself because, even after everything, I can’t make myself hate her.
Andthatis the fucking problem. That is why I’m here now staring atmy wifelike a goddamn creep.
As I watch, Sienna sniffs and brushes her eye with the back of her hand. I become alert immediately and march across the kitchen.
When I reach her, I grab her around the waist and lift her to sit on the island next to the cutting board.
“Drago?” She blinks at me in confusion as tears slide down her cheeks.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm down. Whoever dared to say or do anything that made my wife cry will be leaving this house within ten minutes. In a fucking body bag.
“What. Happened?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Um . . . I’m helping Keva prepare an onion sauce.”
I look down at the cutting board. Fucking onions. “Nevena!” I beckon the girl fumbling with the spices. “Take these away.”
“What? Why?” Sienna asks.
There’s no way I’m telling her that I nearly went ballistic because she was crying over damn onions. Instead, I reach behind my back to take out the gun Relja got for me and place it on the counter next to Sienna.
“Glock 42,” I say. “Relja couldn’t find a pink one on short notice.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Why would I need a gun?”
“Just a precaution. We’re expecting some problems.”
Sienna takes the gun and looks it over, then releases the magazine. “Only six rounds?”
“You plan on going on a rampage,mila moya?”
“Maybe.” She snaps the magazine back in with a flourish.
