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“How is my favorite sister?” I chirp when Asya takes the call.
“Your favorite and only sister is fine. And she knows that tone. It means you did something.”
“What?! Of course I didn’t! I just wanted to chat.”
“We spoke two hours ago. What did you do, Sienna?”
I lie down on the bed and tilt my head up to stare at the ceiling. “I almost shot my husband.”
“Shot?” she yelps. “What are you talking about? What happened?”
“He bought me a gun.” I shrug even though she can’t see me. “I was mad at him.”
“So, you shot him?”
“No. I shot a milk jug. An empty one. But if my aim had been off, the bullet could have ended up in his kidney.”
“And why are you mad at him?”
“I asked him if all we are is fuck buddies. He said yes. He’s mad at me, too.” I sigh. “I’ve been giving intel on the Serbian organization to Ajello. Drago found out and kicked me out of our bedroom. Now he ignores me. Well, when we’re not having sex, that is. But he’s still mad at me.”
“You’re sleeping with him?”
“Of course I’m sleeping with him. Don’t you sleep with your husband?”
“I’m not spying on my husband! How . . . how can you two be sleeping together when he knows what you’ve been doing?”
“Very nicely, actually. The sex is amazing, and Drago likes to cuddle afterward.” My lips curve up. “I love it when he pulls me into his body and wraps his arms and legs around me. I feel protected, like nothing can touch me when he’s there, you know? But then, in the morning, he carries me back to my new bedroom and continues to pretend that I don’t exist during the day.”
“And it bothers you.”
“It doesn’t. I’m just saying.” I shrug again. “He has the most amazing eyes . . . Light green with brown flecks. But when he’s mad, they get darker. It’s sexy as hell.”
“So, you like him?”
“No, not particularly. He’s grumpy most of the time and he doesn’t talk much. I wish he did. His voice is sexy, too.” I roll onto my stomach and bury my nose in the pillow. A faint smell of Drago’s cologne clings to it. He’s never spent a night here, so it’s probably from my hair. He usually tucks my head into the crook of his neck when we sleep.
“So . . . you don’t like him.” Not a question, but I can still hear the uncertainty in her tone.
“Nope. I just like being around him?”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Asya sighs.
“I miss him when he’s not here. I don’t like him, but when he’s not around, everything seems . . . empty. He made me go for a run with him one morning, and we’ve been jogging together three times a week ever since. He bought me this amazing lavender—”
“You jog?”
“Yes. Well, until he caught me checking out his phone. He thought I was reading his messages so I can report on his business to the don, but I just wanted to see if he had photos of his exes on there.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. He took me to a wedding before the phone incident. It was in this huge tent. At least four hundred people were there. And a band. I danced on a table.”
“You what?”
“It seems to be a thing at Serbian weddings.” I laugh. “I wish you could have seen it. Even the bride did it. I took a selfie with Drago and posted it on my social media. Didn’t you see it?”
“Um . . . not exactly. Your accounts have been set to private for weeks.”
