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Roman rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying he’s a saint, but he’s lived through shit. And seeing as you’re wearing his ring, even if it’s an arrangement, you might want to consider there’s more to him than meets the eye.”
I shift my gaze straight ahead. My fingers idly touch the ring on my hand, its weight a constant reminder of the game I'm playing. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MAXIM
A few hours from sunrise,I drive the silent streets of Moscow, heading to my home.
My knuckles around the steering wheel are raw and bruised—fresh from a win at the city's most notorious underground fight club. There, I’m no magnate, no business tycoon. I’m just another fighter, finding solace in the brutal ballet of fists and blood. I doubt anyone there knows who I am. And if they did, they’d know better than to blab it to anyone.
The fighting ring is a place as familiar as home to me. My father was an underground fighter. Unlike my mother, he managed to stay alive until my fifteenth birthday. Not that he was much of a father—my grandmother did the bulk of raising me. He didn’t care if I went to school, brushed my teeth, ate vegetables, or any of the things a typical parent might worry about. But he did care if I could fight. That, he taught me well.
In the ring, I was invincible. At a young age, I mastered the art of ducking and weaving, ensuring my face stayed untouched. Quick jabs, strategic right hooks, whatever it took to send myopponent sprawling. It didn’t matter if my opponent was twice my size. Fighting was what I was good at. When my father died, it was how I made money to survive.
It’s also what got me noticed by Oleg Antonov, Kira’s father. The Antonov patriarch had not passed on the reins yet, and Oleg was eager to impress his father. When he saw the damage I could inflict with my fists, he brought me into his bratva—not as a made man but as his secret weapon—taking me along on collections. He used to get a thrill commanding me to break bones and crush skulls. Treating me as though I were his damn pet he could order around. I’d still be under his thumb if it wasn’t for my skill in investing and aligning myself with the right people. From early on I knew that a man like Oleg—with his vices and ferocious temper—was not someone I wanted to hitch my wagon to.
The irony that I ended up marrying his daughter isn’t lost on me. At least we have one thing in common. She hated him as much as I did. The daughter whose cat-like hazel eyes, tousled blonde hair, and creamy thighs I tried to drive from my mind tonight with every punishing blow I landed.
I’m not sure how successful I was. Because it’s not only about how she looks. Few people are willing to stand up to me like she does, and apparently, that gets my dick hard. Not that I'll be doing anything about it. I don’t like her, I don’t trust her, and most of all, I don’t want a wife. Our relationship will remain strictly business.
Parking in my underground garage, I nod as I pass the guards patrolling my main floor, before taking the stairs two at a time to my bedroom.
Pavel was right. I didn’t do myself any favors by demanding Kira and I share a bed.
Do I believe that keeping Kira close is the best way to keep an eye on her? Absolutely. Is it the only reason I want her near in the dark of night? No comment.
I open the door to my bedroom, bracing for the view of Kira nestled under the gray silk sheets, but the expanse of my bed is untouched, empty. My eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of her, but she's not here.
Did something happen to her? My mind races through scenarios, but the obvious answer is usually the right one.
Exasperation consumes me. Pulling my cell from my pocket, I dial the guard on duty in the control room.
"Boss," Anton answers promptly.
"Check the cameras on this floor. It seems my wife was confused about where she was expected to sleep.” I don’t believe for a moment Kira was confused about anything, but let Anton believe what he will.
There's a brief pause, the clacking of keys on a keyboard providing background noise. "Looks like she entered the south-facing guest bedroom in the east wing earlier in the evening. She hasn’t come out yet.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. So, she's playing a little game of hide-and-seek. Doesn’t she know I’ll always win?
It's exhilarating, though. A challenge like this is rare; it's not often someone dares to test me.
I hang up the phone and prepare to teach Kira what it means to disobey me.
CHAPTER NINE
KIRA
A shock jolts through me,ice seeping into my bones, wrenching me from blissful oblivion. Gasping for breath, my eyes shoot open to find I'm still in bed, except I’m drenched in freezing water. Bolting upright, I blink away the droplets clinging to my eyelashes, trying to make sense of what happened, when my gaze finds Maxim standing over me, an empty bucket dangling casually from his hand.
"Fuck you," I splutter, pushing the wet strands of hair out of my face, my temper flaring as I scramble out of the soaked bed. My T-shirt clings to me like a second skin, heavy and cold against my shivering frame. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
“I suppose I can ask you the same thing.” Maxim's eyes narrow, a flash of irritation crossing his features. He steps closer, his voice edged with authority. “You are to sleep in my bed, or did my order somehow slip your mind? I know for a fact that Nadya was clear that was a requirement.”
“I’m a wife in name only. You said so yourself. Just because you decided sleeping together is part of the arrangement doesn’t mean I agreed,” I shout, drenched and shivering.
"You belong wherever I say you belong. This ring" — he grabs my left hand in his much bigger one — "binds you to me. It gives me the power to determine your future."
