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I groan under my breath and roll to the side. The sheets still smell of Sasha, and I can feel the arousal kick in again. My heart is still frantic just thinking about her, and maybe it’s time for me to admit that Jacinta was right. My old feelings for Sasha have never died, and now I want to bring back what we had nine years ago.
But is it possible? I chew my lips, staring at the patterns on the wall illuminated by the faint light from the ceiling. She keeps saying that she hates me, but it didn’t look like it when she kissed me back or arched her back to take me deeper, moaning into the—I shake my head and sit up on the bed. No, wrong direction, I don’t want to get any harder tonight.
I take a shower to clear my thoughts a little, and by the time I get back to bed I have a plan in mind. Talk to her. Yes, as simple as that. I mean, Sasha clearly holds something against me, but if I don’t even know what it is, I can’t fix it, right?
So first I have to find out the reason, and then…well, if she’s still mad about our breakup, I’ll do everything I can to prove to her that I’m not the same brainless coward who was too scared of responsibilities to keep the only girl that truly mattered to him.
With that, I finally pass out in the bed still smelling of our bodies, and by the time I wake up I’m hard again. Goddamnit. That's married life for you, huh? I get out of the shower some time later, determined to catch Sasha and talk to her properly. But the first thing I see when I unlock my phone is a message from Riccardo telling me to wrap up the honeymoon and come to the warehouse to talk about yesterday's ambush.
When I get down to the first floor, dressed and ready to take off, I catch Sasha and her son in the kitchen, speaking in low voices while making breakfast. As soon as I show up, Misha looks at me and immediately casts his gaze down with a frown, avoiding my gaze. Ah, I guess the toys weren’t good enough to get him on my side.
“Good morning,” I greet them with a smile, trying to sound cheerful, but Sasha only gives me a cold look. She’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt with the outline of her bra peeking around her breasts, and god, why does she have to be so hot?
“Are you leaving already?” She quirks an eyebrow and turns away to the pan to flip over the fried eggs. They smell good enough to make my mouth water, but something tells me neither of them would be happy to share them with me.
I don’t mind being a little annoying at times, but I know better than to piss Sasha off from the start.
“Yes, dear.” Still, I can’t help the teasing comment that earns me a glare from her. I only grin in response and fetch my jacket from the wardrobe by the entrance before raising a hand as a farewell. “My home is your home. See you later, guys!”
I’m almost out of the doors when I hear a quiet mumble. “Bye.”
It’s the first time I hear Misha’s voice, and even though it’s barely audible and I’m not even sure if he wanted me to hear it, I smile to myself and close the door behind me. I don’t know why, but it fills me with hope. We can still build a family together.
I spend the rest of the day with Matteo and Paolo, tracking the Mexicans and interrogating the men in our territories. They are the second best source of information, after our own patrols, and by the end of the day we already know that the Mexicans sneaked in, under the darkness of the grim weather, a few blocks away from our wedding hall.
During the evening meeting, Riccardo decides that our main goal should be catching one of the Mexicans alive to force the truth out of them—and after, I finally get to go home. The intense events of the day leave my mind tired and busy, so when I see the lights in the windows of my house, I immediately tense up. Who the hell is there?
It takes me a moment to remember about Sasha and Misha, and I rub my eyes before getting out of the car. As soon as the original surprise weakens, I feel oddly fond and happy to see my house finally alive after years of emptiness.
The first thing I hear when I step in is the high-pitched voice of an animated character dancing on the TV screen in the living room with an upbeat song. I guess it muffles my presence because, even as I step closer, I see Sasha on the couch in front of the TV with Misha curled by her side.
She looks relaxed and peaceful, watching the movie with a sleepy smile, and I wish I could be a part of their world right now. But as soon as she catches my reflection in the window, Sasha jerks upright and turns to me, no trace of contentment on her face.
“You’re back,” she says with a frown, and at the sound of her voice Misha fidgets in his sleep and sits up quickly enough to sway.
“Grandpa?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes and moving closer to Sasha, blindly groping for her hand. “Should I go to my room?”
“No, don’t worry, teddy bear.” Sasha’s expression softens as she turns to pull him into a half-hug before glancing at me. “I’m going with you.”
Are they avoiding me now?
I watch her walk past me, Misha almost stumbling from drowsiness, and go up the stairs. Shit. Why does it make me feel so…I don’t know, scary? Terrible? I mean, yes, Iama criminal, and my hands are covered in blood. Quite literally. My knuckles are still nagging from a particularly uncooperative pimp, and I walk to the kitchen to grab a pack of ice.
But isn’t Sasha the same? She’s been an active member of the Russian Bratva since childhood, so she can’t hold my life against me. What is it, then? What’s going on in her mind?
I stay in the kitchen with a handmade charcuterie board, a glass of whiskey, and a slushy pack of ice until the sound of footsteps on the second floor pulls me out of my deep thoughts. It sounds like Misha is getting ready for bed, and I get off my stool and listen carefully. When Sasha comes out of his room, it will be the perfect time to catch her and force her to talk to me.
I go to the second floor to wait for her there, leaning against the wall and drumming my fingers impatiently. What’s taking them so long? But finally, after another ten or twenty minutes, the door of Misha’s bedroom quietly opens. Sasha carefully sneaks out of the room, closes the door, holding her breath—and freezes as she turns around and comes face to face with me.
She looks surprised for a moment, before her expression hardens into a scowl and she whispers with an aggressive note, “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you.” I match my voice to her whisper, not willing to wake Misha up, and push myself off the wall to stand in front of her.
Sasha narrows her eyes. “Didn’t we do enough talking yesterday?”
“It wasn’t an actual conversation. Although, I wouldn’t mind repeating—”
She rolls her eyes and lays her hand on my shoulders, pushing me away. But I’m tired of the way she always avoids or ignores me, so I catch her wrist and pull her back. Sasha immediately curls her hand into a fist and yanks it out of my grip with all her strength, striking me with the side of her palm.
