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I gesture to Yasha and he slinks away, keeping his face low and guarded so she doesn’t see his vicious scowl.
Francia hurt Jorden, too. Yasha is every bit as furious at her as I am. I position myself between them so he doesn’t do something stupid—even though I’d love nothing more than for him to do something really,reallystupid.
But instead of moving out of our way, Francia steps into my path as we near the end of the hall. “I’m asking because I had plans for dinner.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“We haven’t had dinner together all week.”
“I’m eating just fine.”
“If you don’t like the meals your chef cooks, we can fire him,” she suggests. “I haven’t been thrilled with his cooking, either.”
“Wearen’t firing anyone.Iam happy with my staff.”
She sighs. “Fine. But you can’t eat out for every meal. All that salt and cholesterol is bad for your heart.”
I try for a fake smile, but it ends up as more of a grimace. “I suggest you worry about your own heart.”
Francia steps closer and smooths her hands across the collar of my shirt. “You’re so sweet to worry about me, Ivan. Believe me, I takeverygood care of myself. My body is a temple, after all. I want the worshipers to enjoy the view.”
She gives me a sultry smile. My stomach physically turns.
“I didn’t realize Satanists worshiped at a temple,” Yasha muses from off to the side. “Is that why you look like a goat?”
I have to stifle my laugh with a cough, but Francia isn’t fooled. Her face and neck turn angry shades of red as she looks past me to my second, who is wearing his usual shit-eating grin.
“I think there’s a bit too much male influence around here.” She snaps her eyes from Yasha back to me. “You’ve been living like you’re in a frat house for a long time now. I think this place is ready for a long overdue shake-up.”
“Are we still talking about your body temple?” Yasha asks. “Or…?”
“I’m talking about the house.” When her eyes land on me, they soften again. “I have some ideas for redecorating. The house should feel more likeus.”
Unless she’s envisioning flames shooting out of the walls, brimstone scent in the oil diffusers, and torture devices in every bathroom, I’m not sure how she’s going to capture our “vibe.”
“I’ve put together some ideas for a design revamp. I wanted to show you what I’m thinking over dinner,” she finishes.
It’s not as if I’m in love with the design of the mansion. Much of it was done under my father’s leadership. He passed the buck onto designers and let them craft a beige palace.
But Francia is overstepping by a fucking mile. She’s trying to carve out a place for herself here. If she manages to do that, I’ll have no choice but to burn the house down once I’ve disposed of her. I do not intend to let anything of her linger once this shit is all over.
“All design decisions go through Niles,” I lie.
Niles will hate me for sending Francia his way, but I’m more liable to strangle her with a curtain than choose a fabric color with her.
Her jaw sets, her already thin lips disappearing in an angry line. “Fine.”
I move to walk past her, but she shifts into my path again. “Also, I want to be introduced to the other Bratva wives.”
Unexpectedly, a laugh bursts out of me. Her eyes narrow and there isn’t a cough big enough to disguise the fact that I just cackled in her face.
I control myself and shake my head. “No. No, that won’t be possible.”
“How am I supposed to acclimate into this world if I don’t know anyone? You don’t take me anywhere,” she complains. “I’ve been cooped up in this house since I got here and I don’t know anyone. I need to make friends if I’m going to…” Whatever she was going to say, Francia thinks better of it. “I need friends so I don’t go crazy.”
“Too fucking late,” Yasha mumbles.
Francia starts to look at him, but I drag her attention away. “People at the top don’t have friends.”
