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She shakes her head. “That is not how this works. If we are going to live in this house together, I have to know something about what you’re up to. I’m not going to be married to a ghost. Plus, you said you wouldn’t be unfaithful. You can’t touch anyone else while we’re together.”
“Luckily,” I say, reaching behind me to turn the doorknob slowly, “you and I aren’t together. Not anymore.”
Francia goes deathly still. “That’s bad news for Cora then. Or have you forgotten? I control what happens to her.”
Her threat is lifeless. Based on the way she’s staring at the front door and the way her throat bobs, I have a feeling Francia can feel the shift in the air, even if she doesn’t quite know it yet.
“Is that right?” I smirk. Cora slinks out from behind me. I feel absolutely fucking giddy to have her right here. The warmth of her body along my arm, the tingle of awareness that she is finally, mercifully close to me… “What do you think, Cora? Does Francia have any control over you?”
“Not anymore,” Cora says with surprising viciousness.
Her eyes gleam and her fists knot up. It’s hot as hell, actually.
Cora squeezes my hand as Francia takes in the two of us. She digs frantically into her pocket for her phone, but I can tell as soon as she looks at the screen that there’s nothing there. No missed calls. No messages.
Her shoulders sag and she takes another step back. “Did you kill them?” Her chin is wobbling, but she’s fighting back tears. “Is that why they didn’t call?”
“It would almost be better if I killed them. Then you could believe they abandoned you because there was no other choice. But no, I didn’t. As soon as I showed up, Mikhail and Alexander ran like cowards without even a word of warning to you. So much for your ‘allies.’”
She looks even paler than usual. Her lips are white and her eyes dart from side to side, looking for an escape.
Francia stares at Cora for one beat, two. Then she turns to me. “I assume our deal is at an end.”
I snort. “Fuck yes. Your life is at an end, too. Unless Cora decides to spare you.”
I walked through the door with every intention of killing Francia for everything she’d put me through in the last week. But Cora is the victim. If either of us should decide what happens to Francia, it should be her.
Slowly, Francia shifts her gaze back to Cora.
“You’re interested in what I have to say now?” Cora asks, a smile on her face.
“I won’t apologize for wanting to live.”
“Fine,” Cora snaps. “Don’t. But do apologize for almost killing me and Jorden in the process.”
Francia’s thin lips seal together. Finally, she exhales. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s cute. Try again. This time, on your knees.”
“You’re not serious.”
Cora points down at the floor. “Drop to your knees and beg me for forgiveness, Francia.”
Holy hell, I didn’t think it was possible to be more turned on than I was last night, but here it is. Francia thought Cora couldn’t be a Bratva wife, but look at her now. She is ruthless.
It’s incredible.
“What if I refuse?”
“Then you die,” Cora says simply. “Your call.”
Francia looks at me, which just makes me laugh out loud. Never in my life have I been looked at as the more merciful of two options.
I just shrug. “I’d do as she says.”
She wobbles between a sneer and a sob as she gingerly lowers herself to her knees. “Cora, I’m sorry for—”
“Closer.” Cora curls a finger. “I can’t quite hear you. Crawl closer to me.”
