Chapter 36 Sima
SIMA
It’s been another week, and I’m going fucking crazy.
Don’t get me wrong—I love school. But when the only time I set foot outside of the house is to go coop myself up into yet another dusty room filled with weird smells and too much furniture, that’s when I start to crave a paper bag to breathe in.
I need to get out. Like, STAT.
The house is stifling without Petyr. And Petyr is literally never here.
I get that he’s got important pakhan duties to attend to—plus a fake company to run—but without him around, the available options for human interaction are slim.
It’s either a moody widow-in-the-making with a drinking problem or an octogenarian housekeeper who keeps glaring at me like my every step is tracking mud across her hardwood floors. Not exactly the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.
So, yeah, I’m growing a little restless here. A tiny bit stir-crazy. One missed broom swipe away from breaking into a Broadway number just to entertain myself. Sue me.
“I want out.”
Petyr stops buttoning up his crisp white shirt. God, his abs should be outlawed. “Of the contract?”
“No!” I blurt, far too quickly for the casual vibe I’d been going for. “Just, like, out of the house. For one day.”
Petyr’s eyes narrow instantly. “I didn’t realize your schedule had filled up.”
“That’s actually the complete opposite of what’s going on here.” I sit up, cross-legged in a sea of scattered books and bunched-up sheets. “I’ve got nothing to do. Zilch, zero, nada.”
“You have school. That gets you out.”
“School doesn’t count. School is homework and fluorescent lighting and classmates who haven’t yet learned that you have to apply the deodorant for it to be effective. I’m talking about outside.”
“Outside,” he echoes.
“Yes, outside. Where the people are.” I start gesturing. “Coffee shops! Parks! Bookstores! Places where the sunlight hits something. Preferably without Luka’s shadow stealing it all.”
Petyr turns and watches me for a beat. “You’re saying you’re bored.”
I flop back dramatically on the bed. “‘Bored’ is an understatement. I’m developing actual symptoms. Restless legs. Cabin fever. Early-onset dramatics.”
Petyr’s mouth twitches, which is about as close as he ever gets to laughing. He shrugs into his jacket, but instead of reaching for his phone like he usually does to check his bazillion morning messages, he sits on the edge of the bed. “Well, we can’t have that.”
“Can’t we?”
“No, we can’t.” He rubs my back a little. “So I guess I’ll just call in sick today.”
I sit up so fast, the room spins. “You… you can do that? Just—call in sick to the mob?”
“No.” My mood deflates a little until he says, “But I’m going to do it anyway.”
Silly as it is, that makes my heart soar. But the realization of what a huge baby I’m being hits at the same time, making me groan into the pillow.
“You don’t have to do that,” I mumble despite myself. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have asked.”
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t.” His hand lands on my ass. I’m not proud to say how loud I squeal. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
I stare at him. I was expecting a polite brush-off or maybe a promise to think about it. Not… this. “Wait. You’re serious? You’re not joking?”
“I never joke.”
“Okay, fair. But you have stuff to do, don’t you? At fake work and real work.”
Petyr doesn’t let it faze him. “You said you were at high risk of boredom complications if you didn’t go out. I wouldn’t be much of a husband if I didn’t look after my wife’s health.”
The word “husband” sends a swarm of butterflies fluttering into my lower half.
Just like that, we’re heading out together.
When the car pulls to a stop half an hour later, I’m expecting… I don’t know what I’m expecting. A restaurant, maybe. Someplace snazzy and exclusive with a ten-month long waitlist.
I am not expecting…
“The American Museum of Natural History?”
“If you don’t like it, we can go somewhere else.”
I hook my arm through Petyr’s. “Nope,” I say, flashing him a grin. “You picked this, so I like it.”
It’ll let me know more of you, I think but don’t say. And let me see what you like. And buy me front-row seats to your nerdy side.
Before long, we’re in, skipping the queue entirely.
“There’s a temporary exhibit,” Petyr murmurs conspiratorially in my ear as we weave through the sparse crowd. It’s a Tuesday morning, so there aren’t many people there to begin with. “Right through those doors.”
I squint at the poster. “Vikings?”
“Yes.” He flicks me an amused gaze. “Sorry it’s not Pompeii.”
I give an exaggerated shrug. “I’m sure you’ll show me all the sights on our honeymoon, darling.”
The whole museum is nothing like what I pictured.
When Petyr said he’d take me out this morning, I braced myself for something ridiculous.
A jet, maybe, and a day trip to Hokkaido for authentic ramen.
Or a Michelin star, white tablecloth type affair, with servers who bow low enough to kiss the floor.
Instead, I’m standing in front of scrap metal from across the North Atlantic, while Petyr lectures me like he’s gunning for Ivy League tenure.
“They attacked fast,” he says, pointing to a rusted axe. “Villages couldn’t mount a defense. Fear traveled ahead of them. Made people break before they even saw a ship.”
“Fear, huh?”
“The most underestimated weapon.”
Memories of my home life flash before my eyes. “Yeah,” I choke out. “That it is.”
When we get to the next case, featuring banged-up helmets of various sizes, Petyr leans closer, eyes sharp, posture all coiled energy. He’s serious, like he’s channeling Ragnar Lothbrok himself or something.
For the first time, I realize maybe he’s been wanting to go out just as much as I have. To get one free day away from it all.
“Tell me more about these Vikings,” I prod.
“They expanded into Southern Italy,” he says. “Even reached North America, according to archaeological findings. Everywhere they went, they dominated.”
“Right.” I pretend to know what he’s talking about, like a person who definitely didn’t drop out of school in the middle of seventh grade. But it’s also enchanting to listen to him, so I don’t have to try really hard. His passion is contagious. “So… basically, they were the OG Bratva?”
He shoots me an amused look. “That’s an interesting perspective.”
“Well, they had scary branding. Ran intimidation campaigns. Occasionally pillaged their neighbors. They had it all, really.”
“Is that your expert opinion?”
“That is indeed my expert opinion,” I say smugly before remembering I’m not supposed to be an expert on Bratva matters at all. “As the wife of a pakhan, I mean.”
“Naturally.”
“You should totally get one of those horned hats, by the way. Wear it to your next sit-down. I’m sure the guys would love it.”
Petyr’s mouth twitches. Then—miracle of miracles—he actually lets out a short laugh. Not even a scary supervillain cackle, just… laughter. Pure, simple. A deep, warm laugh from the heart.
It sounds so good on him, I can’t help my insides from going all gooey.
I nudge his arm. “You’re kind of a nerd, you know.”
“I am?”
“Yep. All this ink, all these glowers, but underneath, you’re just History Channel After Dark.”
He shakes his head, smirk still lingering. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” I promise. “I like nerds.” My brain finally kicks in, panics, and I add, “Not in like a take-off-my-horned-rimmed-glasses-and-smooch-me-breathless kind of way, just—like—” I wave vaguely at him. “It’s interesting, seeing you like this.”
His brow lifts. “Like what?”
“Like a person,” I say before I can stop myself. “I mean—like you. The real you. Not just the terrifying mob boss who makes men sweat through their Armani suits.”
The smirk fades. But it’s not troubling. Instead, Petyr studies me. His eyes are heavy, intense, like he’s seeing right through me. My cheeks burn, but I refuse to flinch. I meet his gaze like I’m not two seconds away from spontaneously combusting in a room full of priceless relics.
“We should see the rest of the exhibit,” I say when the tension gets to be too much, tugging him onwards. “Before more people come in.”
For once, Petyr doesn’t call me out on my bullshit. He just lets me lead the way, his gaze burning a hole through me the whole time.
It’s a nice kind of burn, though. Warm, not scalding.
For a series of slow, delusional heartbeats, it feels like we’re just another couple. A normal couple, spending a lazy day at the museum. Cute date. No criminal empire attached, no breeding deals anywhere in sight.
A dangerous thought sneaks in. That maybe, the Petyr I’ve always feared from afar and the Petyr I’m seeing right now aren’t two different people.
Maybe they’re just two sides of the same coin.
The cold, ruthless kingpin who forced me down the aisle and the history nerd who lights up over rusty swords.
And instead of running screaming for the exit, I’m just drawn in deeper. Because nobody else gets to see this side of him. Just me.
Which is a stupid thing to get excited about when my continued survival depends on my campaign of lies to continue.
But it still makes me feel special.
Then I spot his bodyguards trailing behind us. Human shadows in black coats, guns bulging out of their pants.
Just like that, the bubble bursts.
That’s who he is. I force myself to take a good look, to remind me of the stakes. That’s who I’m tangled with. Someone dangerous. Someone who will stop at nothing to get his way.
A Viking, ready to burn everything in his path.
I need to stop acting like I don’t know any better.