Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Maxim
I stand beside the bed, watching my wife sleep.
My wife.
The words still feel new, powerful, and deeply satisfying.
Calina is curled up on her side, golden hair spilled across the pillow, lips slightly parted. The sheet has slipped down to her waist, exposing the smooth curve of her back and the soft swell of her breast.
I don’t want to wake her. I hate that I have to. But she needs this.
I lean down and gently nudge her shoulder. “Calina.”
She moans softly, turning away from me and burying her face deeper into the pillow.
I nudge her again, a little firmer. “Wake up, baby.”
Her eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep. She blinks at me, confused. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“No,” I say, keeping my voice low. “We need to get going. Get dressed.”
She sits up slowly, the sheet pooling around her waist, exposing her full breasts and rubs her eyes. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going to teach you how to shoot.”
She stares at me for a second, still dazed, then her eyes widen as the words sink in. “Oh.”
She doesn’t argue. She slides out of bed, naked and beautiful, and moves toward the closet. I watch her for a moment, then turn away to finish getting ready.
I already have the gun, the one Irina gave her. Last night, when I returned from the meeting with her brothers, the housekeeper had approached me with it, saying the maids found it while cleaning her old bedroom after moving the rest of her things.
I knew immediately it was hers. She’d been hiding it. I don’t feel bad that she felt she needed a gun. Given her background with that bastard of a father, it makes sense she’d want protection.
What bothers me is that she thought she might need it against me. That she didn’t trust me enough to tell me.
But I understand. She doesn’t know me yet. She only knows the version of me who took her from her life and forced her into this marriage.
She doesn’t know I’m nothing like her father. She doesn’t know I would burn the world down before I ever raised a hand to her.
That’s why I’m doing this. I’m going to teach her how to defend herself. Not just from me, but from anyone. So she doesn't ever have to feel helpless.
A few minutes later, Calina steps out of the walk-in closet dressed for the range.
She’s wearing a simple black tank top that clings to her curves and a pair of tight dark jeans that hug her hips and thighs. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face.
She looks athletic, and so fucking beautiful it takes everything in me not to drag her back to bed and rip those clothes off.
I want to bury myself inside her again. I want to hear her moan my name while I fuck her slow and deep this time.
But last night I was rough. I let myself go completely. Even though she assured me she liked it, I know she might still be sore. I need to give her time to heal. I need to be more careful next time not to let myself go.
So instead, I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Let’s go.”
We head downstairs. The house is quiet. I gave the entire staff the day off. If that traitor is working with Adrian, they might try to meet today.
We walk out to the far end of the property where the private shooting range is set up. The sky is just beginning to brighten, soft orange and pink hues stretching across the horizon.
The range is simple but professional, covered lanes, targets at various distances, and plenty of space.
I position her in front of one of the stations and hand her the gun she tried to hide from me.
“First, stance,” I say, stepping behind her. I place my hands on her hips, adjusting her posture. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Lean forward just a little.”
She follows my instructions, but I can feel the tension in her body. Every time my hands touch her on her waist, her arms, her shoulders, I feel that familiar spark. She does too.
I can hear the way her breathing changes when I press against her back to correct her grip.
“Both hands on the gun,” I murmur close to her ear. “Relax your shoulders. Look down the sight. Breathe out when you squeeze the trigger.”
She fires. The shot goes wide, missing the target by a good margin.
“Again,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “You’re thinking too much. Trust your body.”
She tries again. Still off, but closer. I step in behind her once more, molding my front to her back, one hand on her hip, the other guiding her arms. Her ass presses against me, and I have to fight the urge to grind into her.
“You’re doing good,” I tell her, lips brushing her ear.
She fires again. This time the bullet hits the outer ring. She lets out a small, surprised laugh.
“See?” I say, squeezing her hip. “You’re getting there.”
We continue like that for a while. I correct her stance, her grip, her breathing. Every time my hands linger on her body, I feel her shiver. My cock is half-hard the entire time, pressed against her ass when I stand behind her.
Even though she misses more than she hits, she’s good. Naturally coordinated. Quick to learn. I’m impressed.
I spend the next hour showing her everything. How to reload a gun quickly, how to clear a jam, how to dismantle and reassemble it. She’s a fast learner.
Every time she repeats the motion correctly, I feel a strange surge of pride.
She pauses after loading the magazine again, biting her lower lip. “Are you still disappointed that I had a gun?”
I meet her eyes. “No. I’m not disappointed you have one. I always planned to get you one eventually. You’ll always have guards when you’re not with me, but you should know how to protect yourself.”
She looks down at the weapon in her hands. I step closer, tilting her chin up so she has to look at me.
“But I am disappointed that you thought you needed it to protect yourself from me.”
She opens her mouth to deny it, but I give her a look that makes her shut it again. Her shoulders drop slightly.
“I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what kind of man you were. After the way I grew up...” she admits quietly.
I brush my thumb across her lower lip, pulling it gently from between her teeth.
“I understand that with the kind of father you had, the kind of home you came from… it makes sense. But I need you to hear me, Calina. I would never hurt you. I would never raise a hand to you. You are my first priority. My wife. I will always put you first. I will always protect you.”
Tears glisten in her eyes. She blinks them back quickly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s my duty as your husband.”
She nods, then turns back to the target. We continue practicing in silence for a while. She’s improving fast. When she finally hits the bull’s eye dead center, I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips.
“Well done,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “You’re a natural.”
We’ve been out here for hours. The sun is fully up now. “Let’s head back. We can continue another time. You need breakfast.”
On the way back to the house, my phone rings. It’s Artyom. I answer immediately. “What is it?”
“The scout I put on Adrian just reported in,” he says. “Adrian made an appointment at The Obsidian Lounge this evening. We’re not sure who he’s meeting, but it could be our mole.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Send me the details. I’ll check it out myself.”
I end the call and my phone immediately pings with the details of Adrian’s appointment at The Obsidian Lounge.
I stare at the message. I hope whoever the bastard is working with shows up. If it’s one of my own men, I’ll make his death slow and painful. If Adrian is truly behind the attack on my wedding, on my wife, I’ll make sure he suffers for days before I end him.
We pull up to the mansion and step inside. Calina’s voice pulls me out of the dark spiral in my head.
“The staff hasn’t resumed yet.”
“I gave them the day off,” I reply. “The whole house is ours today.”
She nods. “I'll make breakfast then. What would you like?”
“Anything. I don’t mind.”
“How about eggs and bacon?”
I smile. “Perfect.”
I follow her into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she moves around, pulling out pans and ingredients.
“Anything I can help with?” I ask.
She turns, surprised. “You want to help in the kitchen?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No, I’m just… surprised. The big, bad Pakhan in the kitchen helping his wife?”
I push off the counter and walk over to her, grabbing her waist and pulling her against me.
“When we’re alone, I’m not the Pakhan. I’m just your husband. And as your husband, I’d very much like to help my wife in the kitchen. I don’t give a fuck about titles when it’s just us.”
She smiles, a real one that reaches her eyes. “You’re really doing a great job of sweeping me off my feet, you know that?”
I lean down, kissing her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. “Is it working?”
She giggles, pushing at my chest. “A little.”
I reluctantly let her go, but I stay close, watching her move around the kitchen.
She even makes pancakes. I try to help with one batch and burn them completely. She laughs at me.
We sit down to eat together. The food is excellent. As we eat, I bring up what’s coming.
“I’m going out later,” I tell her. “And you’re coming with me. I don’t want to leave you here with no staff around.”
She looks up from her plate. “Where are we going?”
“To meet Adrian. Not necessarily. We're tailing him.”
Her fork pauses. “Adrian from the Society? Why? Do you think he orchestrated the attack?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But I’m going to find out.”
She nods slowly, processing. I can see the wheels turning in her head, but she doesn't ask any more questions.
For the rest of breakfast, I rack my brain for other people who might be behind the attack and ways to flush them out.