Vadim
From Radovan’s report, it seemed that Iskra was having some kind of hormonal fluctuation. Since she hadn’t demanded anything that posed a security risk or potential harm, I saw no point in addressing the change.
She had certainly decided what her services were worth. Slightly over six times her monthly stipend, as it turned out.
I was curious to see what she had bought for tonight. Rather than waiting downstairs I hung back at the junction between our wings and checked my watch.
Two minutes.
A door opened.
I looked up.
My jaw almost dropped.
Her hair had been blown out into waves—some process that increased the volume considerably, the blonde of it catching the hallway light.
The red dress shimmered as she came toward me, moving with the ease of a woman who had decided tonight belonged to her.
Small crystal studs caught the light at her ears.
Long bare legs.
Where the hell had those come from?
Matching red heels.
My eyes went back up. Smoky dark blue around her eyes, lighter silver and white at the inner corners, the blue of her irises glowing against it. Cheekbones defined by a touch of pink. Those lips painted to a precise and deliberate perfection.
$49,000 well spent.
Then my eyes dropped to her hand as she adjusted her purse.
The diamond sat nestled beside her wedding band.
I relaxed.
“I see you’re ready for tonight,” I said, and offered her my arm.
She was wearing a new perfume.
Daring.
Dynamic.
Older than the floral she usually wore—something with depth to it, something that had been chosen deliberately for exactly this occasion.
“I am,” she said, taking my arm with a smile.
We were going to my club, which meant privacy and controlled surroundings. Period or not, she was mine and tonight she would be seen as such.
I guided her down the stairs. My men made a reasonable effort not to stare.
I couldn’t blame them—the dress didn’t cling so much as shimmer in precisely the right places, revealing the suggestion of her curves rather than the fact of them.
The modest neckline and long sleeves did everything they were supposed to do and none of it was working.
“Be extra vigilant tonight,” I said to all four as we walked outside.
A series of affirmatives followed. Tikhon rushed ahead to open the car door for Iskra. Her dress rose precariously as she moved to get in and I stepped forward and shouldered him out of the way before he had a chance to assist further.
He moved.
I got in beside her, jaw tight.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, and placed her hand on my thigh.
“Nothing,” I said, dragging her hand a little higher.
The car pulled away from the house and down the driveway. Radovan and Spartak followed. The gates were still opening when we reached them, the men stepping aside quickly. Iskra curled her fingers around my inner thigh. Inches from my balls.
The tips of her fingers were red tonight.
I was already thinking of how and where to take her in my club.
A few drinks.
A few moves on the dancefloor.
A few shots.
Then corner her.
“Everything is just fine,” I said, patting her hand.
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The Pakhan didn’t dance.
But he watched his wife dance.
The slow sway of her body, unhurried and entirely comfortable in itself.
Her hands rose above her head, the movement showcasing the line of her figure as the shimmer of her dress caught and released the flickering lights in pulses of red.
No one went near her. My men had cleared a space without being asked — they knew better.
“You’re not joining her?” Konstantin said, amusement evident.
“Shouldn’t you be at the pit?” I asked, without looking away from Iskra.
“I was. Bogdan mentioned you were out. I thought I’d come along for the extra security.” A pause. “The good kind.”
That made me look at him.
His expression was serious. The solemn quality Konstantin reserved for the things that actually mattered to him, which were fewer than most people assumed.
“The next generation needs to be protected at all costs,” he murmured.
“Thanks,” I said, and meant it.
It was a legitimate concern and not a sentimental one.
We had enemies—had always had enemies—and the playbook was well established.
Kill the head. Escalate the chaos. Claim the territory from within the vacuum it created.
Killing the boss meant eliminating the entire family.
Anyone who could step into the role. Anyone who carried the name or the blood.
Anyone who was still growing.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I said, standing. “I think I’ll show Iskra where the office is.”
His laughter followed me across the floor as I went to collect my wife.
I moved behind her, placing my hands on her hips and pressing myself against the curve of her ass. Her head jerked around before she registered it was me. Then her body leaned back and she writhed against me with the ease of someone who had stopped pretending she didn’t enjoy this.
“Let’s go,” I growled beside her ear.
“But I want to dance,” she complained.
“You can dance on my dick,” I said, and held her arm until she followed.
The byki cleared a path. I steered her toward the back of the floor and accessed the private elevator—old, heavy-doored, requiring a key to prevent anyone without clearance from using it.
Iskra turned and placed her hands around my neck the moment the doors closed.
The music from the floor below filtered up, loud and fast, the bass pressing against the walls of the small space. Her body began to sway with it, entirely unbothered by the confined quarters or the two armed men standing at parade rest behind her.
I glanced at Bogdan and Tikhon.
They were both suddenly deeply interested in the ceiling.
The elevator lurched to a halt. Iskra turned to find her exit and noticed them properly for the first time.
“Oh. Hi,” she said, and then began to giggle. “I didn’t see you there.”
A drunk Iskra was a playful one.
The doors opened and I nudged her out before the situation deteriorated further.
“Wait at the end of the hall,” I told them.
There was no way I would let Bogdan gossip about what I was about to do to my wife.
She got distracted by the artwork on the walls before we had made it ten feet and I had to keep steering her forward.
I finally reached the office door and she ran off to look out of the window.
“The city looks so alive,” she exclaimed, pressing her hands to the glass.
I swiftly unlocked the door then went to retrieve her.
“There’s a better view in my office,” I said, tugging her back toward the door.
I could hear Bogdan and Tikhon snickering from the far end of the corridor.
I got her inside and kicked the door shut, snapping the lock into place.
Alone at last.