Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
Six weeks later
Lucy
The pounding on the door awakened me. I groaned and rolled over. The shades were drawn, and for a second I wondered where I was. Then I glanced over at the blonde head buried under the covers.
Aralina. She was clingy when she was tipsy. But we had fun last night. Too much fun.
She stirred in bed, but all she did was change position and ignore the knock.
I heard Irina’s voice. It was muffled, but she appeared to be placating someone. Shit, I think I knew who it was. The knob jangled before the door swung open.
Kirill’s form darkened the entrance.
He stalked into the room, and since I was on the side of the bed closest to the door, he reached me first. I was his intended target, anyway.
He scowled at me. He was still in his clothes from last night.
Since I married him, I’d hardly seen him, only finding out what he was up to in the tabloid that gossiped about the mafia.
It was mind-boggling how the reporter hadn’t been whacked yet, but she focused on the scandalous relationships of the underworld, not really their business. Maybe the mob liked the diversion.
Kirill had been featured heavily in the past six weeks.
Speculations abounded about our marriage, that I’d frozen him out after he rushed to Anya’s side on our wedding night.
He’d been seen at gentlemen’s clubs, dance clubs, and restaurant openings while I maintained a low profile.
He wanted to humiliate me in public, go ahead.
I was surprised he was frequently pictured solo or with Maksim and business associates, not his shady ones.
He was publicly keeping his distance from Anya, but I knew he’d been secretly meeting her.
Mr. Anonymous had been sending me updates.
Yes, that was the name I assigned my mysterious tormentor. I never responded.
Ever since that night Kirill abandoned me to go to his mistress on our wedding night, I decided the best way to live through this marriage and beat Kirill at his own game was indifference.
“Get up,” he growled.
“Good morning to you, husband.” I rolled out of bed, scooted past him to head to the bathroom because this girl gotta pee.
He had the audacity to follow me, but I had the satisfaction of slamming the door in his face.
As I took care of a quick morning routine, I heard his one-sided conversation with Aralina. Guess she had no choice but to wake up.
I decided to rescue her. When I emerged from the bathroom, Irina was arguing with Kirill.
“She’s almost twenty-two, and she rarely goes out at night to have fun. Besides, Lev is with her.”
“Lev is an idiot and allows Aralina to run circles around him.”
I could agree with that. He was no Sato for sure.
“What has your panties in a twist, Kirill?” I drawled.
He shoved a screen in my face. It was a photo of Aralina and me on the dance floor of one of the bratva’s clubs. The headline read: “Lucy and Aralina Zahkarova got some moves and admirers.”
“I see a picture of two women having fun,” I said dryly. “What’s wrong with that? It wasn’t as if the men were dry-humping us.”
Irina muttered something, and I looked past Kirill and grinned. “Sorry, Irina.”
I glanced at Aralina, who was silently laughing. She was sitting up in bed, her chest shaking, hand over her mouth, but her blue eyes twinkled with mirth.
“Are you trying to get my attention?” Kirill demanded.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or punch the arrogance off his face. “Far from it. Please tuck your ego away. Your sister needed a break.”
“Are you okay?” Kirill asked Aralina.
She grinned and signed. Crossed her hands over her chest and pointed at me.
I wasn’t proficient with sign language yet, but it seemed she was telling Kirill she was okay now thanks to me.
Aralina had boy problems. She went to NYU for graphic design, and the boy she was sort of seeing, who was also her classmate, abruptly quit and moved away.
For two weeks, she was lost. I did my own digging and finally found information for her.
He’d moved clear across the country to California and was alive and well.
The bratva hadn’t gotten rid of him. That was when I suggested a night out.
But it didn’t seem to appease my husband, and he was still glaring at me.
“Why don’t we all have breakfast?” Irina suggested. “It’s Cook’s day off, so Ivan is making Syrniki.”
“Oh, I love those.” Syrniki are Russian cheese pancakes. I’d eaten them a couple of times since Kirill’s family had embraced me, especially after that headline that he abandoned me during our wedding night.
Dom and Dad were ready to pack me up to leave with them, consequences be damned. But the outrage of Kirill’s family at what he’d done planted a brilliant idea in my head of a way to get back at him.
Gain his family’s sympathy.
Ivan was furious. Irina apologized for her son’s behavior.
And Aralina told me she knew where to get itching powder to put in Kirill’s underwear.
One wouldn’t believe that despite Aralina’s angelic face, it hid a vindictive she-devil.
Her not talking also added to her mystery and caused people to underestimate her.
She was fond of gossip rags like the Manhattan Tattler.
“We’re leaving.” Kirill clamped my elbow and dragged me from the room. I was able to snatch my purse on the way out. “Wait!” I was in slippers too small for me and Irina’s nightgown too big for me. Thankfully, it was a modest design and not see-through. “My clothes—”
“I’ll have Sato pick them up.”
“Irina, I’ll return the—”
Her brows furrowed with concern. “Don’t worry about the nightgown.” She trailed behind us. “Honestly, Kirill. I don’t understand why you’re treating your wife this way.”
He didn’t address his mother until we were at the bottom of the steps. “When I expect my wife to be at home, I expect to find her there when I come home.” He glared at me. “One evening I needed Sato with me, and you go prancing around Manhattan.”
“I’m sorry, but Aralina needed my company.” I spied Ivan heading toward us, so I played up my part of oppressed wife, lowering my eyes to Kirill’s shoes. “I won’t do it again.”
His hand tightened on my elbow.
“What’s going on here?” Ivan boomed. “And why are you dragging your wife out in her nightgown? Wait.” He glanced at Irina. “It’s yours.”
“Stay and have breakfast,” Ivan was addressing me.
I glanced up at Kirill as if asking for permission. He narrowed his eyes. “No. Lucy and I need to have a chat.”
“Does he abuse you?” Ivan asked.
“I’m standing right here, Ivan,” Kirill gritted.
“Fine! Are you abusing your wife? Because pakhan or not, I won’t stand for it.” He glanced at me. “If he is, you should live with us until he learns to be a husband.”
“Like you were before Aralina was born?”
“Kirill!” Irina gasped. “That’s between me and Ivan!”
“I made my point,” her son replied. “My marriage. My problems.”
“I swear Kirill doesn’t mistreat me. Maybe he just missed me last night,” I intervened, not to save Kirill, but to ease his parents’ worry. Even so, I couldn’t resist adding, “I didn’t ask permission to go to the club.” I deserved a best actress award for delivering that line.
Ivan glowered at his son. “Well, you sure look a lot happier when you’re not around my son.”
I internally groaned. Didn’t Ivan realize he just issued a challenge to Kirill?
I could see my freedom and flying under the radar crumbling before my very eyes as my husband’s jaw clenched as he stared down at me.
I mean that was my entire intent, but it only bothered Kirill when it was spelled out to him.
“Is that so?”
“I know you’re busy…” I offered.
His eyes glinted with retribution. “Not so busy this morning.” Shit. “Let’s go.”
Ivan and Irina protested behind us but there was no question who was in charge here.
Kirill ushered me to the back of the SUV and packed me in before getting in beside me.
Sato was expressionless as he closed our door.
I didn’t know what he thought about Kirill’s insufferable behavior.
But I had a part to play. If he expected me to be a nagging wife because he was barely around, he had another thing coming.
When our vehicle pulled out of the driveway, Kirill angled toward me. “Drop the act.”
He was seething. Good.
I controlled my twitchy lips but failed, but I didn’t look at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The martyr act. Shut it down. It’s irritating as fuck.”
A snort sounded from the front of the vehicle. Kirill punched the control for the divider harder than necessary. The screen went up, sealing me in with my husband.
I exhaled a deep breath and glanced at him and wondered why I even cared to look at him when he had one expression whenever I saw him. Frosty eyes, a bland and stoic face like it was carved from granite. What else was new?
Fifty weeks to go.
I needed to change tactics.
“Your sister needed company. What’s wrong with that?”
“You’re using my family against me.”
“You don’t like your family. What do you care about their opinion? It doesn’t mean I can’t spend time with them.”
“Bored? What happened to your job?”
“Well, it’s hard to find a client when you’re married to the head of the bratva. They don’t trust that you wouldn’t use me to blackmail them.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Seems I need to give you something to do.”
“I don’t need you to give me anything to do. And I didn’t say I was bored. I’m resourceful.”
“Regardless of what my family thinks of me, I won’t have you conspiring with them against me.”
“What? Ivan? He’s happily retired. He’s even cooking breakfast.”
“Should I stop by a drive-thru for coffee?” Sato’s voice came over the intercom.
I punched the talk button before Kirill could. “Yes, please, that would probably go a long way in preventing spousal homicide.”