Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Kirill
The urge to fuck the sass out of my wife was becoming a terrible inconvenience.
I was sporting a painful erection under my dark jeans.
I broodily watched her flounce away to get the wine stain out.
Oh, did she think she could dismiss me that easily?
I sipped my wine, mulling her words over about my revenge plan. She had a point.
I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted anymore except I didn’t want to see her not eating.
I would have been happier if she had sunk a knife into my thigh.
At least I would feel something. Physical pain.
Not this hollowness that reclaimed space inside my chest when I noticed she wasn’t touching her food.
What the fuck was wrong with me? What the fuck did I want from my wife?
Kolya sauntered over and dropped into the chair Lucy had vacated.
“Not a word,” I warned.
“What? I was just going to comment that you’re doing a fantastic job of pissing off your wife.”
I grunted. “That’s not how people see us.”
“I know you, remember?” Kolya leaned back. “Are you sure you can handle her?”
“I hope you’re not talking about Lucy.”
“Who else?”
I angled my body toward him. “Because I feel like breaking someone’s jaw when they think they’re the man to handle my wife.”
Kolya eyed me carefully. I held his gaze. Finally, he gave a shake of his head. “Is that pride talking?”
“No idea.” I exhaled heavily, not wanting to be psychoanalyzed by a person who was as unhinged in the head as I was. But my brain chemistry altered the second I said my vows to Lucy and slipped that ring on her finger.
At that moment, she became mine. If I were honest with myself, that was why I said the words to her that night to push her away. To make it feel like she was nothing but a pawn for me to satisfy my revenge.
I glanced at Kolya sharply. “But let me be clear, Nikolai.” I used his full name to stress the point. “You do not look at my wife in any way. She is not yours to deal with. Only mine. Got it?”
Kolya’s face was unreadable. We were usually on the same page. And the previous me would have left him to terrorize my wife and make her feel like she was living in a horror funhouse.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I’d given Lucy enough time to get her shit together. Someone else emerged from the powder room on the first floor. She must have gone upstairs. I made my way to the kitchen and slipped up to the second floor using the servants’ stairs.
The powder room on the second level was empty too. I texted Sato.
Me
Have you seen my wife?
I stalked through the hallway. Bratva were not allowed up here unless they were security. I arrived at Aralina’s door. It was lit underneath, and I heard a muffled voice that I was certain was Lucy's.
Well, I couldn’t eavesdrop, could I?
Sato
I saw her with Aralina.
Found them.
I rapped on the door. “Lucy, are you in there?”
I didn’t bother waiting for them to reply and opened the door just as my sister snapped a folder closed. My wife’s expression was schooled to perfectly bored, but Aralina was less adept at hiding the guilt on her face.
Before I could ask what they were up to, Lucy glided toward me with her blindingly fake smile and grabbed my arm. “Goodness, Kirill, you can’t stay away from me for a second.”
“I can’t help myself, Lusenka.”
My sister couldn’t see Lucy’s eye roll. I didn’t know what trouble those two were brewing.
It couldn’t be that bad, right? Aralina feared her own shadow.
And also, I was determined to stick close to my wife for the next few weeks until I was sure Kolya was acclimated to the new power structure.
I didn’t want to have to kill my old friend because he terrorized my wife.
We rarely targeted women, but men who underestimated women did so at their own peril.
How many men lost their thrones because their dicks ruled the heads they were supposed to use?
“Gag,” she said derisively and tried to extricate herself from me but I held fast to the hand on my elbow.
“We don’t need to pretend.” She frowned.
“Who says I’m pretending?” I shot back. “Come on. You haven’t eaten anything.” I dragged her to the service stairs.
“Why are you concerned about whether I eat or not?”
“I’ve been hungry before,” I told her, my mind temporarily flashing back to a punishing blizzard and clawing hunger. “I do not wish it on anyone.” Except my enemies.
Her eyes studied me curiously, and I let her see that it was not a game. I wasn’t compromising on this.
“I ate this afternoon,” she said slowly. “It’s not like I’m starving.”
“Let’s call a truce,” I suggested. I didn’t want her poking into that memory I had no desire to remember.
I was barely ten when Ivan’s idea of turning me tougher was letting me starve in the wilds of a forest near Siberia.
A hunter’s cabin with no electricity. A ration of canned food.
A hunting rifle. A gruff old man built like a bear checked on me every day to make sure I was alive.
He taught me basic skills. The first thing I learned was how to build a fire in the stone hearth, keep it going and hunt game.
Two weeks in, a boy my age joined me—Kolya.
He was already skilled not only with a rifle but with a bow and arrow.
I didn’t think I would have survived the three months if it hadn’t been for him.
“Okay,” Lucy responded.
Thank fuck she didn’t argue because I didn’t like digging into that past.
The house staff were shocked to see us descend the stairs. “Why don’t you sit over there while I fix you a plate.”
I pointed at the eat-in table by the window. When I was a boy and too dirty from playing outside, I’d sit there and the cook fed me.
Lucy opened her mouth. I raised a brow and said, “Truce, remember?”
She sighed. “I guess I’m hungry.”
“Good girl.” I left her and fixed her a plate from the untouched reserved food in the kitchen.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked when I set the plate in front of her with a glass of wine.
“No.”
“What, you’re going to sit here and watch me eat?” Her mouth formed a cute pout.
“Not exactly.” I walked over to the bar and poured myself a scotch, leaned against the kitchen counter, and tipped my chin at her to start eating.
Lucy went after the cheesy chicken I’d offered her earlier. “Hmm…this is really good.”
“See, I was right. And for offering you a bite, you threatened to throw wine at my face.”
“You were obnoxious,” she said between bites.
What she said was true. I set out to annoy her, so I didn’t reply.
I was finding out that the constant bickering was getting old.
Besides, she appeared to be eating her food with enthusiasm, and I didn’t want to upset her and cause her to lose her appetite again or stop eating out of spite.
It baffled me, this satisfaction occupying space inside me from watching her eat.
I didn’t want to examine why the hollow feeling invading my chest seemed to disappear when Lucy became genuinely happy with something I’d done.
It was so long ago—that time during the cake tasting.
A wariness still shrouded her, but she seemed pleased when I gave her babushka’s ring.
When I had the chef prepare a menu specifically centered around her favorite dishes.
Ruined in a few minutes because I couldn’t admit to anyone that my wife fascinated me.
Still, I continued fighting it by doubling down and erasing whatever affection she started feeling for me. When she caught me with Anya, that moment obliterated any hope of having a tolerable marriage.
So I clung to my purpose of revenge and abandoned my marriage.
Until I couldn’t stand her existing in my world where she seemed happy ignoring me.
No longer.
We might not last, but I wasn’t going to be alone in my misery.
I downed my scotch, walked over to the bar, and brought the bottle back with me.
Lucy had finished eating and noticed me pouring more spirits into my glass.
“Do you want more food?” I asked.
“No, I’m full. Shouldn’t we head back to the party?”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather hide in here.”
Lucy gave a breathy laugh. “And leave poor Kolya to the crowd?”
“I did my duty and brought him home.”
“That was a brilliant move, by the way,” she said.
I raised a brow.
“Delaying his release to make the DA look bad right before the election.”
I stared at my drink. “You’re not thinking terribly of me?”
“I know what you are, Kirill. I grew up mafia, remember?”
“You don’t think I did Kolya dirty for leaving him in that hellhole?”
She circled the rim of her wineglass a few times before responding.
“Each move is calculated. I doubt Kolya was idle during his time at Supermax. I’d even guess he made connections or instigated a few hits while inside.
It’s not unheard of for the mafia to deliberately send a soldier to prison to get rid of someone out of their reach. ”
Despite myself, a grin lifted the corners of my mouth. “I have to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For calling you gullible when you’re so far from the definition of the word. I was an idiot to underestimate you.”
“You were,” she replied, but then a wariness stole over her face again.
I sighed. Her distrust was wholly my fault.
How long did we have? Nine more months before she could divorce me.
Somehow, the remaining time reminded me of babies.
Didn’t I say I would put babies inside her?
When did I stop plotting that? Oh yes, Anya spectacularly made me feel guilty for marrying someone else when I made it clear to her before I wasn’t the marrying kind.
Guilt that she married Davenport to make me jealous.
The same guilt reared its ugly head a little, but not as heavily as before. I should make Anya Kolya’s problem.