20. Laila
20
LAILA
I should have known this was coming.
Arsen Adamov doesn’t fight fair.
Admittedly, sending him the heart was my mistake. I was tired and grateful that I didn’t need to deal with a lawsuit on top of everything else, and I sent an ill-advised emoji.
Since that moment, it’s been a full-frontal offense from him.
He saw my corseted black dress and raised me low-riding gray sweats. How am I supposed to coherently ask for space when I’m looking at a shirtless hunk of juicy man meat?
Every day has been a barrage of flowers and pastries and gifts so extravagant I can’t bring myself to throw them away. I’ve been putting them in an expensive heap in my closet until I have enough to organize a high-end auction for charity.
Worst of all is the fact that things have been… good. He’s loosened the reins now that Charles is out of the picture. I can go out with friends—and a small army of personal security, yes, but it’s better than nothing.
It’s the head of that security who’s twisted around in the driver’s seat, one hand raised in surrender, the other holding a small box out to me. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Kira groans. “That better not be what I think it is, Dom.”
“You’re shooting the messenger,” he replies, “and I just specifically requested you not do that.”
I pluck the pale blue box out of his hands like it’s a bomb. It might as well be. When I lift the lid, the swirl of pink and champagne diamonds nestled into the velvet box are so bright I have to snap it closed again.
“I want to bop him right in his audacious little face,” I announce.
Dominik meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “You’re the first woman I’ve seen be pissed about getting expensive jewelry.”
“Can I see?” Kira opens the box and gasps. “Wow… Okay, fault him all you like, but he’s got great taste. This is gorgeous.”
I know that. Of course the diamond-studded rose pendant is gorgeous. Arsen doesn’t half-ass anything in his life, including groveling.
Kira lifts the necklace out of the box, letting it dangle in the air between us. “Try it on, at least.”
I swear the necklace off like it’s possessed. “Not a chance. You take it.”
“I can’t! It’s yours!” That doesn’t stop her from gazing longingly at it with stars in her eyes.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you can.”
“No, as a matter of fact, she cannot!” Dominik interjects. “She’s not wearing jewelry from another man.”
“It’s not from another man. It’s from me,” I argue. “Arsen gave it to me, and now, it’s mine to do with what I will. I want Kira to have it.”
“And I want another job,” Dominik mumbles under his breath. “A nice, quiet desk job. With high cubicle walls.”
I roll my eyes as Dominik pulls to a stop outside the Italian restaurant Guilia suggested for lunch. “Kira, tell your husband to keep his nose out of my business.”
“Honey, keep your nose out of Laila’s business,” she chimes sweetly, before pressing a kiss to his cheek and following me out of the car.
When we get inside, Guilia is already seated by the window. She smiles as we approach—and then takes one look at my face and grabs me by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Either Guilia is incredibly perceptive or she has a team of spies. With my luck, it’s probably both.
“What makes you think anything is wrong?” I say weakly.
“It’s this.” Kira doesn’t even attempt to lie. She just passes the Tiffany box across the table to Guilia.
Guilia opens the lid before I can stop her and whistles. “Now, that is a serious piece of bling. Do you not like it? ‘Cause I’ll take it off your hands if not.”
“No, it’s beautiful.” I scowl. “That’s exactly the problem.”
Guilia glances back and forth between us, on the edge of her seat waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, she says, “Okay, I’m clearly missing something.”
Again, Kira isn’t shy to spill all of my steaming hot tea. “Arsen’s in the doghouse and he’s trying to win Laila back with?—”
“Trinkets and flowers and a lot of bullshit I don’t need!” I explode. “Honestly, it’s insulting.”
It’s also a little endearing, which is another kind of insult.
“I did sense a little tension between the two of you at the restaurant the other night,” Guilia admits. “But considering I’ve seen wives pull steak knives on their husbands during those stupid political dinners, I didn’t make much of it.”
I didn’t plan to breathe a word about our situation to Guilia in case she’d think less of us, but I forgot who I was talking to. Whatever is going on with me and Arsen, she’s seen weirder.
So I launch into the whole sordid explanation. Guilia listens intently. She doesn’t interrupt once… until I mention the forced exile.
“Oof. That’s a tough one to recover from.”
“Thank you!”
“But—”
I palm my forehead. “Not you, too. I don’t want a ‘but.’ I’m so, so sick of ‘buts.’”
Guilia smiles sympathetically. “He’s the pakhan of the most powerful Bratva in the country, Laila. He’s used to doing things his way—calling all the shots all the time.”
“And I’m used to freedom. Why should I be the only one who has to give up what they know?” Kira and Guilia share a look that tells me they have a ready answer for that question, but I don’t want to hear it. “He’s not my boss. I won’t defer to him for everything. That’s for employees, not partners.”
“And no one expects you to,” she agrees. “But you need to figure out how to handle the man. You need to embrace your position instead of rejecting it.”
“I don’t want the position at all! I asked him for a divorce.”
Somewhere, a record scratches.
Both women look at me like I just stripped nude in the middle of the restaurant and started dancing on the table.
“Laila,” Kira breathes, “you can’t be serious.”
I guess that answers the question of whether Dom can keep my secrets or not. If he keeps it up, maybe I’ll get him that cubicle he’s always dreamed of.
“This marriage isn’t working for me.”
“You really don’t love him anymore?” Guilia studies me, waiting for an answer that isn’t coming. I play with my water glass instead, avoiding her gaze, until she snaps her fingers. “That’s what I thought. You have feelings for him.”
“ Had feelings. They’ve faded. Or, they will fade. Eventually.”
She laughs and pushes the Tiffany box towards me. “I get it—you don’t want to be bought. I respect that. But you could have a lot more fun if you played his game.”
Kira and I exchange a glance, and I know she’s as lost as I am.
Guilia ushers us closer. “Let me take you young doves under my wing. I have much knowledge to impart. Consider this your first lesson in How to be a Bratva Wife . All you’ll need is Arsen’s credit card.”
“I already told you: I don’t want his money.”
“You don’t have to want it,” she says. “Actually, for this lesson, it’s better if you don’t. He’s lavishing you with gifts and spending money on you—so, whatever he spends, you need to spend more.”
“How does that help?”
“You’re going to hit him where it hurts. You’re going to push him to his breaking point, and find out exactly how much leash he’s willing to give you before it snaps.”
I frown. “You want me to start a fight.”
She clicks her nails on the table, a sly smile on her face. “It sounds to me like he started the fight. We are finishing it, darling.”