23. Konstantin
23
KONSTANTIN
I check my tie for the fifth time. It’s straight as a ruler, the knot symmetrical in all corners, and the black complementing my cream dress shirt. It doesn’t need to be smoothed or fixed, but I keep doing it anyway.
Because Emily will be here any second.
In just two short days, Emily has managed to drive me insane in every sense of the word. I’ve never dealt with anyone like her before. She is determined to make this process be as difficult as she can. Her antics at the photoshoot tested every bit of self-restraint I had.
I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
No, I wouldn’t trade her for anyone else.
I tug my tie again until I start choking myself.
“Remember what this is for,” I whisper. “She’s just a means to an end.”
It’s become a common refrain to myself in the past two days. Yet each time I say it out loud, I find myself believing it less and less.
“Konstantin Yurevich,” the tailor, Buric Kotka, comes in, interrupting my thoughts. “Welcome to my shop.”
The man is short, and the measuring tape draped around his neck as yellow as his teeth. Yet his work is top of the line, which is the only reason I’ve opted to make an excursion from the castle grounds to his shop.
Under protection of dozens of guards all around, of course.
I’m not an idiot. Just last night, Sima informed me that there have been several reprisal hits in Taranto for the men I’ve killed in New York. Apparently, the corrupt cops on both Ferrata and Siderov payroll are having a hard time keeping things from boiling out to the surface.
If this keeps going, it could spell the end of both organizations.
Augusto should’ve thought about those consequences when he kidnapped Alisa.
My mood darkens again, and I feel the strong urge to break something.
“Let me go!”
Emily’s voice breaks me out of my dark mood and I turn just in time to see her walk through the door, wrenching her arm from Sasha, the boevik tasked with bringing her here. She’s wearing a simple green blouse and a knee-length lavender skirt. On any other woman, it wouldn’t even warrant a second look from me.
But on her? It’s positively entrancing.
Sasha bows to me when he sees me, but all I feel is anger when I spot Emily rubbing her arms where the man’s hand has been.
I don’t care that the man has been loyal to me since the day of his initiation.
He dares to manhandle Emily in front of me.
Nobody is allowed to touch her like that.
Nobody except me.
In three quick strides, I grab the cuff of his shirt in my fist.
“If I ever see you touch her like that again, Sasha,” I snarl as I slam him against the doorframe so hard that the wood splinters. “I will kill you where you stand.”
“P-please, Konstantin Yurevich!” he stammers. “I was just following your orders.”
“My orders.” I slam him into the doorframe again, and press my forearm against his throat, cutting off the flow of oxygen. “Were to bring her here! Not hurt her, mudak! ”
Sasha tries to plead for mercy, but his face is rapidly turning red, then purple, and then blue. Anger rolls off me in waves, and I push my arm further into his neck, crushing his windpipe underneath.
Soft and gentle fingers touch my bicep, and I turn to see a pair of dazzling sapphire-blue eyes drilling into mine.
“Stop it!” Emily hisses. “He was just doing his job!”
With a roar, I release Sasha, and he slumps down the doorframe, gasping for air as his face starts returning to its usual color.
“Apologize,” I say. “ Eto moi prikaz! ”
“I’m sorry, Konstantin Yurevich.”
“Not to me, mudak !” I snap. “To her! ”
“I’m sorry, Emily …” Sasha immediately turns to her, but pauses when he realizes he doesn’t know her patronymic.
I turn to Emily. “He needs to know your father’s name to make a proper apology, my love.”
My love?
The word had slipped out so easily, so instinctively. Judging by the way Emily’s eyes widened, I know that she heard my slip-up.
“Sam,” she says. “His name is Sam.”
“I’m sorry, Emily Samovna,” Sasha says.
“She saved your life, Sasha,” I hiss. “You should kiss her feet for that mercy.”
“That won’t be necessary!” Emily interjects. “Please, stand up, Sasha. You were just doing your job. My fiancé can be just a tad overprotective. Can’t you?” She pauses for a moment. “My love.”
Those two words shouldn’t hit me as hard as they do. Yet hearing them from her lips is like touching a lightning rod.
Sasha looks over at me and then back at Emily, unsure of what he should do.
“Do as she commands,” I say. “And then get the fuck out.”
Sasha scrambles to his feet, bows to both of us, and heads out, making sure to close the door behind him.
As soon as the door closes, Emily squares off with me. “You shouldn’t have done that!”
“He hurt you.” I point to her arm.
“That doesn’t give you the right to hurt him!”
My eyes narrow in response to her stubborn belief in what’s right and what’s wrong. There’s no fear in her eyes as she glares at me. She probably thinks I’m a monster .
She won’t be wrong for thinking that. I’ve killed men for far less grievous offenses.
But even without knowing Sasha, Emily was so willing to forgive him, and willing to stand up for him to keep him safe from me . It tells me everything I suspected about who she is.
Someone good.
Someone far too good for a monster like me.
Buric clears his throat, drawing our attention back.
I nod at him. “ Dobriy den .”
“Good morning, Konstantin Yurevich,” Buric chooses to respond in English for Emily’s benefit. “I am honored that you and your lovely fiancée have chosen to grace me with your patronage.”
“Of course, Buric,” I reply. “Your reputation precedes you, and I want nothing but the best for my Emily.”
“Thank you, Konstantin Yurevich.” Buric presses his hand to his chest and bows deeply. “I will endeavor to provide your bride to be with a dress that will far outshine all of my previous work . ”
With that, he claps his hands, and four women enter into the room. “Fetch the first options for the future Mrs. Siderov.”
When the group is out of earshot, I bend close to Emily. “Don’t try and have a repeat of yesterday.”
Smiling at me, she smooths her hair over her shoulders, twisting the ends. “Give me some credit—I’m more original than that.”
I watch her warily as she sways over to the racks of dresses the girls have rolled out. Each one is more elaborate than the rest. Pearls and gemstones are sewn into the gossamer material in impeccable lines. Not a single stitch is misplaced.
Buric is right. These are certain to outshine his previous work.
Emily runs her hands over the bodice of the closest dress, gasping when she touches the rows of diamonds. “It’s incredible.”
A breath of relief falls from my nose. So far, she’s chosen to behave. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it!” Running her hand over another dress, she lets out a dramatic sigh and turns to me, a devious look glinting in her eyes. “Kostya.”
There it is again. The ease with which she uses my diminutive, as if she’s known me and my secrets all of my life. I should rebuke her for this insolence, but I don’t. From anyone else, it would’ve been a measure of disrespect.
But from her?
It’s intoxicating.
Buric hooks his thumbs in his belt loops. “I’m happy to show you more options, Emily Samovna.”
Emily sighs dreamily, and turns her head, eyes widening as more dresses are brought out. “Oh my gosh!” She scoops the heavy hem of a different dress into her arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as this!”
Relaxing against the wall, I cross my arms with a pleased smile. The unease at her initial overdramatic reaction cautiously gives way to the possibility that this is genuine.
A thoughtful look appears on her face and her brows furrow slightly. “Although.” Looking back and forth between the dresses, she continues to stroke their material lovingly. The motion of her fingers makes my pants strain again, and I feel my cock stirring to life at the thought of those fingers wrapped around me. “I can’t choose.”
“Take your time,” I say.
“I have a request.” She lights up and spins around toward Buric. “But I hope I’m not asking too much.”
“Nothing is too much for you,” he assures her. “My job is to please you and Konstantin Yurevich.”
“In that case.” Emily claps her hands together and presses them to her lips, as if she’s in deep contemplation. “Can you combine the two?”
The seamstresses around us share a nervous look between them, and Buric’s face falls. His hands start worrying over his measuring tape. “That … would be a challenge. And expensive.” He glances at me. Emily does the same, quietly waiting for my agreement.
There’s that devious glint again.
I don’t like where this is heading. But curiosity goads me on.
“She’s the bride,” I say calmly. “What she wants is what she’ll get. Price is no objection.”
“Very well, then.” Buric inclines his head, and then snaps his fingers at the seamstresses, barking out instructions in Croatian.
Immediately, they carry the dresses to a long table, setting up their machines and tools to begin picking the stitches apart. Emily watches with her hands behind her back. She rocks on her heels, leaning close for a better look.
I stand behind her, and place a heavy hand on her shoulders. She turns her head to me in response, the scent of honeysuckle and brown sugar wafting towards me as she smiles gently, and I swallow back my own desires for her.
For a second there, I can believe that her smile is real .
“May I?” Buric asks as he takes the measuring tape from his neck. I nod, and he pulls Emily aside, quickly and efficiently getting her size. Once he’s finished jotting down numbers, he hands them off to the seamstresses.
And true to his reputation, Buric has the new, combined dress ready to go in little under an hour.
It’s not complete—that would be impossible—but the two dresses have been combined in a way that shows a glimpse of how the finished version might look.
“There!” he declares, gesturing proudly at the garment. “What do you think?”
Emily cranes her neck to study the dress. She circles it, and as her frown dips, so does my own mood.
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t?” I blurt simultaneously with Buric.
“No.” Shaking her head, she turns her back on us and returns to eyeing the other dresses. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. That dress will be too hot and heavy for the weather. I need something more appropriate, like … this one.” She pulls a floor-length gown.
The one she picks is completely different from the ostentatious one that she had just been cooing over. Thin straps hold it at the shoulder, and its surface has no jewels or pearls.
Buric gazes despondently at the cut-up pair of dresses. He won’t say it out loud, but he’s mourning the loss of several hundreds of thousands of Euros.
Her harrumph makes my hair stand on end. “Never mind, this one won’t work either. Unless …”
Gritting my teeth, I move quickly toward Emily.
She sees me coming and holds her ground. She doesn’t cower. If anything, I spot a sly smirk.
“Is everything okay, Kostya? I was about to ask if they can alter this gown.” Her fingers fly quickly to the neckline. “I love the purple here, but I would prefer something …” She smiles sweetly.
I see what she’s about to do before she does it.
“More like this .”
Before either Buric or I can stop her, she gives it a sharp yank.
The sound of ripping fabric is joined by Buric’s horrified cry as he watches Emily rip open the neckline of the dress.
My hands ball into fists. It takes every ounce of control I have to not lash out and say something and do something. It’s been years since I’ve had to work this hard to control my emotions. The last time I failed, my life was turned upside down. I refuse to have another repeat of anything like that.
She’s a tool , I remind myself. Tools don’t dictate their use.
“Leave us.” I glare at Emily as I command everyone else. “Now!”
Buric and the seamstresses scuttle past us, and when the door clicks shut to indicate that we’re alone, that’s when Emily’s smile evaporates. Something shifts behind her sapphire-blue eyes. It’s not quite fear. But it’s also not defiance.
It’s something else. Something I’ve seen before.
A wildness lurking just beneath the surface.
A wildness that demands to be tamed.
“Do you think this is a game?” I lean in and trap her between my arms.
“Isn’t it?” she whispers. “You’re the one that said I should be convincing, remember? What’s more convincing than a bride who is so exacting about what she wants her dress to be that she’s constantly making unreasonable demands?”
Her scent is overwhelming, and I feel my control slowly slipping. The tightness in my pants grows ever tighter, and my cock aches for release.
To remind her that she’s just a tool for me .
That I’m still in control.
“You were told to choose a dress.” Heat creeps up my neck as control continues to slip through my fingers like water. She’s too good at getting under my skin. “Not ruin them.”
“And I’ll ruin a lot more until I find the exact one I want.” She smiles defiantly. “Kostya.”
“Careful, Kitty Cat.” I smile dangerously. “I warned you yesterday that I would punish you later.”
She stares at me defiantly for a heartbeat. The wildness in her eyes returns and my cock stirs to life in response.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says. “Not here.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
I move even closer until my cock is throbbing against her belly through my pants. A surprised gasp escapes her soft lips. But her face also flushes in response, and my smile widens
Hooking my finger under her chin, I force her to look at me. The wildness in their sapphire-blue depths is unmistakable now.
She wants this as much as I do.
“Every dress you ruin.” I lean in until I’m mere inches away from her lips, whispering. “Is another hole of yours that I'm going to destroy .”
I can feel her pulse starting to race against my finger.
“And so far,” I grow. “You’ve ruined three .”
Clutching her jaw with one hand, I undo the buckle of my belt with my other. To her credit, she doesn’t shy back from the sound of my pants unzipping, not that there’s anywhere to go.
Instead, she tilts her head up a little bit more. Her jaw juts out in defiance, and her dazzling blue eyes betray no hint of fear as I reach down to grip my cock, rock hard and already slick from precum seeping from its angry throbbing head.
The tip of her pink tongue darts quickly between her soft full lips before she speaks.
“Do your fucking worst.”
“Good girl.” I smile darkly. “On your knees. We’re going to start with hole number one.”