Chapter 9
Kiryan
I shouldn't have brought her.
The thought had lodged in my skull the second Elena stepped into the ballroom.
The top floor of the hotel had blazed with light.
Crystal chandeliers had turned the dark green of her dress into something deep and liquid, like water you could drown in.
The fabric had hugged her slim waist and left her pale shoulders and throat bare.
Her makeup had stayed light, the freckles still dusting both sides of her nose.
And her hazel eyes—under those lights—had looked brighter than they ever did.
Too many hungry looks had tracked her.
My back teeth had clenched hard.
It wasn't because I liked it.
She had carried the name Morozova. She had been supposed to wear the right dress, the best jewelry, stand in front of anyone without embarrassing me.
I'd picked the gown only because the maids at the manor had had godawful taste.
I'd let her keep the paints and canvases only because I didn't want to watch her go red-eyed like she'd lost the whole damn world.
And the car—
She had been my wife. Nobody got to reach past me and hurt her.
That was it.
Feodor came in through a side door and kept his voice low. "No issues on the banquet side. They clearly didn't think you'd still show after the hit, so they didn't leave a second team. We doubled the perimeter outside. Nothing's slipping through."
I lifted my gaze. "What else?"
"Plates were swapped, gun had no serials, and the route looked like somebody had handed it to them in advance. The two we kept alive went to the room to start talking. The guys are already pulling everyone who'd gotten close to the convoy tonight."
"Before sunrise, I want names."
"Understood." On his way out, he glanced toward the far end of the hall, that punchable grin sliding onto his mouth. "Madam bounced back faster than you did. At least she doesn't look like she'd just crawled out of a firefight."
I followed his line of sight.
A few friends with ongoing business with the Morozov family had been talking with Elena. She sat straight, not a hint of panic on her face. She listened—really listened—then answered with the exact right amount of warmth. Not too familiar. Not cold enough to insult.
She did know how to work a room.
Isabella had been the kind of woman who stole a crowd with a turn of her head and a smile. Elena had been different. She didn't fight to be heard, but when someone spoke to her, she gave them all of her attention. That quiet focus made people want to stay.
Of course, it could've all been an act.
She had been best at making people drop their guard. She'd had Olga shielding her, had gotten Pera to defy my orders again and again, and now even men who'd lived on lies had been smiling at her like they meant it.
But the second that suspicion rose, I remembered those hazel eyes when she'd been sick—clean, no calculation in them.
Fuck.
"Morozov." Vasily raised his glass, dragging me back into the deal. "That northern shipment—I accept the number you threw out. But how are we pricing the risk before delivery?"
"Until it leaves my warehouse, the risk stays on me. Once it lands in the hands you name, it isn't my problem." I pulled my attention away. "If you want my guns and my routes, then don't dump your own sloppy security on the Morozov family."
He stared at me for a few seconds, fingers slowly rolling the stem of his glass.
"You don't give an inch."
"Because what I sell is worth it."
He smiled and finally offered his hand. "Risk after delivery is on me. First payment transferred tonight."
"Deal."
When it was done, he didn't walk off. He just followed where my eyes had gone—back to Elena.
"Mrs. Morozova holds the room for you," he said. "She doesn't talk over people. She knows when to let someone finish. In this circle, not everyone has that kind of patience."
I didn't answer.
"I've seen plenty of women who only care about being the center of attention," he added. "She isn't like that."
For some reason, it rubbed me raw.
"She knows how to make people think she is different."
He didn't argue. Didn't push. He just dipped his head politely and disappeared into the crowd.
Elena happened to look up, searching for me.
Our eyes met over the sea of bodies, and her mouth curved—small, careful.
Then Yegor stepped in front of her.
He'd been a long-term partner of mine. One of the few men who'd had the balls to haggle with me to my face.
He was a few years younger, born into money. Sun-browned skin, that lazy expression like nothing in the world could really touch him—he looked like some Middle Eastern royal brat who'd slipped out of a palace to go hunt trouble.
He'd been picky about business. Even pickier about people. He almost never approached anyone first.
Tonight, he carried a drink straight to my wife.
He smiled and said something to her, then leaned in slightly and listened while she finished. After that, he handed his glass to a passing server and held out his hand. Elena hesitated, then put her hand in his.
He kissed the back of her fingers.
Fire shot through my blood. I set my drink down and cut through the crowd.
By the time I reached them, Yegor had straightened. He glanced at me first, surprise flickering through his smile.
"Didn't expect you to bring the wife," he said. "She doesn't match the rumors."
"Does she?" I moved to Elena's side and hooked my hand around her waist, pulling her in.
Her body tightened under my palm.
Yegor's eyes dropped to my hand before he looked back at Elena. "I heard you like to paint. That true?"
Elena's gaze dipped on instinct, like she still wasn't used to anyone asking her that with a straight face. "Yeah. Just... normal stuff. Nothing polished."
"My mother collected oil paintings. I studied a little because of her," Yegor said. "She used to say it doesn't matter if it is 'polished.' Painting is just different people seeing different things. If it makes someone stop and look twice, it has value."
Elena lifted her head. Her eyes lit up.
"Thank you," she said, quiet.
"If you'd let me, I'd love to see your work sometime."
"Her paintings aren't for public display," I cut in, sharp.
Elena turned to me. "I've done group shows."
"That was before. Now you are my wife."
"Getting married doesn't stop me from being an artist." Her voice stayed low, but she'd still contradicted me—right in front of Yegor.
Yegor went silent for two seconds. He looked at me like I'd said something stupid.
"Mrs. Morozova is herself first, and your wife second," he said. "Who she shows her work to should be her decision."
Elena's breath caught. She stared at him like she didn't know what to do with someone saying that out loud.
My lungs filled with scalding air, ready to blow.
"Our business isn't your goddamn place to comment on!"
Conversation around us dropped a notch—everyone close enough knew I hadn't been joking.
"Kiryan." Elena tugged lightly at my sleeve.
It only pissed me off more. Half an hour ago she'd looked at me in the car with that pure, trusting stare. Now she'd been warning me not to make a scene—for another man.
Yegor didn't back up. Didn't show a flicker of irritation. He just inclined his head to Elena. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to put you in the middle."
"You didn't," Elena said almost immediately.
It hit like a needle straight into my chest. My throat tightened, and for a second I couldn't even speak.
She didn't give me the chance, anyway. She turned back to Yegor and politely asked about the paintings his mother collected. Yegor picked it up smoothly, rattled off a few artists by name, then talked about one piece that shifted into completely different colors when the light changed.
Elena listened like it mattered, her profile under the chandeliers so relaxed it burned to look at.
Jealousy wrapped around my guts like barbed wire and kept tightening.
I shouldn't have been jealous.
I'd loved Isabella. Elena had just played her way into my wife's seat. She'd had Olga and the staff speaking for her. Tonight, even my most hard-to-impress partner had been drawn to her. Maybe she'd been counting on that from the start—collecting goodwill like it was currency.
But if all I felt was disgust, why had I wanted to snap another man's hand the moment he got close to her? Why, when bullets came, had I not thought about whether I'd die—only that she couldn't take even a scratch in my arms?
I couldn't find the answer.
"Yegor." I looked at the man having a great time chatting up someone else's wife.
Both of them turned to me.
"Tomorrow. Nine a.m. Bring that port contract to my office."
Yegor's brow ticked up. "Didn't we already lock the terms?"
"We renegotiate."
His gaze paused between me and Elena, and something clicked.
"I'll be there." He dipped his head.
"Next time you decide to stick your nose in, you'll learn what it costs," I said. "My wife doesn't need you playing hero for her."
I didn't give Yegor another look. I grabbed Elena and hauled her out of the ballroom.
Feodor had already had the car waiting at the curb. When he saw us, he—miracle of miracles—didn't crack a joke.
Elena slid into the back seat and pressed herself against the far door, clearly done with me and any conversation I might want.
That dark green dress still clung to her, carving out every curve. The earrings flashed at her lobes—bright, expensive. Everything on her screamed Morozov.
And she still wouldn't even spare me a glance.
"You really like men like Yegor?" I broke the silence first.
Elena turned, frowning. "We were just talking."
"Talking means standing close and smiling like that?"
"You were the one who told me to remember I am Mrs. Morozova and work the room when you need it," she said, each word clipped. "I did."
I reached over and caught her chin. Her breath cut off, lips parting. The irritation in her eyes broke apart under the sudden move.
"Kiryan, let go," she gasped, breathing faster.
"When he kissed your hand, why didn't you tell him to back the hell up?" My thumb pressed along the edge of her lower lip. The soft skin trembled.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth. One heartbeat—then she jerked it away, flustered.
"That was social etiquette," she said. "And he only touched my hand."
Only touched her hand.
The image slammed back into my head—Yegor holding her, lowering his mouth, his lips hovering over her knuckles while his eyes stayed on her. Listening to her talk about the one thing she actually loved. Standing up for her.
He'd done what a husband was supposed to do.
"You are disappointed he only touched your hand?" I stared at her. "Elena, you've fucked your way onto me, and that isn't enough? Now you want to seduce my business partner too?"
Before she could answer, I crashed my mouth onto hers, kissing hard, biting and tasting like I owned her. I was going to make her understand exactly who she was supposed to please.