12. Artem #2
“Was she in the bratva or something? Is that your problem?”
“No, she wasn’t even remotely related to or involved with any of the Families.”
“So?”
I shake my head, setting the glass down.
“So, I was careless, and I got her killed. I let her get too close to the bratva.”
I can almost see understanding in her eyes, and she goes silent as I’m sure her mind is running through a million possibilities.
“I lose the woman I loved, and then a few months later I meet some loud-mouthed girl who is dying to put herself in the same position.”
Her eyes search mine as she narrows them; probably trying to decide if this changes something about her view of me.
“I meant what I said that day on the roof. Bad men will take a pretty woman like you and end you in the blink of an eye. Use your body and then take your life in the same breath, like you were nothing but an inconvenience to them. It doesn’t matter how smart you are, it doesn’t matter how bad you want to be involved and do something you think matters, you will never be able to stop your fate. It could’ve happened to you tonight.”
“But it didn’t,” she quickly answers, keeping her tone soft.
“No, not tonight at least. It could happen tomorrow, next week, next year. This is what you have to worry about now, being a Sokolov. Do you know how many men want my family dead?”
She shakes her head a bit, looking down.
“This life isn’t simple. I wish I could keep you here and let you be as carefree as you’ve always been under your father, but it isn’t the same here. They’re still out there,” I admit, and she looks up at me.
“Who?”
“They raped her and then killed her right in front of me, and they left me there alone to deal with her body. I haven’t found them since then.”
Her eyes are wide, and I can see her breathing change.
“Fucking everywhere, I’ve searched for ten years. They’re in hiding now, but what stops them from showing up tomorrow? Finding you? It only takes one single time, just seeing you with me that they realize who you are to me and . . . ”
“And who am I to you?”
My eyes look up to hers, and I try to reel my anger back in at recalling the memory of these bastards.
“You’re my wife.”
“If that’s all I am, then I don’t see why you’re so worried about my safety.”
Goddamn her. “Like I said, you’re family now.”
“You’re the dumbest man I’ve ever fucking met, Artem,” she seethes as she sets her unfinished glass down harshly on the bar counter and stands up. “Why do you keep doing this to me? Showing me some side of you I’ve never seen and then going back on it. Which one is real?”
“They’re both real.”
She shakes her head, slapping her hand on the edge of the counter. “No, you’re lying to me again. You told me you wouldn’t lie to me.”
I close my eyes as she reminds me of the promise I made.
What do I do? Lie to her and keep her safely at arms-length or tell her fucking everything and risk it all.
“I hate you more than anything, I always have,” she says quietly, her eyes watering. “I hate you so much that it fucking hurts. It feels like something sharp and aching lodged into my heart,” she takes a shuddering breath, clenching her hands over her chest in desperation.
She says the word hate, but I know it isn’t the word she means.
Giselle and I are the same; we both refuse to love.
She’s too proud to admit she loves anyone, afraid they’re going to hold some sort of power over her. And I’m afraid that if I admit I love someone, I’m going to disappoint them. I’m going to lose myself again and have my world shattered if I let someone else in.
I reach my hand out to cup her cheek, and she shakes her head as a tear falls.
“I don’t want this, Artem. I want you to say you hate me right now. Call me that rude fucking Russian nickname and push me away like you always do. Stop touching me like this and looking at me like you need me. I want to go back to how we were before the wedding.”
My thumb wipes the tear off her cheek, and I tilt my head. “I hate you too, more than anything. Can you feel it?” I grab her hand and force her palm flat on my chest over my heart.
She nods, her lip still quivering.
“As long as my heart is beating, I’ll hate you as long as you let me. Forever, solnishko.”
Her flat palm closes, clenching tightly on my shirt.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you, I would rather die. So please, want something else from me. I can’t let you get any deeper in this than you already are.”
She parts her lips to answer but the door to the den is shoved open, and my brothers walk in, immediately dissolving the moment.
“Thank fuck you’re okay,” Maxim says as he walks towards us.
Both of our hands dropped quickly, and she takes a breath.
“I’m fine, but you guys need some sort of security system here or something,” she says as Max puts a hand on her shoulder. He smirks at me when he sees me staring at his hand, and eventually takes it off.
“Well it’s probably better if at least one of us or one of the trusted men are here at all times with her. I’ve already discussed it with Mikhail and Aleksander,” Roman says flatly as he takes a seat on the couch.
“I don’t need a babysitter, I’m an adult. Just give me a gun or something,” she says and we all chuckle. “That isn’t funny. I’ve shot a gun before, and it only makes sense. Just because I got upset before doesn’t mean I’ll shoot one of you,” she says glaring at me.
“I think it’s better our hot-headed mafia princess isn’t capable of committing a crime of passion,” Max says with a smile as he walks over to find a drink.
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“I could always call you sunshine,” he says, looking at me.
Motherfucker, I mouth.
“Why would you call me that?” she asks, bobbing her head toward him. “That nickname doesn’t even suit me.”
“Someone seems to think it does,” he answers with a smirk, looking at me.
“Maxim, do you want your tongue piercing to turn into a throat piercing tonight?” I ask, and he throws his head back in laughter.
“Artem doesn’t call me sunshine,” she says, confused.
“Right, my mistake, ‘solnishko’,” he says with air quotes.
She turns her head toward me, and I’m already throwing my empty glass at Max’s head as he laughs and dodges, causing it to shatter on the wall behind him.
“God, you two are fucking meant for each other. I gotta work on my moves with both of you around,” he says laughing and fake dodging a few times like he’s boxing.
“Is that what that word means?” she asks, looking at me.
“No,” I lie, “like I said before, it means little nuisance.”
“Are you lying to me again?”
“I’m being as honest as I was when I told you how much I hated you,” I say, looking into her eyes.
Our eyes stay locked for a moment, and I feel like the rest of the noise of my brothers and the room just disappears. For a moment, it’s just us again. It’s a harsh reminder that we might be the only two people in the world who understand each other like this.