Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“I’m not hungry.”
“Get up.” She stares at me, her arms crossed, like a disappointed grandmother. “You cannot hide away from life. The eyes are afraid but the hands are still doing it.”
“The eyes are… what are you talking about?”
She grunts and waves in the air. “It’s a Russian saying. Means you feel afraid, that’s okay, but you keep going. You do not give up.”
“The hands are still doing it.” I lie back and stare at the ceiling. “No, thanks, I’m good.”
She curses at me in Russian and yanks the covers away. I yelp and leap up, glaring at her.
“Come. Tea now.” She gestures, smiling sweetly, and pours two cups.
I hesitate, surprised as she sits down and sips. She gestures again for me to join her, and I curse myself for being such a polite dickhead, because I can’t turn down an invitation.
It would be rude.
“I’m not happy about this,” I say, sitting across from her and reluctantly drinking. My stomach rumbles, and I eat a little sandwich. “I’m hungry, okay? But I refuse to like it.”
Even though it’s absurdly good. Cucumbers, cream cheese, and soft white bread.
“Appetite comes with eating,” she says, sounding very smug.
“Another Russian saying?”
She nods once. “I’m full of them. I’m an old woman, I can’t help myself.”
I chew and drink more tea and actually feel better despite myself. I peer at Nikkita as she takes small bites.
“You know Valentin pretty well, right?”
“Yes, I know him.” Her face softens a touch. “Too well, I think.”
“Is he a good person?”
That makes her face pinch up again. “What a foolish question.”
“I think it’s important,” I say defensively.
“Yes, of course you do, you live your life thinking being good and bad are nice and easy things, yes? You wake up, you do good, you sleep. No harm to anyone. But Valentin does not have the luxury to be that way, you see? He runs all of this, and people depend on him. So he does things, sometimes bad things, because they’re for good reasons.” She slurps her tea and puts the cup back down with a clatter. “And sometimes they’re for bad reasons, but that’s the kind of strong man you need to lead a Bratva.”
“The ends justify the means? And I should be okay with it?”
“Silly girl. He loves you. What else do you need? He will die for you, and he will die to get your mother back from those nasty Armenians, no offense to you.”
I sit back, surprised to hear her speak so plainly. I work my jaw, but a lot of my fear and anger slowly starts to fade. It doesn’t go away—I doubt it ever will—but I start to see beyond it at least.
“He really does love me, doesn’t he?” I say at least.
Nikkita tuts at me. “Took you too long to see it.”
“We’ve only been married for a little while.”
“And yet he’s loved you since the moment you took your clothes off in front of him.”
Heat rises into my cheeks. “Let’s not talk about that anymore.”
“Do not worry, it was a good move. You have a nice figure. He liked it.” She pushes the sandwiches at me. “Eat more now.”
I’m too embarrassed to argue. I have another, and by the time I’m done, I actually do feel better.
“I should find him,” I tell her.
“Yes, you should, but listen before you do. That man does not care easily, but when he does, it is like—” She puts her fists side by side as if gripping an iron bar. “He does not bend, not ever. You understand?”
Butterflies flitter in my stomach. “I understand.”
“Good. He will not release you, but this is good. He will treat you well. I will make sure of it.” She nods once like that’s over with and gets to her feet. “I will leave the tea and sandwiches if you wish to have more. But go find him and speak to him. I know he is worried.”
“Thank you,” I say, but she’s already walking off and doesn’t bother to answer.
I have more tea and take a minute to compose myself, then I go searching for my husband.
I find him in the basement. He’s working out with free weights, curling them and flexing his incredible arm muscles, wearing only a pair of dark shorts. I stand back and watch the sweat roll down his bare skin, and I’m tempted to walk over and lick it off. The man is sex incarnate.
He’s also dangerous. The longer I’m around him, the more likely it is someone I care about will get hurt.
The more likely it is I’ll get hurt.
But what Nikkita said keeps playing through my head. He loves me, deeply, obsessively, in a way I’ve never been loved before, and I like it. God, I like it so much, I can’t help myself.
“I’m sorry,” I say.