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I barely restrain myself from pulling her over my lap for a couple of swats. “Yes, I know what an MC is.” I’ve had dealings with several of the unruly fuckers in the past, but none of them have been what you’d call romantic encounters.

“Well, the main character has a tongue piercing and a Jacob’s ladder and he knows how to use them.”

She raises her eyebrows and nods suggestively toward my crotch. Is she for real? Olivia only lost her virginity a couple of nights ago, and now she’s fantasizing about having all sorts of weird piercings rubbing against her pussy.

“Piercing is not my thing, Olivia.”

“Aw!” She pouts adorably. “But it could spice things up a bit.”

Spice things up?“We’ve only been married for two days,malyskha. If you’re bored already, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Oh, I’m not bored yet.” Olivia sets her tablet down. “But I was thinking, in years to come, things are bound to get a bit dull.”

“It will never be dull between us.” That I can be sure of. With a wife like Olivia, I’ll have no trouble keeping our sex life interesting.

“Well, you know…” She picks up her coffee cup and takes a sip. “Something to think about.”

She grins wickedly over the rim of her cup and I realize she’s been trying to get a rise out of me. Little minx. Again, I get the urge to spank her ass, but I’m afraid she’ll become immune if I dish out punishments for every little thing.

I pour my tea and then add a splash of milk and a spoonful of honey.

“That’s not how I expected my big, bad Bratva hubby to take his tea.”

My wife appears to be in a mischievous mood now that she’s got her nose out of that book.

“After a comment like that, I never want to hear you call me or any of your brothers sexist again.”

“Was that sexist?” Olivia muses. “I didn’t say the drink was unmanly, did I?”

“It was implied.”

“Maybe.” She screws her nose up. “And when have I ever called you sexist?”

She doesn’t deny referring to her brothers as such.Sexist pigis one of her favorite descriptions of Antonio and Leo in particular. I consider whether she has made that accusation against me. In the past she has flung some harsh words at me, but I don’t actually recall sexist being among them.

“You’re in fine form this morning,” I remark.

“Well, I’m on a bit of a high.” She leans across the table and lowers her voice as if she’s sharing some great secret. “You see, I went to a delightful dinner party last night. I met some good people, had great food, and I fucked a demigod.”

“Only a demigod? I must be slipping.”

Olivia flicks her hair back in what I’ve come to realize is one of her signature moves when she wants to show confidence. “I’m trying to stop your ego from getting out of control.”

“You do it so well.” I raise my cup in a toast to her.

Olivia laughs, and then her expression sobers. She sits back in her seat, suddenly deflated.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everyone knew what we did in the laundry room.”

“And that bothers you?”

I already know the answer. When we joined the others at the dinner table last night, Olivia was quiet at first. Withering under the scrutiny of Damiano and Lorenzo, she clung to my hand under the table, seeking my support. She answered every question with monosyllabic responses until Evie Lenkova, who sat on her other side, finally drew her into conversation and helped her regain her voice.

“Yes, it bothers me. Did you see the way Mila looked at me? She was disgusted.”

Disgust is not what I saw. It was fascination. Mila studied Olivia as if she was a butterfly pinned beneath a microscope. She likes to get under a person’s skin, to see what makes them tick.