Page 15

My blood isn't just boiling. It's literally evaporating in my veins. I stand before Lilibeth in Bergdorf's and she looks at me like she couldn’t give a damn at having been caught.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I ask in a controlled voice. The store is mostly empty, but I won’t yell at her in front of the staff. “Sneaking out without security? Are you insane?”

She glares back at me and crosses her arms. “I was thinking I needed air, Agafon. That I'm not a prisoner.”

“You wanted air?” I ask incredulously. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? We're leaving. Now.” I place my hand on the small of her back and begin moving, making it clear that this isn’t an argument.

She steps away from my touch and glowers at me. “I'm not finished shopping.”

“You're finished.” I grasp her elbow, gentle but firm. “This isn't negotiable, Lilibeth.”

A flush rises from her neck to her cheeks, darkening her pale skin with indignation. She's beautiful like this, and that thought further fuels my anger. I shouldn't be admiring her when I’m angry that she's put herself in danger.

“Fine,” she hisses, yanking her arm free.

She walks ahead of me with a haughty air around us, and now I’m mad that she’s mad.

She has no right to act like I’m the unreasonable one when all I’m doing is making sure she doesn’t get kidnapped, tortured, or killed by the dozens of enemies who would love to get their hands on my wife, not to mention an Orlov.

We exit the store in tense silence, and she slides into the car through the door held open by the driver. I join her in the back from the other side, instructing the driver to raise the partition.

The privacy partition seals us off. Lilibeth stares out of the window at the moving traffic, refusing even to acknowledge me.

“I was at work,” I finally cut through the silence. “And I had to drop everything to come get you.”

“Who told you to?” she hisses, turning to face me.

“Excuse me?” My eyebrows rise incredulously.

“All I’m saying is, you needn’t have bothered,” she says, coolly.

“You have enemies everywhere. You’re an Orlov married to a Letvin. Do you have any idea what kind of target that puts on your back?”

Her mouth—that soft, full mouth I remember tasting at every waking moment—twists into a thin line. “I'm well aware of who I am, Agafon. I've been an Orlov my entire life.”

“Then act like it. Your family would never allow you to wander unprotected.”

“My family.” She laughs sarcastically. “My family thinks I'm made of glass and cotton. They pat me on the head, let me run from responsibilities to travel the world and tell me not to worry my pretty little mind about business or security or anything that actually matters.” Her voice rises with each word.

“And now I have you, doing exactly the same thing.”

My jaw tightens. “This isn't about underestimating you. This is about basic security protocols.”

“No,” she counters, turning fully toward me in the seat, her knees nearly touching mine.

“This is about control. You put me in that house, and for the first week, you never spoke to me, never cared about what I’m doing with my day.

Then, out of nowhere, you tell me to get dressed for a party we have to go to as though I have nothing better to do with my time than sit around waiting to accompany you someplace.

You fired a man for daring to speak to me!

I’m watched twenty-four seven, and I’ve had no visitors except your siblings, once.

In three weeks, that was the highlight of my life.

Can you imagine? I have no freedom, Agafon.

I don’t know if I can meet my friends; I can’t run out for a cup of coffee, can’t hit up the bookstore, can’t see my family. Is this something you call a life?”

The car hits a pothole, jostling us closer together for a moment. My thigh touches hers, and I feel a shiver move up my legs, down my spine. God, I can’t focus on the conversation as long as I’m touching her and immediately pull away, crossing one leg over the other.

“Those protocols are for your protection.”

“Those protocols are excessive,” she fires back. “And you know it.”

There's something magnetic about her indignation, about the way she refuses to back down, that sass I so love shining right through.

My blood, still hot with anger, redirects its heat southward. The shift is unwelcome but undeniable. Lilibeth, all flushed with anger and righteousness, is turning me on so badly that I have to shift in my seat to accommodate the growing discomfort.

“You have no idea what's excessive in our world,” I say, my voice dropping lower, rougher. “No idea what men would do to get to me through you.”

“Then teach me!” Her hands fly up in exasperation, inadvertently drawing my attention to the swell of her breasts beneath her cashmere sweater. “Instead of locking me away like some fairy tale princess, teach me what to look for, how to protect myself!”

I clench my fists against my thighs, fighting the urge to grab her, to silence her protests with my mouth, to channel all this furious energy into something else entirely. I want her anger, want to feel it explode against me, want her to fight and yield in the same breath.

But that's not what she needs. I’m going to have to show some restraint, or else my actions would be unbecoming.

“You think this is a game?” I ask. “You think knowing what to look for will save you if someone decides to make an example of you?”

“I think treating me like I have a brain might be a good start!” She's trembling now with suppressed rage.

“Your brothers—”

“My brothers sheltered me too much, and you know it.” Her voice cracks slightly.

“I've spent my entire life fighting to be heard over them, and even then, they never tried to understand. And now I'm fighting to be heard over you. It’s tiring and exhausting, and I don’t want my life to be like this all the time.”

Her voice trembles toward the end, and I watch as her eyes well, but she refuses to let the tears fall.

In this moment, I know just how much pain she’s in.

This isn't pettiness or rebellion for its own sake.

This is a woman who's spent a lifetime being dismissed, being protected to the point of suffocation.

I can’t imagine what that must feel like.

She takes a deep breath, seeming to brace herself, as if expecting me to brush her off and crush her spirit. Her chin lifts, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. She's preparing for disappointment.

In that moment, guilt hits me deep in my chest. I’ll never apologize for protecting her, but there is something I know I wronged her in. I failed to see her.

“Tell me,” I say finally.

Her eyes widen slightly. “What?”

“Tell me your concerns. Your expectations.” I loosen my tie slightly, giving myself room to breathe. “I'm listening.”

Suspicion clouds her features. “You serious?”

“I’m serious.”

She hesitates for a moment, but then speaks.

“I need to see my family and a few friends, not that I have many in this city. Not just supervised visits, but real time with them. I need to meet more of yours, too, because I am a part of your family now.”

I nod, acknowledging this reasonable request.

Encouraged, she continues. “I need to learn about the business—not all of it, but enough to know what it is you do and where the danger lies. Enough to know who to trust if something happens to you.”

The pragmatism of this request surprises me. She's thinking like a Bratva wife already, planning for contingencies I'd rather she never face.

“And I need some freedom, Agafon. I can't be indoors all the time.” Her hands spread open in a gesture of honesty. “I'll take security with me. I'll follow protocols. But I need to breathe.”

The car slows as we approach the compound, the driver waiting for the security gate to open. I consider her words carefully, weighing risks against rewards, weighing her needs against my instinct to protect what's mine.

“Your family visits can be arranged.”

Relief softens her features, and now I long to see her smile.

“As for the business...” I pause, calculating how to go about it. “At some point, I’ll show you around. Not everything, but enough.”

“And as for me stepping out?” she asks, her voice quiet but firm.

“No unscheduled outings. No last-minute plans.” I hold her gaze steadily. “But yes, with proper security and advance notice of at least a day, you can have your breathing room.”

A smile starts at the corners of her mouth, those dimples now melting my heart. “Supervised freedom, then.”

“Something like that,” I let the corners of my mouth turn upward.

She studies me for a long moment, her blue-green eyes searching mine, and I can’t focus on anything but their depths.

“Deal.” She extends her hand as if we're closing a business transaction.

“Deal,” I murmur as I take her hand. She lets hers rest in mine for a moment too long, and when she pulls away, I feel a pang of disappointment.