Page 10 of Jewel of the Assassin

“She’s adjusting fine. Keep her comfortable. That’s all I want from you.”

The doctor nods. “As long as I may monitor her health…”

“I have full security coverage throughout the estate,” I say. “Every movement, every interaction is recorded. I’ll send you any pertinent files regarding her medical health. You may return later to check her vitals and administer any medication I deem necessary.”

Before the doctor departs, I pull out my phone and fire off a secure message to Zinaida:

“She is displaying retrograde amnesia. From this moment forward, all staff are to maintain the following narrative: she is my wife. No hesitations. No contradictions. Assist her as needed with memories of her lifehere, but only within the parameters I’ve allowed. Any deviation will be dealt with accordingly.”

I hit send without hesitation. Zinaida and Arkady will enforce my directive.

When I return to the room, Valentina is trying to sit up, groggy, her fingers pressing against the sheets for support. Her body is still too weak from the sedatives, her movements slow, unfocused.

One of the thin straps of her nightgown has slipped down her shoulder, exposing the curve of her breast. My mouth goes dry, my pulse quickening. I should be worried about her. I should be concerned about her recovery. But the only thing that consumes me in that moment is her beauty—the way she is so helpless and yet, so intoxicating.

I lean over her slowly, my gaze never leaving her form. Her eyes go wide, and her body tenses as I slide the strap of her nightgown back up, my knuckles grazing her soft, warm skin. I take a moment to breathe, to appreciate how she’s here.She’s here.

Valentina glances at me, but before she can speak, I pull a strand of her golden hair away from her face.

And then I kiss her.

I kiss her like she’s the air I breathe, like I’ve been starved of itfor years. She doesn’t respond at first—she’s still too groggy, still too lost, but I don’t care. I kiss her deeply, passionately, marking her as mine.

When I pull away, her eyes are dazed, her lips slightly parted, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I take her hand gently in mine, lifting it. I tap the ring.

“You are ValentinaMakarova,” I say with no equivocation. “I am Roman Makarova. And you…are mywife.”

Her eyes widen slightly, as if the words are foreign. She doesn’t know who she is. But I’ll remind her. Over and over again, if I have to.

She is mine.

5

“You don’t strike me as the gentle type.”

VALENTINA

His kiss obliterates me.

I may have no memory, but I know…in the depths of my innermost being, I haveneverbeen kissed like this. Such possession, dominance…ownership, when this utterly beautiful, masculine man kisses me, it’s clear he has one motive: I am his.

Valentina Makarova.

It doesn’t quite fit. The first part, yes. But I like his name. Roman. Roman Makarova. It’s the name of a warrior, the kind who would wage a war for me. But why do I think I’d be the queen sitting on a throne giving him hell?

My strange and wild thoughts multiply.

“And you…are my wife.”

I lift my brows. Shock punches through my chest. Marriage. Matrimony. These words are so distasteful, so revolting. And yet, when I look at him, this dark, beautiful god with his hypnotizinggreen eyes and long golden locks tied in a ponytail on his broad shoulder, relief is all I feel. And a strong current of heat between my legs.

He overwhelms me.

He looks like he stepped straight out of a mafia boss magazine. That suit hugs him, dark, tailored to perfection, fabric of wealth, power, and danger. Even with his cocky smirk and arrogant posture, he looks damn good in it. Like he’s already a king and I’m his crown to claim.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I admit and touch my ailing head, the twinkle of the rock on my finger catching my eye. It’s a diamond. A purple diamond worthy of royalty. Why does it impress me all the more?

Roman helps me sit up, comfortably positioning my pillow. Good. I don’t want to fall back to sleep, though I will soon, judging by the dizziness. My golden hair mirrors his, but his is a hint more silver. And while his hair is straight and silky, mine is curly and wild.