Page 90 of Jewel of the Assassin

His mouth opens, eyes wide with alarm.

“Da. No mention of my father and his altering of the initial arrangement with your father. No mention whatsoever of my brother. Or how it was I who staged the crash and rightfully stole what was mine.” I level him with my gaze and push the papers on my desk toward him. Ones he must sign in blood. Ones that will demand all his blood should he break the NDA. “Provided you do this, you may have a relationship with your sister.”

He examines the documentation first. I lean back, drink my shot glass of vodka, and give him time. After a few minutes, Sasha lifts his head, needles his eyes upon me, and says, “My second question, Roman Makarova.”

I say nothing, a silent permission.

“Is she happy?”

I heave a sigh through my nostrils and lift a fist to my chin without breaking his gaze. “I don’t expect, nor need, you to take my word for it. The evidence was all over her face during the ball as she danced and mastered the crowd. You may ask her yourself.” I lower my hand to the armrest, forming a fist. “But upon what honor I hold, yes. She is more than happy. Sheis not my prisoner. She is my Queen. I value her as such. And I will protect her as such. I’ll fucking drown this world in blood if anyone ever tries to take her from me.”

Sasha’s gaze deepens, our eyes colliding in this moment of clarity. Veins throb in my arms. My spine hardens with the thought of what could occur if he refuses to sign my NDA, if he were to betray the truth to her. I may have built her life on a throne of lies, but she reigns on that throne, unbreakable.

A beautiful lie. Exquisite deceit.

I’d rather rule with her in fiction than see her suffer in reality. Even illusions can be a sanctuary, if built with devotion. My devotion is no lie. The blood I shed for years is no lie. The millions I spent to create our island haven is no lie.

She has not only given everything of herself to me. I have given everything to her. I’ve rewritten her story. And she has penned every page since.

If she ever learns the truth, I simply hope she will forgive my sins. I’ll kneel and pray to her if I must—then fuck her on an altar of atonement.

A heartbeat passes.

Sasha blinks. Then reaches for the pen—and quickly signs the NDA.

31

“I’d like to introduce you to my wife.”

VALENTINA

I’m still pacing outside the room, my heart in my throat, until the door opens. When I see Sasha’s warm smile and Roman’s easy posture, relief floods my chest.

Overjoyed, I throw my arms around my husband’s neck while eyeing Sasha from the side. “Da, Valya, all is well,” Roman assures me, stroking my hair before taking my waist and turning me toward my brother.

The moment I saw him, I knew, I remembered who he was and how we’d cuddle up in wool blankets and watch a movie on the projector.

Unlike Roman and his ostentatious ensemble that matches my gown, Sasha’s costume is far more understated. A dark velvet frock coat with a high-collared dress shirt, a Slavic belt, and slim tailored trousers. His silk ascot makes him seem more sophisticated.

“Forgive me for my lack of contacting you earlier, Sasha,” Roman says as I squeeze my brother’s hand. “Following the crashwith the revelation of Valentina’s memory loss, I thought it best to keep her home and safe as much as possible, allowing her to return to her routine. When she shared some less-than-pleasant memories of her past, I did not want to trigger her and bring her more needless trauma.” His eyes flick to mine, and my cheeks burn. Not in shame but gratitude.

A longing ache settles in my chest. I can’t blame Roman. It’s only been two months since the crash. We’ve come so far. And after my nightmares, I didn’t want anything to do with my past. A few positive memories couldn’t tempt me compared to all the found family at Roman’s estate and how I’ve ruled the manor.

Roman cups my bare shoulder, lowers his head, and kisses my cheek. “I have some business to tend to before we leave, Moya Samotsvet.I will give you some alone time together. Sasha, if you would like to accompany your sister to the sitting room just down the hall, I will send a server with some tea and appetizers.”

“When do we leave?” I wonder, touching the back of his hand.

“Two A.M.”

A half hour.

“May Sasha come with us?” I stare up at my husband, holding my breath, hopeful, pleading.

He glances at Sasha. My brother asks for no favors or special treatment. He simply bows his chin in respect. After an eternity of a heartbeat, Roman nods firmly. “He may.”

“Spasibo, Roman,” I say, kissing him back. And just before he departs, I take his arm, halting him. He glances down at me, tilting his head, and while the gold skeletal mask may make him look like a predator, his eyes are deep, protective emeralds. “Spasibo,” I repeat, knowing he understands it’s for everything.

My eyes stay on my husband until he disappears around the hallway corner.