Page 91 of Jewel of the Assassin

“Are you happy, sestrá?”

I turn at the sound of Sasha’s voice. I grin, mouth parting toanswer—but he lifts a hand with a soft chuckle. “That’s all I needed to know,” Sasha says.

I pause, my smile faltering into something quieter. “What?”

“The way your eyes lit up just now, like a winter sun turning the snow to silver. Val, I’ve never seen you smile like that.”

My cheeks overheat. “He’s an obsessive bastard,” I murmur fondly. “But he doesn’t treat me like some shiny thing to be used and silenced. Oh, he loves to show me off—like he did tonight—but not like a trophy. Like a…”

“Like a queen,” Sasha finishes gently.

I nod. “Exactly.”

We make our way to the sitting room Roman referenced.

“How did you find this place? How did you get here?” I ask.

“It took much doing with some deception, I’ll admit. Mr. Makarova knows this and has given me leniency for your sake. After everything that happened, I spent a lot of time and money reaching out to some of our family’s more nefarious connections until I found a distant cousin twice removed who was invited here. I paid him a good sum to trade places. I wore a prosthetic mask to fool the security cameras.”

“But there’s a DNA authentication test,” I point out, scrunching my brows as we enter the sitting room. “The thumbprint and the finger-prick blood test.”

He nods and looks down as we take our seats by the fireplace. “That took a bit more doing. Like a small synthetic blood blister hidden under the fingertip.” He wags his index finger. “Black market biotech. But it was worth it to see you.”

A chill prickles my spine as I stare at the firelight, lost in my thoughts. Why? If Roman doesn’t see my brother as a threat…

“Sasha…” I begin, flicking my eyes to his while rubbing the goosebumps on my arm. “Roman and I have been married for two years. I understand him wanting to protect me after the crash, but didn’t he send word to you? And couldn’t you have contacted him at all? Have you never been to the island?”

Something dark flashes in my brother’s eyes, but it’sso brief before the soft warmth returns. “Roman cut off all communications after the crash, which I understand, Val. He needed to make sure you were safe and no enemies were targeting him.”

Like the trespasser I killed.

“And no. We’ve always met outside the island, at functions like this, parties, or restaurants. From what little I know, Roman is very private, and he guards his home like a dragon with its treasure.”

We share a smile. Heat fills my chest, thankfulness rising again because the island is a treasure to us all. His methods might be extreme, but I trust Roman. Everything he does is to protect me, everyone.

And I’ve never been more grateful, never been prouder to call myself Valentina Makarova.

ONE WEEK LATER

By the seventhday of Sasha’s visit, I’ve had enough of Roman and his bullshit excuses for avoiding me.

Like how I go to sleep every night utterly alone because he’s “working late”. Or how I’ve been sharing all my meals with my brother. Or how Roman says he’s giving us time to spend together before Sasha leaves.

Clearly, my husband is an ignoramus when it comes to scheduling. I’ve barely seen his face—much less his dick.

I’ve tried sneaking into the gym and pool, hoping to catch him mid-workout. But apparently, he’s been doing most of his exercise off-site. What the fuck is he doing in the middle of an Alaskan fall for exercise? Polar plunges? Wrestling bears? Dragging boulders with his teeth?

Desperate times call for scheming measures. So I asked Father Mikhail and Zina to meet me in the sitting room. My sweaterwrap dress swishes as I go, the bold black hem ending at my mid-thigh, showing off my long, lithe legs and cunning black pumps. The deep plunging V-neck practically screams for Roman to throw me over his shoulder, take a belt to my ass, then fuck me senseless and boneless.

I’m pacing like an anxious cat when Zina and Mikhail peek their heads in together, timid and wide-eyed—like mice tiptoeing into a cat cafe.

“Aww, look at that,” I coo, pointing at their clasped hands. “You arrived as a pair. Progress.”

Mikhail blinks. Zina frowns. But they don’t drop each other’s hands, and I catch them eyeing each other.

“I assume this is not regarding any marital exorcisms?” Mikhail asks dryly.

“Nope.” I lean forward with a devilish grin. “This time it’syourturn to play matchmaker.”