Page 169 of Ruthless Creatures

I pour two glasses of wine and head back into the living room. Nat is right where I left her, staring out the window.

She takes the glass I hold out to her without a word.

“I want to show you something.”

Sipping her wine, she glances at me.

“It’s this way.”

I turn and walk away, knowing that the surest way to get her to do something is not to insist that she do it.

Unless she’s tied up in bed, she hates being bossed around.

Sure enough, she follows, her footsteps soft on the wood floor. I lead her past the kitchen and formal dining room, down a corridor, and to one of the guest rooms at the end. Then I open the door and stand back to allow her to look inside.

Her gaze wary, she peeks inside the room.

She gasps.

“It’s yours,” I murmur, enjoying her expression of astonishment.

She stares for a moment, looking around with wide eyes. “How long have you had it like this?”

“Since you first told me you were mine.”

“But you said we could never live together. That I could never even visit you here. So why go to all this trouble?”

She gestures to the room. It’s an artist’s studio, filled with artist’s things: paint, brushes, easels, blank canvases of all sizes waiting to be colored in.

Reaching out to stroke her satin cheek, I murmur, “When the longing got too bad, I’d come sit in here and imagine you on that stool in front of the easel, painting something that made you happy. Maybe a picture of me.”

She looks at me with tears in her eyes.

I want to kiss her, but I don’t. Whatever happens next, she has to be the one who initiates it.

I might be the king of the Russian mafia now, but my queen will always hold the most power. Only she can make or break me with a single word.

She says, “You said you’d never bring me here. So what’s changed?”

“Max is dead.”

She blinks. I nod, letting her take a moment to process that.

“You…”

“Yes.”

“Because?”

I say softly, “Any man who threatens you loses his life, no matter who he is.”

She blinks again. Moistens her lips. Takes another sip of her wine.

Her hand is shaking.

“This is kind of a big thing for you, though, right? I mean, politically.”

“Yes.”