Page 91 of Scarlet Vows

“Some men shower their women in jewels.” Santo’s gaze slides over her. “A pitiful necklace and small earrings, plus your wedding ring, isn’t exactly a shower. Or even a sponge bath. It’s more a dry paper towel.”

His smile hits maximum wattage as a wave of scorching fury crashes into me, threatening to drown me.

I stare at him until his gaze comes to me. He raises a brow, which I take as a challenge. And I’ve had enough. He’s tested the boundaries and now he’s at the brick fucking wall.

“If you’re going to disrespect me in my own home, get the fuck out. If you’re going to disrespect my wife, I hope your affairs are in order. Because for that, I’ll kill. She deservesallyour respect.Allof it. So let’s call this a night, and you get the fuck out right now.”

My voice is calm, tone steel. Meaning like glass.

Santo throws back his head and laughs loudly. “Calm down, Ilya. I’m kidding. She isn’t going to let me near her, and neither are you.” His laughter vanishes. “But it’s good to see you stand up for what’s yours. A lot of people don’t think you have it in you to take over from Aleksandr. They say you were raised too soft.”

Alina’s hand squeezes my thigh as a warning to stay in control. I’m not her brother. I do lose my temper, but I tend to keep it in check. Like right now.

I want to ask who, but I know. My men. The whispers. Rumors.

And soft? My fucking asshole of a grandfather’s opinion has no standing. A woman he kicked out and cut off, left to raise a child after her husband died, was anything but soft. And my life was anything but luxurious.

I’ve lived harder than a pakhan born into the job. And that’s the truth. I fought long and hard to get to where I am with Demyan. Being his friend made it harder, not easier.

“Some rumors,” I say, “are not to be believed.”

Santo meets my gaze. “Most aren’t.”

After that,we snack and drink and talk, the topics light and polite, with occasional veerings into politics or current events.

Then we sit to eat, and the food’s sublime.

“Alina,” I say, kissing her hand, “you outdid yourself.”

“What restaurant did you get the delivery from? I might steal the chef.” Santo eats another piece of the mouth-melting lamb.

Alina takes a sip of wine. “I cooked it from scratch. Apart from the bread. And Svetlana helped with the chocolate mousse we’ll have for dessert. And… thank you for the compliment.”

Santo sits back like he’s seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time. It isn’t so much that she can cook, but the fact that she’s clearly smart, multitalented, and able to do all this is a game changer. He’s seeing that she’s not just a pretty face. Not just Demyan’s sister. But my wife. She’s special.

Throughout dinner, she held up her end of the conversation. She doesn’t take an interest in the bratva and deliberatelyso, but she understands it. Of course she does. It’s her world.

But she also hits him up for considering a donation to the dog shelter as a tax write-off for him.

When he says he likes cats over dogs, that he appreciates their independence, she says, “Did you know a lot of dog shelters have cats, too?”

“I’ll think about it.” Santo nods to himself.

She can also talk about pop culture to deeper current affairs to the latest book that’s got critics in knots. The best places she’s found cannoli. Even a good Irish pub.

She’s a catch, and he’s seeing it for the first time in all the glory that’s Alina.

His eyes meet mine, and he nods.

I’ve apparently passed his fucking test. I’m no pakhan like Demyan, but the moment isn’t lost, nor is the warmth inside.

We move from dinner to dessert and cheese and fruit. It’s a slow, long, meandering four hours, and Albert pokes his nose around the corner exactly once. But when Santo lets out a burst of laughter, he scurries backward and disappears.

Finally, dinner is done, and just the cheese remnants and fruit remain.

“Such a delicious feast,” he says to Alina. “Are you sure you don’t want to divorce him for me?”

“Never,” I say emphatically. Then I stand. “Are you ready to talk business?”