Page 27

I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke up with the sun pouring in through the window, signaling that it was well past morning. My phone said noon, but we hadn’t fallen asleep until near dawn. Dima’s arm was still under my head, his other wrapped around me to hold me tight like a teddy bear.

Carefully sliding under it, I rolled off the bed and stared at him momentarily. A sunbeam fell across his brow, and I crept to shut the curtains. His hair was rumpled, and his face relaxed, the bruises and cuts on his knuckles standing out in harsh relief to the crisp white sheets.

So, he got in a fight and then got drunk, stumbling home after making me worry for hours on end.

I hated drunk people, but Dima was nothing like my father was when he had too much alcohol in his system. In fact, I had no recollection of ever seeing Dima drink more than one or two beers or a glass of wine with dinner. Even drunk off his ass, he’d been pretty much his usual self, playful and easygoing. Almost adorable. No secret rage monster came out of hiding.

Still, he better not make a habit of it.

Knowing he was going to wake up with the mother of all hangovers, I went downstairs to make him a big, hearty breakfast to soak up all the extra poison that was still in his system. Senora Cruz had left us a full refrigerator since she only came three days a week, and I pulled out eggs and a paper-wrapped packet of bacon from the fresh butcher in town. As I cracked the eggs and scrambled them, I wondered why I was being so nice.

Surely, I wasn’t buying into his drunken ramblings about a mythical dream life that would never happen? The only reason I went along with his questions and shared my deepest wishes was because there was no way he’d remember any of it. The man was sloshed, and on tequila, no less. If he did remember, there was no way he could make it happen.

He was loyal to his family; the Fokin name was everything to him. Much more than I could ever be, a mere possession.

Living here permanently? There was no way he’d suggest something like that sober. Fixing up the mansion was no more than a hobby, and starting the new project with the local land developers was because he couldn’t help himself. He had to grab something and make it his if something was up for grabs.

Myself included.

No, eventually, my recalcitrant father would rear his head up from his latest binge of gambling and drink to assure Dima that it was safe to return to California. Then what? It was untenable that I remain a Bratva wife, always waiting up late at night for news of the most recent fight.

Oh, and the lack of freedom. That, too.

On the other hand, what would I do when I got free of all this? As I lay bacon strips in a sizzling pan, I looked down at my ring, sparkling bright enough to blind me. I could sell it for a pretty penny, and I knew how to go about getting fake IDs to start over, but even the best false identity didn’t guarantee my tenacious husband would never find me.

What would I do for a job if I ever found a safe enough place to settle down? I had always planned on severing my association with the Fokins in a way that didn’t have anyone chasing me. Dima was definitely going to chase me, and not stop until I was found.

Could I really settle down for a long time in any one spot? If I could meet that normal guy with a normal job and he wanted to be with me, I’d be putting his life at risk, too. The thought of being with someone else, even if it meant living out the life I wanted, made me frown down at the bacon, on the verge of burning, as I got lost in my thoughts.

I couldn’t imagine being attracted to any other man now, so Dima had ruined that for me too.

With the breakfast complete, I piled it all onto a plate, but by then I was too bitter to want to bring it up to him. Once again, reality had crashed down on me. I sat down and pulled it close, but I had no appetite. When Dima wandered into the kitchen, an hour had passed. The food was ice cold as I continued to sit there staring at it, completely ignoring it as I wondered about a future that didn’t seem to hold much hope.

“What’s this?” Dima asked from the doorway, concern in his voice.

He didn’t sound hungover, or like he was incapacitated at all. I didn’t look up or answer him. I couldn’t. It was like I was frozen in uncertainty, not knowing what I wanted, not knowing what I was supposed to be fighting for.

To my shock, Dima covered the length of the room and pulled me into his arms, tenderly holding me to his chest. I could hear his steady heartbeat, and the soothing rhythm made me close my eyes to block out everything but the strength he seemed to be infusing into me.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said, as if he read every thought in my head. “I’m going to make things just the way you want them to be.”

Wait a damn minute? Did he remember last night? And he was still making this promise instead of telling me every reason why it just wasn’t possible? None of it mattered as long as he was holding me like that. I wrapped my arms around his waist, letting him hold onto me and feeling myself begin to relax. To believe him. To think he meant it when he said we could have a normal life.

I tipped up my chin to see if the truth was also in his eyes, and as he smiled down at me, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The smile faded, and he sighed, taking it out and reading the message.

“We can talk more later on tonight,” he said, dropping a kiss on top of my head. “Right now, I have to take care of a few things.”

“Of course you do.” I shoved away, stalking out the back door.

Holding my breath, I sat by the pool and waited. He didn’t come out, and when I went inside and looked out the front windows, I saw that his car was gone. Business always came first. The Bratva was always the most important thing. It was foolish to have a shred of hope for anything else.