“Unless shit goes south, that’s my plan.”
“You bringing the wife?”
“Her name is Liliya, asshole.” I’m quiet for a moment before saying, “We’ll see.”
Do I trust her enough to show her all my secrets?
The cobwebs I keep hidden?
“Tell her thanks for digging that bullet out of me,” Andre says. “I owe her one.”
I nod, though he can’t see me, and tell him, “Go get some sleep and nurse that wound,” before ending the call.
I spend another thirty minutes outside, soaking in the fresh air as the sun rises. Then I trek back into the condo and check on Liliya.
She mutters something in her sleep as I kiss her forehead.
How much will I tell her when she wakes up?
35
A noisein the kitchen stirs me awake.
I relax in the soft sheets, stretching out my arms, and smile at the ceiling.
Flashes of last night run through my mind, replaying like a movie.
Sex with Emilio wasn’t gentle, sweet, or lovey-dovey.
It was messy, chaotic, and fueled with frustration.
Just like our marriage.
Last night, I didn’t only learn that Emilio was amazing in bed, but I also learned where my loyalty was.
It’s not with Aleksy.
Not with the Bratva.
But with the man who protected me from bullets.
Who carried me through the woods when I was too tired to run.
Who maybe murdered the man who’d assaulted me.
My loyalty is to my husband. No one else.
I slide out of bed, wrapping the sheet around my naked body. Goose bumps coat my skin as the cold air hits it, and I leave the bedroom.
Emilio is seated at the kitchen table, a coffee mug in one hand and his phone in the other.
“Morning,” he says, setting both down to provide me his full attention.
He’s shirtless, his dark hair tousled, and his eyes heavy.
Both of us are in dire need of a good night’s sleep—or five.
Doubt those five nights will come anytime soon.
