Liliya’s stomach growling breaks me from my thoughts.
“Maybe if you hadn’t starved yourself these past few days, you wouldn’t be sohangry, as you called it,” I comment, stopping at a red light.
She crosses her arms. “It’s my silent protest to this marriage.”
“Look at how far that’s gotten you. You’re still married, at my mercy, and hungry.” I hit the gas when the light turns green.
She glares at me, turning back to look straight ahead, but her lips morph into a smug smile. “Actually, look at how far it’s gotten me. I’m breaking free of my prisonandbeing fed at one of the nicest restaurants in the city.”
“Trust me, this isn’t out of the kindness of my heartorme caving in to your games.”
She slaps her hand against her thigh. “Of course it isn’t. There’s no kindness inside you. As with all men in this world, any shred of kindness in your heart was eaten up by cruelty—like Pac-Man chomping up every last bit of your humanity.”
I have to fight back a smile at her comment. Another fucking rarity for me.
“Do they teach you how to make terrible analogies in nursing or Russian Bratva school?”
She turns in her seat to glare at me. “This kind of humor can’t be taught. You’re either born with the gift or you’re not.” She waggles her finger in my direction. “You, my forced husband, were not born with that gift.”
“Good thing I was born with plenty of others.” I half smirk.
Her cheeks redden, as if her mind went to the dirtiest thought she could imagine.
Maybe that’ll shut her up.
She stays quiet for the rest of the short drive and perks up in her seat when I veer into L’ultima Cena’s back parking lot. I swerve into the spot between Antonio’s and Damien’s vehicles.
The sun beats down on my back when I step out of the SUV and circle to Liliya’s side to open her door. She takes her sweet time getting out of the vehicle, as if trying to punish me.
“For someone hungry, you sure are moving slow,” I say stupidly, because it only causes her to move slower.
When she’s finally outside, I slam the door and check the time, finding we’re ten minutes late.
I push Liliya forward. “Straight to the door. You run, and I have a room full of people in that building ready to hunt you down.”
She mutters words I can’t make out—most likely talking shit—and shuffles forward.
After a few moments, her walk turns more into a strut. She swings her hips and twirls a strand of hair around her ring finger.
Sometimes, I think this woman actually wants me to strangle her.
I stare at her, my eyes moving with the sway of her hips, like a man who wants to fuck his wife. I tug at my collar, noticing sweat building up there, while not taking my eyes off her until we make it to the door.
Her body has become my new obsession.
The dress clings to her perfect curves and full ass. With each strut, her ass jiggles in my face.
I bite into the corner of my lip, hoping I don’t have to punch a man if they look at my wife with lust in their eyes.
She hesitates when we reach the door, not knowing what to do.
I notice and salute the two-armed guards standing on the roof. My guess, that’s Cristian’s doing, and probably the only man who could get away with having armed men here.
Liliya glances back at me, biting into her lip while waiting for my next move.
Not so bold when you could be entering a slaughterhouse, huh?
I brush around her and hit the bell on the door. The door swings open moments later, and Oliver—the owner’s grandson who was recently promoted from server to general manager—stands in front of us, wearing the L’ultima Cena uniform.
