“My wife chooses who and what is worthy of her attention,” Valentin says smoothly, sliding an arm over my shoulder. I feel his arm tremble against me, like he’s holding back his rage, and the effort it costs him makes my stomach twist.
My palms go slick. My knees threaten to buckle. I’ve never wanted violence before—but after what Viktor justwhispered to me, I’d forgive Valentin for every gun, every plier, every blade he’s ever picked up.
“And does she find us unworthy?” Viktor asks innocently. “Her old friends?”
“We both know you’re no friend of my wife’s,” Valentin hisses. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d take a step back before I gouge out your eyes.”
I feel a shiver go down my spine at the possessiveness in his voice, and under these circumstances, I’m grateful for it, even.
Viktor growls, but takes a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“So protective,” he hisses. “One might think you actually care for her.”
“One would be correct,” Valentin says, like a more honest observation has never been made.
The casual certainty in Valentin’s face, the fire in his eyes, the possessive throw of his arm around my shoulders—for all of it, I am grateful tonight.
“Well then.” Viktor’s face turns red, “I’ll leave you to your evening. But remember what I said, Mrs. Yuri. Some choices have... lasting consequences.”
He melts back into the crowd, and I feel my knees give way. Immediately, Valentin’s arm slides around my waist, holding me up.
“Are you alright?” he asks, letting go when I regain my footing.
I nod, still staring after Viktor.
Chapter 19 - Valentin
Gela looks pale, like ash, and her eyes remain fixated on Viktor as he walks away. She’s breathing all wrong, like terror has her gripped by its claws.
“Gela?” I ask again, moving to stand in front of her. Her eyes are unfocused, but they snap into place the minute I put Viktor out of sight. “You okay?”
She shakes her head, unable to form a single word. Even now, the fear in her eyes is spreading like wildfire.
What the hell did that bastard even say to her? I have half a mind to walk over there and rip his throat out, but years of Bratva politics have taught me when to strike and when to retreat. Right now, I need to get her somewhere safe, and the rest can wait.
If I go after him, guns will be drawn. Blood will be shed.
Gela doesn’t need that right now.
“Let’s just go home, okay?” I gently take her hand and jerk it forward, getting her to move. She simply nods and follows me like a rag doll. She doesn’t speak a word, and seeing her in this state, I think it’s best to usher her out without wasting time on goodbyes.
Once outside, I immediately help her into my car and drive toward the house.
“We’ll be back soon,” I offer softly, throwing her a glance. She’s staring at nothing and doesn’t seem to hear me, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s seeking comfort. I want to ask her what Viktor said, but the hollow look in her eyes stops me in my tracks. I give her the silence I think she needs.
My convoy isn’t following. I didn’t have time to tell them we’re leaving, and besides, with the Zakharovs there, I’d rather my family have extra hands on deck, in case there’s any trouble.
As I take the turn off the highway toward the suburbs, I check the rearview mirror, and that’s when I notice a sedan pulling out behind us. I don’t think much of it, but just to be safe, slow down.
The car slows down too, keeping pace.
That’s when I know we’re in trouble.
“Valentin,” Gela speaks at last, her voice shaking as she finally looks at me. “I think we’re being followed.”
“I see them.” I begin to drive faster. “Don’t worry. They won’t follow us for long.”
The sedan speeds up, closing the distance between us. Gela gasps and grips her seatbelt in fear, her knuckles white when I notice.
