“Very well.” He rises with the dignity of his years, droplets of water streaming down his chest. “Gio, we’re leaving.”
Gio hesitates, clearly wanting to twist the knife deeper, but even he doesn’t dare to directly disobey his Don.
“It was good seeing you, Alexei.” His voice drips with false sincerity. “Give my regards to your bride. Maybe I’ll stop by her show tonight. I’ve always appreciated fine art.”
As he leaves, my vision narrows, and I see red. His threat contained all the subtlety of blood splattered on the walls.
Fuck the Banya’s rules and their consequences. All I can think about is Aurora, vulnerable at her first art show, with Gio Falcone’s dirty eyes on her.
Roman’s hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me in place as the Falcones file out, Gio throwing one last smirk over his shoulder before the door closes behind them.
Chapter 42
Alexei
I storm into the elevator and stab the button to the top floor, rage still pumping through my veins like poison. The Banya’s peace feels miles away now, replaced by the familiar burn of fury. My skin reeks of eucalyptus and cedar, but my mind is all blood and gunpowder.
Gio Falcone.
His smirking face and casual threats about Aurora. The bracelet weighs heavy on my wrist, a target rather than a comfort. I need to see her. Ensure she’s safe. Drink in every detail of her face and remember why I didn’t break the Banya’s sacred rules by crushing Gio’s throat.
The loft is quiet when I enter, but Aurora’s familiar fruity scent lingers in the air. Soft music drifts from the bedroom.
Ourbedroom.
The foreign phrase feels right. Correct in a way few things ever have in my life.
I find her in the bathroom, bent over the sink, leaning close to the mirror as she carefully lines her eyes. She’s wearing a green dress that deepens the color of her irises and leaves her pale shoulders bare except for the thin straps. She hasn’t noticed me yet, too focused on applying her makeup.
Boxes and bags lie scattered around her. They were delivered right before I left for the meeting, so I never got a chance to inspect them. I knew most of them would be for her. Jewelry, clothes, purses, shoes… All the items she’d require to blend in with the other women of our family.
I lean against the doorframe and let my anger recede. “Hey.”
She jumps, almost stabbing herself with the eyeliner pencil. “Alexei.” Her startled expression melts into a smile that strikes me square in the chest. “You scared me. How was the meeting?”
I don’t answer. Not yet. Instead, I move past her into our bedroom and shed my jacket, my holster, and my shoes. The bed calls to me.Ourbed, where we spent the morning tangled in each other’s bodies. I lie down and prop myself up on an elbow as she returns to her preparations.
She checks on me in the mirror, concern creasing her brow. “That bad, huh?”
I give a noncommittal grunt. The details can wait. Right now, I just want to watch her and soak in this strange new domestic peace. Seeming to understand, she returns to her makeup without pressing for answers.
Her practiced, feminine movements fascinate me. She dots a product on her cheekbones, blending with small circular motions until her skin glows. Next, she paints her lips with color. Not bright red like the night I snatched her from the alley, but a softer pink that reminds me of the strawberries she eats for breakfast.
Except better tasting.
She backs away from the mirror, inspecting her work with a critical eye before reaching up to deal with her hair. Arms lifted, back arched, neck exposed in a long, vulnerable line. Her light brown hair locks around her shoulders in loose waves that glisten with copper highlights whenever they catch the light.She twists the thick mass into some complicated arrangement before securing it with pins.
A few strands escape, falling to frame her face. The contrast strikes me. How she’s both meticulous and free in the same moment. Structured and wild. Controlled and chaotic.
A multitude of layers.
Heading to the dresser, she withdraws four thin silver bracelets from a velvet box and slips them onto her left wrist. They clink together as she moves. The delicate music is comforting and distinctly hers. Like the way she hums when she desecrates food and calls it cooking, or the breathy noises she utters just before she comes.
Next, she selects small silver hoops and threads them through her ears, using the same fingers that arranged each tiny piece in my bracelet with such care. That traced patterns on my skin this morning. That dug into my shoulders as she broke apart beneath me.
She lifts her perfume bottle next, sprays a cloud into the air in front of her, then walks through, allowing the mist to settle over her. When the scent reaches me a moment later, blood surges to my dick. Fruity but not too sweet, complex in a way that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.
“My grandmother taught me that.” Aurora catches my gaze in the mirror. “Said a lady never applies perfume directly. Always creates a cloud and walks through it.” A hint of sadness bleeds into her features. “Not that she’d approve of much else about me these days.”
