Students turn to stare as we walk down the corridor.
Rumors still swirl about of tumultuous marriage. I’m sure they’re surprised he’s back.
Gustav does nothing to blend in, either. He takes up space the way storms do. Tall, broad, and carved in lines that demand attention. His dark coat moves with his strides, framing the hard cut of his torso. When he stops in front of my classroom, the overhead lights catch the pale angles of his face and the cold silver of his eyes. It hits me how unreal he looks. Not like a mob boss or a man at all. More like the villain in a forbidden legend, the one maidens were warned never to look at.
And here he is, mine.
His hand rests lightly at the small of my back. I want to cling to him, hang on him like a schoolgirl, kiss him the way I feel like kissing him. But I hold off, more cautious around him.
When we reach the door, I squeeze his hand subtly. Then I rise on my toes and kiss his lips soft and quick.
His eyes darken instantly. The change is visible. I see the shadows slip into his expression, the chaotic rush of his mind trying to return.
Okay, he doesn’t like quick affection right now.
As the door begins to swing shut, I catch one last glimpse of him. He stands there still, shoulders squared, gaze fixed solely on me with a hunger that is equal parts devotion and sex. It’s impossible not to feel desired when a man like Gustav Sokolov stares at me like that. Impossible not to ache for him. Impossible not to fear the storm waiting behind those gray eyes.
The door closes with a click of finality.
I pray that when it opens again, he will still be there.
Keira bumps into me before heading to the front of the class. She subtly squeezes my arm. Her voice drops, hurried.
“Be ready. Council wants Gustav’s last breath.” Then she starts the class like nothing happened.
But I am barely taking a step when a tall man in a dark coat blocks my path. His badge gleams faintly.
“Mrs. Sokolova. I’m Rupert Norton. I’m with the Council. I need a one-on-one with you.”
My stomach drops.
Chapter 37
Peighton
This is very bad, and not because of Keira’s warning. I feel it. I feel the threat in the room and it isn’t against my life. It’s against Gustav’s.
I plaster on a warm smile. The big American one that I left back with my father.
“Yes. Let’s chat. I’ve been dying to meet a councilman,” I lie.
Rupert waits until the classroom noise softens, until the Keira’s back is turned, until every student is absorbed in their notes. Then he tilts his head toward me with that quiet, aristocratic authority that chills my blood.
“Follow me.” His English accent is thick and elegant. A command wearing the mask of courtesy.
I follow. A few students look over, curious. No one expects a councilman to summon a bratva wife in broad daylight — without her husband.
He guides me through the back exit. When the door closes, the air feels colder.
He leads me down a dim hallway to a private office. No windows, no cameras, only a single lamp humming over a polished desk.
He gestures for me to sit. I do.
Rupert looks too good for someone who makes my skin crawl. Mid-twenties, russet curls framing his forehead, glasses that somehow make him cuter, not nerdy. He’s undeniably attractive. The kind of handsome that could be trouble.
And that’s exactly what he feels like. Trouble wrapped in ambition, with a sheen of slime just beneath the surface.
“You are safe with me,” he says as he settles opposite. “You may speak freely.”
