“Every move he makes. Every meeting, every phone call, every car that enters that compound.”
“And if the chemist is a hostage?”
Delacroix stood. “Then I want extraction options ready. Real ones. Operations we can execute if sanctions push him to cut his losses.”
Keene’s hand rested on the doorframe.
“Senator—” She paused. “If we’re right about how he feels about her, extraction won’t be necessary. He’ll tear down anyone who tries to take her. Including us.”
She left.
Delacroix stood alone, staring at the photograph still projected on the wall.
ROMAN — Casino Yacht Nerissa, Stateroom 7, 21:38
The helicopter from the mainland is still cooling on the helipad three decks above us, and already my wife is standing in the middle of our borrowed stateroom, commenting on all the ways I’ve failed her tonight.
She’s screaming about humanitarian crises. I’m calculating how fast I can get her panties off.
The velvet box in my jacket pocket presses against my ribs while she tells me all the promises I supposedly broke, all the ways I’ve betrayed her trust. I bought those sapphires three days ago, had them commissioned with a Vor star hidden in the clasp because she wears my rank now, whether she understands what that means or not.
She thinks she can dictate terms? She thinks her anger protects her? I’m going to strip that defiance away until she’s screaming my name.
“You promised me the auction catalog was everything,” she says, and her voice is shaking with rage that should warn me off, but only makes my cock harder. “You promised me there weren’t any other copies, that we could sabotage the formula and walk away, and then Luka hands me a fucking guest list with thirty-seven names on it and half of them are—”
“I know who they are.” I cross the distance between us in three steps and catch her chin. “Did you think I walked into this blind?”
“Then why didn’t you fucking tell me?”
“Because you would have spiraled exactly like you’re spiraling now, and I needed you sharp for tonight.”
Her eyes flash with fury that makes my blood run hot, and my patience run thin. She’s magnificent when she’s angry, all fire and that stubborn chin she lifts when she’s trying to prove she’s not afraid of me. She should be afraid. Any sane woman would be.
But Anya has never been sane when it comes to me, and I’ve never been sane when it comes to her, and right now the only thing I can think about is reminding her exactly who she belongs to.
“Color.”
“What?”
“Give me a color. Now. Before I take the choice away from you.” My voice comes out rough. “Because I’m about two seconds from fucking you against that wall.”
Her chin lifts with that defiant hauteur she uses when she’s trying to pretend she’s not affected by me. “Green.”
I unzip the silk. It pools at her feet. It costs twelve thousand euros, and I want to rip it to shreds, but we have a gala toattend. I settle for ripping her panties instead. Every instinct is screaming at me to take her hard and fast and rough.
“You think you get to walk in here and start making demands?” I spin her around and press her face-first against the teak paneling, one hand fisted in her hair while the other works my belt open. “You think that fury gives you power over me?”
“I think you fucking owe me the truth—”
“I owe you nothing.” I shove my pants down just far enough and line myself up with her entrance, feeling the wetness I already knew I’d find. “You’re mine, Anya. My wife. My property under Bratva law. The truth is mine to give or withhold as I see fit.”
She gasps when I push into her, one long, slow stroke that seats me to the hilt while her hands scramble for purchase against the wall. The sound she makes isn’t a word anymore, just this broken, desperate noise that goes straight to my cock and makes me want to hear it again and again until neither of us remembers what we were fighting about.
“Say it.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine anymore. “Say you’re mine.”
“Yours.” The word fractures when I pull back and thrust into her again, deep enough that her whole body arches away from the wall. “Every fucking impossible choice you’ve made. Every lie you’ve told me. Still yours.”
“Damn right you are.”
