She lifts her hand. A soft fingertip traces my scar, and I freeze, letting her touch the thing I hate people looking at, let alone touching.
“I’m late to work,” she says.
“Okay,” I say softly in a voice I don’t recognize. I sound like that boy I was in first grade when Ms. Smith told me I had to use my imagination more and stop drawing stick figures. She didn’t know I was imagining all the ways I was gonna cut my dad when I grew up strong enough to do it.
Ivana clears her throat. “Move so she can pass.”
No fucking way, but I also don’t wanna come off as a jerk—I’m plenty of that—but I’m trying to get laid now or in the futureby this chick, so I can’t be all jerk. Only a little. I step to the side, and she smiles, mouths athank-youas she squeezes past me, her nipples brushing my leather jacket. I bet that felt good for her. Mm-hm.
The hallways in hotels are long. Thank you, Jesus, because I get to enjoy them legs and a fantastic ass.
“Wow,” Ivana says, a glint in her cold gray eyes. “Isn’t she something?”
“Who was that?”
“The bride they offered.”
I sprint through the living space, leaping over the ottoman that gets in my way, almost breaking down the door into the office, nearly tripping over the chairs. He’s not here. I barge into his bedroom, look around, see the light in the bathroom. I walk right in. The guy’s on the shitter and using the phone, Santa-themed boxers between his legs. I wish I never saw that.
“What the fuck, man? Get out!”
I lean against the doorjamb. “I reconsidered.”
“What?”
“Which part was unclear? I said I reconsidered. Have the girl ready, packed, and deliver her to my house…” I check my watch. “By eight tonight. Tell her we’re having dinner.” We’re having a fuck fest from the second she walks into my cave—house, I correct my brain—till forever, but I don’t say that.
On the phone with someone, he speaks in his native tongue, nods several times, then hangs up. “You have to sign the marriage papers before we hand over the goods.”
I can’t ask what papers or where they are, because I’m fairly certain Ivana arranged this entire shitshow, which makes me look like I don’t know what she’s doing so I nod and leave the man to his business, smiling all the way home. I’m a fucking pig for taking that girl for money. But I’m a happy pig, and that’s what matters.
2
Two weeks ago, Ivana suggested I buy a bigger house, citing four reasons how that can help me with money laundering and taxes and bullshit I trust she knows better than I do, and as I sit across from her at my rustic table in my new rustic old-style kitchen, in a home I had zero input into or interest in decorating, I narrow my eyes, pen poised to sign the marriage license I have no idea how she got with nobody present. I don’t care as long as the girl is delivered to me and on time.
“This house was planned also?” I ask.
Ivana shrugs. “I work as efficiently as possible. If I can kill two in one, I will. The bride and the possibility of starting a family for you was reason number five for buying the house.”
“You lied to me.”
“I misled you. There’s a difference.”
“I can’t trust you.” And I can’t trust her because she’s interested in absolutely no man or woman in my organization. I hoped she would find someone and become loyal to me through that person. Believe me, I’ve tried to hook her up with everyone I could think of, but the sharks swim alone, and I know this betterthan anyone. Which is why I’m surprised at myself for finally settling on a girl.
“First, I work for me,” she says. “For Nikola, second, and for you, third. You knew that when you asked for me. You also knew I can’t be traded and forced into anything or I’ll find a way to take you down. I think you got the better end of the deal seeing as all your mess is sorted. Sign, please.”
I glance at the official paper, noting the girl hasn’t signed it. “Where’s her signature?”
“That’s your job, not mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she will sign when she’s good and ready. I mean that.”
I blink. “Are you threatening me, or telling me how to treat my wife?”
“Both.”
