“Nice to know the Russians are as disorganized as ever,” Raf observes dryly as Miko cocks an amused eyebrow in my direction.
The subtle communication sets butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and my cheeks warm as I suddenly feel shy.
That’s been happening to me a lot more in the week since my ugly mental breakdown.
Miko’s attention feels all the more meaningful now, the slightest glance lighting my body on fire, and I can’t seem to rein in my physical response to him.
Even the quickest glance makes me yearn for his touch.
It doesn’t help that my dreams are getting increasingly more graphic—and sexual in nature—as if they’re trying to make up for the lack of intimacy we’ve shared since that night.
In our everyday interactions, Miko and I seem to have hit a new stride. Our communication is at an all-time high, and I’m starting to trust him in ways I never thought possible.
But our sex life has come to a grinding halt. Miko’s more than happy to kiss and snuggle me, but he’s been reluctant to take it any further, and I know it’s because of what happened—because he doesn’t want to hurt me by triggering another flashback.
Still, I’m determined not to give up. Sex with Miko was one of my favorite things about being married to him, so I’ve come up with a plan. And tonight, after dinner, I’m going to put it into action.
“The sympathy we’ve garnered has strengthened our Italian alliances better than we could have imagined,” Miko adds, turning his attention back to the discussion at hand. “But we still don’t have the numbers we need to move against the Yakuza on our own.”
Raf shakes his head. “Not without the Irish.”
“And they don’t sound too keen on going against the Murrays—even if they disagree with Callum,” Sandro says.
“Which means we’re officially at a standstill,” Miko states.
I feel a twinge of sympathy for the brothers.
It seems that their plans for revenge will be in gridlock until they can recruit more fighters—but from what I’ve gathered, they’ve looked under every rock and in every hole searching for alliances.
I’m grateful that at least they all feel comfortable talking about it in front of me now.
Perhaps that’s just because they now know I can understand them in both English and Italian. But they could easily choose not to talk about it at dinner if they didn’t want me to know, so I take it as a sign of trust that makes me feel warm with acceptance.
“What do you think, Anika?” Gio asks, catching me by surprise. “Any brilliant alliances we haven’t thought of yet?”
I freeze, stunned that he would not only include me in the conversation but ask for my opinion. “Oh, um. Well, I don’t know. I mean, have you considered sending the injured men from Valentin’s raid to see if they can convince any of the Russian factions to join you?”
“I like the way you think,” Raf says, a twinkle in his gaze.
Gio rolls his eyes and leans closer to me to stage whisper conspiratorially. “That’s because he suggested the same thing.”
“Oh, of course,” I say, blushing as I realize it might be rather obvious.
“It’s a good suggestion,” Miko says warmly, taking my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
My heart promptly bursts into a frenzy, roaring past my ears and sending blood flooding to my core.
“We tried that,” he explains gently. “Unfortunately, the man who volunteered to deliver the offer was sent back with a very clear message that the Bratva would consider an alliance with us the ultimate betrayal. They don’t intend to support a Chiaroscuro returning to power.”
“A clear message, meaning…”
“They sent the man’s head back in a box,” Sandro says flatly.
I swallow hard. “Right. Got it.”
“Alright, well, now that you’ve made my wife lose her appetite…” Miko scowls at his brother before turning his attention back to me. “Anika, shall we head up?”
“Yeah,” I agree, the response coming out breathless as a shot of nerves blasts through me.
