***
“That’s not the way back?” She sounds uncertain, and an accusation lurks beneath her words.
Slowly, I turn my head to face her. I guess she wasn’t in the haze that I’d thought she was on the way to the restaurant. It bodes well, though, that she’s got enough backbone to question it.
“Nope,” I agree cheerfully.
We’re headed for Newbury Street. I already texted the driver, Otto, that. It’s just fun to keep her guessing. I’ve given her more than enough information tonight.
Besides, there’s a soft furrow between her brows that I greatly enjoy.
Typically, I hate to let anyone drive me places. Call it control issues, if you want. But it’s mostly that no one drives fucking fast enough. That said, it does offer the perk of getting to pour my attention on my wife. She’s a strange creature.
The evening hasn’t been what I’d expected. That’s how I like them. This one has exposed a handful of Janella’s depths.
For a man who’s been surveilling a fairly accomplished criminal for months now, it means something when I say she’s a conundrum.
Janella is the same woman who let herself be degraded by her father, sold like chattel. She flinched when Ivan brought that first-aid kit… and she offered for me to fuck her insteadof offering her the protection of the Yuri name. With the same mouth, she’d admonished me for being crass over dinner tonight.
Regardless, even now that I’ve told her the bare bones of the weight that name holds in this town, I still suspect she’d rather I let her go.
She’s smarter than she wants to let on. Her tongue sharpens itself—a weapon she’s prepared to wield when she must. She can spar with me just fine. Yet there is an innate sweetness to her, too—in how she scowled at me until I tipped twenty percent, the tender way she thanked every server who brought a dish or took it away.
When I’d tried to test her by ordering for her, she’d let me. But she’d fought with me about the wine, telling me Château Pétrus paired better with steak than the bottle of Caymus I’d been ordering. And she’d been right. Then she’d told me that her mother had been a part-time waitress when she met her father. By the time she died, she’d owned the café next door to that restaurant. There was no bitterness in her voice when she talked about her parents—only… yearning.
She clamped up immediately when I pressed her about it.
But she hadn’t blinked twice when she’d asked me, point-blank, if I’d ever killed someone. Nor quivered when I told her that, yes, I’d killed more than I could count on two hands.
Yet, “Oh my God,” she chokes out, stunned, when the car comes to a stop in front of Valentino.
“You said,” I point out, “the clothes weren’t to your taste.”
Janella balks. “I—”
“Said it was fine, yes. Surrendering to your fate. I get it. Very impressive.” I clap my hands twice, mocking. “That isn’t how Yuris live. And that is what you are now.”
“Iosif,” she sighs, her eyes dropping to the ground.
“Get out of the car, Janella.”
The store’s windows glow white and gold. She gets out of the car but stalls in front of them. I watch her hesitate, like she’s a vampire who needs to be invited in.
“After you,” I insist, gesturing grandly. “Unless you’d prefer that I carry you?”
Ah, nowthatgets her moving.
As soon as we enter, an immaculately primped woman approaches us. Her smile is all professional ease. “Good evening. How may I help you today?”
“My wife needs a new wardrobe,” I declare, catching the way Janella’s eyes turn to saucers in my periphery. She is not subtle. We’ll have to work on that. “We’ll see everything. Money is no object.”
The saleswoman’s eyes light up.
“Of course, sir,” she chirps eagerly. “Right this way!”
She leads us deeper into the store. I can tell Janella is trying to be inconspicuous, but she isn’t succeeding. She’s still wide-eyed and wowed.
From what I know of Driscoll, he may not be a billionaire, but he rakes in a fine revenue from his operation. Surely, Janella shouldn’t be this dazzled by a run-of-the-mill designer store.
