Leonid grins at me, having a fucking ball.
But I’m not. I don’t even recognize my life anymore. This one, where I spend all my time mooning over mywife,who I’ll never be right for. Who any member of my family, in an absurdly short amount of time, manages to adore.
What the fuck is it about her?
It doesn’t matter how much I stay away. She’s still in my head. She’s still under my fucking skin.
And I know why.
When I’m with her, there’s no fluctuation in my interest. I push her, and she pushes me back, unlike anyone else. Somehow, she spools out some goddamn version of me that remembers what it felt like to be a kid, before hard lessons about weakness and strength.
Whether I like it or not, she makes me want to build shit instead of just blowing it up. Nothing loosens her hold on me, not even the lurking fact that anything that stands can be knocked down.
I’ve never believed in anything that doesn’t come with a body count.
This shouldn’t be a big deal. All my life, I’ve been reckless. There’s a reason I’m known for it. I’m the one who leaps off thebridge. I take the risks no one else will, and most of the time they pay off. Most of the time, it’s fucking fun.
I can make it work.
Why is this time different? Why is she?
Why can’t I run away from how it bites so much harder when it isn’t just my life on the line, but hers?
Chapter 14 - Janella
My hands bury themselves in my hair, undoing the knot I’d piled my hair into and shaking the waves out. But it’s no use. The restless melancholia in my bones is unshakeable. It has been for days now.
I slam the door of his dark, empty office shut behind me. Even sleuthing has lost its luster to me. Neither answers nor escape are to be found in any corner of this decadent, awful penthouse.
God knows Iosif isn’t either.
At this point, I’m certain even stern, dispassionate Oksana pities me.
I wish—I really, really do—that any of it was enough to get me to give up and go to bed. To hate him and regret him and damn him to hell. To be satisfied with leaving it at that. I should. If I were smart, that’s what I would do.
Hadn’t Leonid more or less confirmed the other night, how stupid I’d been to have sex with a certified manwhore?
“He’s never slept with the same woman twice,” had been Leo’s exact words. Darya and Nadya had sheepishly confirmed it yesterday over lunch.
Clearly, Iosif’s reputation precedes him.
Who would I be, though, if I gave up? How would I have survived my life? Whether it is a good thing or a bad one is a matter of opinion. That I deserve more than being captured, captivated, used, and discarded is a matter of fact. And whether he likes it or not, my husband is going to confront that fact tonight.
So—Fuck going to bed.
The only place my feet walk me to is the kitchen. It’s two in the morning, and I’m brewing a pot of tea. He has to come home sooner or later.
***
I awaken to a cool hand cradling my cheek. Sleepy as a kitten, I tip into the touch. My eyelids are too heavy to lift. Yet, “Silly girl,” Iosif’s deep timber vibrates above me, and my eyes fly open all the same.
“You’re here,” I croak.
“I live here,” he points out.
I frown. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Without another word, he lifts me in his arms and sweeps me off the couch. My arms fly around his neck of their own accord. Despite my frustration, my body relaxes against his. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, knowing this won’t last. Nothing with Iosif seems to, except for the constant mixed signals.
