He grunted. His sister smiled at him so he grunted again.
Now it was Muhammad whose arms were folded across his chest. He sat there and stared at Viviana, waiting for her to act like her usual bitchy self. He didn’t have to wait long.
“You see how easy it is to get along when you don’t order people aroundand tell them what to do even when they are in the right?” she asked pointedly. He knew Viviana was referring to his idiotic comment about her rude behavior. “And by the way? If you ever take a second wife I am so out of here.” She splayed her hands. “Let’s just get that out of the way now.”
Jamila nodded. “Begin as you mean to go on, daughter.”
“Agreed,” his traitor of a sister piped in. “And I want it in whatever marriage contract you sign on my behalf that my marriage is annulled if the man who is to be my husband ever takes another wife.”
Muhammad was too busy staring athiswife to answer that with more than a grunt of accession. Viviana had, however unwittingly, shown jealousy and possessiveness toward him he hadn’t known she felt. It wasn’t everything, but it was a damn good start. It gave him hope that there could be happiness between them over the long haul.
“I can barely handleyou,” Muhammad barked at his wife. “The last time I was given no choice because my father insisted I wed them both for political reasons. NowIam the Shithead Sheikh in charge and I already married who I desired!”
All three women burst into laughter. Muhammad frowned at them.
He couldn’t wait to reach his palace in Raqqah. A glass of wine was calling to him.
Chapter Nine
Viviana spent hours touring the palace and grounds. The estate was massive, perched on approximately twelve hectares of grassy alcoves and sandy beach. Mature fruit trees were in abundance, growing everything from bananas, olives, dates, and figs to fruits she suspected had been imported, such as apples, oranges, and mangos.
It was truly a desert oasis, complete with its own private beach on the Persian Gulf. The palace itself gave off an “Old Arabia meets modern influences” kind of feel. Blending in with its natural surroundings, the hue of the exterior walls shifted in color with the position of the sun. She had taken the time to look around the fortress's lavish inside first, but it was the simplistic outside, specifically the view of the Gulf from the date tree she sat under, that was already her favorite place. Viviana absently toyed with themahrnecklace she wore as she stared at the orange-red sun preparing to dip behind the vast blue waters and sleep for the night.
“It’s beautiful, is it not.”
She hadn’t heard Muhammad approach. Viviana replied, even though his question had been asked like a statement. “Yes. It truly is.”
He sat down beside her and held out an open palm. Two plump dates sat inside his cupped hand. “Thank you.” She took one and popped it into her mouth. “These are even sweeter than the ones in Syria.”
Muhammad was quiet for a long moment. Viviana assumed he was simply watching the sun set as she was.
“I told you yourmahrwould come in two parts,” he said, snagging her attention.
“That’s right, you did.” Her forehead crinkled as she regarded him. She had forgotten that until he’d reminded her just now. “What was the second part?”
“Information.”
“Information?”
“Naam.”Yes.
“What kind of information?”
Muhammad handed her an envelope. “This wasn’t easy to procure and it took me all this time to do so.” He stood up. “I hope it gives you the peace you seek.”
Viviana’s eyebrows knit together as she watched him walk toward the palace. When he was out of sight, she turned back toward the setting sun and opened the envelope. The contents made her hands tremble.
“General Qabbani,”she said aloud, her nostrils flaring. The same asshole that had raided the CIA installation three years past. The same monster responsible for the rapes and deaths of so many of her female colleagues. The brutal sadist who’d ordered the beheadings of several male co-workers on live television. The sick fuck that had enslaved Marisol, Kendra, Michaela, and Marie…
Viviana shook with a tumultuous mix of rage and heartache. It had taken over five years to acquire the name of the devil responsible for the murder of her parents, but now she had it. General Qabbani.
* * * * *
Muhammad heard Viviana enter their apartments, but didn’t glance up. He doubted possessing the knowledge of who had killed her parents would bring her peace, but hopefully at least his wife could find some semblance of closure.
“He is a sick demon who doesn’t deserve to be alive.”
Muhammad smiled without humor as he sipped from his glass of red, Parisian wine. He didn’t pretend not to know exactly whom Viviana was talking about. “Do you wish to be his executioner?”
