In the elevator, she keeps her distance, causing my hand to twitch with the urge to press the stop button, back her into the wall, and kiss her senseless.
This is the opposite of how I envisioned our marriage.
She climbs into the back of the car, my eyes trailing after her until she disappears. Only then do I get into my silver Wiesmann, needing to drive today so I can focus on something else. But not even my favorite car helps distract me.
The moment I greet my assistant, she pushes herself off the desk and follows me into my office. Carrying a stack of reports, she bombards me with names and appointments when all I’d like to do is be done with work and return home to my wife.
Everyone wants something from me, acting as if I am the only one capable of solving shit and getting things done. I guess I wouldn’t be where I am without that capacity.
I gesture for the folders, skimming through them. I am a control freak, so nothing happens without my knowledge, and I demand daily progress reports. Since I don’t need much sleep, I always finish my workload. My days are twenty hours long, and I accomplish numerous tasks in that time.
Throughout the day, everything drags on, as if someone is trying to sabotage my plans of going home sooner. In a small break, I order a bouquet of pink peonies and some high-end pralines, hoping the flowers and the sweets I send her on her first day will smooth my absence.
In the past, I scheduled time for her, but those interactions occurred on weekends. I crammed everything work-related during the week so I could enjoy some undisturbed time with her.
With various buildings under construction and renovations ensuing, something always demands my attention.
After I visit the site where a crane crashed, I meet with the mayor for the gala he is organizing. Being his top donor, he needs me to show my face while he gives me some land that was unbuyable until now.
I am about to leave the restaurant when I run into Demyan.
We’re staring each other down, and he points toward the restaurant. “Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon instead of kissing the mayor’s ass?”
My jaw sets in a hard line. It takes immense willpower not to squish this vermin. “It’s called collaboration, but you wouldn’t know a thing about that. That’s why you rule over the trashy side, and I play in the big league.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Keep doing that. You ask, I take. That’s the difference between us.”
I shoulder him, and he gets in my face. “How I’d like to break that fucking face of yours.”
I jerk my chin at him just as eager for a confrontation, and blow off some steam. “Why don’t you try?”
“It wouldn’t be worth it,” he grits out.
Hmm, interesting. “Maybe I should ask around why the sudden change. Are you dying?”
“Ah, fucker, I am not leaving this world before you. Say hello to your sister for me.”
In an instant, I wrap my hand around his throat, not caring who could see me. Distant gasps reach my ears, but the rage coursing through my blood makes me murderous. “Don’t even think about that.”
In a swift move, he escapes my hold and brushes some invisible lint from his suit jacket. These fucking Russians are machines with no fear of dying. It’s like their mothers breastfed them insanity with a pinch of violence.
I expect him to attack me. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve hidden in a corner to beat each other. It’s a stalemate. Everything is with this asshole. We’ve tried to take the other out for years, sabotaging each other until we divided New York.
“You should have kept her hidden.” The threat is unmistakable.
I stab a finger at him and gnash my teeth. “You touch her, you die. It’s that simple. Mark my fucking words. No one will save you from my wrath.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, a manic grin stretching on the lunatic’s face. “If it’s worth dying for someone, it’s for a woman. You should know that now.”
Fucking asshole.
Then I drive to my restaurant slash club and meet with the manager. It’s a money laundering front providing a diversion for my other business.
It’s here I kill and the farm is where I deliver the corpses.
It’s already nine p.m. and listening to my men whining and arguing at the meeting will cost me another two hours.
I pluck out my phone and send her a text.
