Dynamic.
That’s cute.
Like she has any idea what this is. Like any of them do.
But arguing with another man’s wife in his house while everybody’s already standing in a powder keg of fear and bad blood isn’t worth it.
So I let Ayla’s arm go. Immediately she takes half a step back.
Away from me.
Adriana turns to her, voice softening as she speaks and I leave.
Because this whole house is making me tired.
Because Ivan will get her later and I’ll come home to her stubborn anger and fuck the frustration out of us both.
But mostly because if Santo looks at her one more fucking time, I might shoot him in his brothers doorway just to make a point.
Chapter 39
Ayla
The blonde.
Vasilisa.
That’s the one Vera asked about.
I see it now—the resemblance. Same hair. Same blue eyes. Same delicate kind of beauty, except younger. Softer in the face.
But she’s a bitch.
She asked if Maksim was keeping me against my will, then immediately started circling around whether I liked him.
I hate that my face gets hot at the question.
Then she asks again, less like she wants an answer and more like she’s already decided she knows it.
“Youlikehim?”
The brunette asks it kinder. “Do you… like Maksim?”
Before I can answer, Vasilisa cuts in again. “He’s not a nice man.”
Nice.
Like that matters.
Like any man in our world is nice.
“Neither is Santo,” I shoot back.
That gets her.
She takes slow steps toward me, those stilettos clicking against the floor until she’s close enough to look me straight in the eye. Maksim’s gun is still in her hand.
“You know my husband?” she challenges, jealousy sparking bright in her eyes.
