Page 105 of Ivory Ashes

Especially because the more I know about Viviana’s potentially traumatic past, the easier it will be to murder every single person responsible for it.

“You’re right: it’s not a bad idea; it’s a terrible idea,” Anatoly snaps. “Things with Viv are fragile.”

I frown. “‘Viv’? Since when do you call my wife by a nickname?”

“Since I got to know her the old-fashioned way,” he says smugly. “By talking to her. I’d try that before you let Raoul go poking around in her history.”

“I asked her what was up last night and she wouldn’t answer.”

“I can only imagine how hard you tried,” Anatoly spits sourly. “Demanding answers from someone isn’t the same as talking to them. You have to give a little to get a little.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you telling me to fuck it out of her?”

My cock twitches at the idea. It wouldn’t take much to get the rest of me on board, too.

“You two don’t need any encouragement where that’s concerned.” Anatoly shudders. “But no, I’m suggesting you tell your wife a little bit about yourself and hope that she reciprocates. It’s how normal people build lasting relationships.”

“You don’t know shit about a lasting relationship.”

“You know a lot less than you realize,” he mutters.

For a split second, I wonder if Anatoly is interested in Viviana. It would explain the nickname and why he seems to know how to connect with her.

But… no, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

“Besides,” I continue, “Viviana and I don’t have a relationship; we have a business deal. A mutually-beneficial arrangement.”

“So does that mean you want me to—” Raoul starts, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

The woman from the first floor front desk—J… Janie? Jackie?—opens the door, an extravagant bouquet of twenty-four roses in her arms.

“These arrived for you, Mr. Novikov,” she explains. “The delivery driver was tired of coming all the way up here every day, so he left them with me.”

I wave for her to place them on the table. “Thank you.”

“They’re beautiful.” She breathes them in one last time before she leaves.

“Viv will love those,” Anatoly grumbles.

The first day I brought her into my office, Viviana thought the flowers on my desk meant I was married. But Anatoly wasn’t there for that.

“How do you know?”

“The closet I pulled her out of,” he explains, “was in the guest room where Stella has been storing all of your many, many bouquets from Helen. Viviana looked like she wanted to kick over the coffee table on her way out of the room yesterday.”

Helen’s existence is an ongoing problem. Her insistence is even worse. I never wanted to marry her in the first place. The engagement was a practical matter—the easiest way to get access to the ports I wanted and make sure the Greeks were happy.

Now, she sends me two dozen roses per day as a sign of her devotion to me. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about another woman around the clock and running out of dumpster space to throw away the fucking flowers.

“What are you going to do about Helen?” Raoul asks.

I have no idea.

I do, however, have a plan for the flowers.

“Deliver those flowers to my assistant once our meeting is over, Anatoly.” I can hear the board members gathering in the hallway outside. The meeting hasn’t even started and I’m already anxious for it to end. “And make sure the note is visible.”

Anatoly glances down at the card and sighs. “Of course. Ignore my advice and goad her into another fight. That’ll help.”

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