Page 55 of Ruthless Reign

Trepidation churns in my stomach. “No. I texted him to say I was staying in London for an extra day. I missed a call from him last night, but he didn't even bother leaving a voice message.”

Roman nods, his gaze scorching my cheek. “I’ll handle this.” His voice is deep and authoritative as he takes the call. “Privet.” He doesn't say anything more for the next minute; rather, he's listening to something Anatoly is saying. Whatever it is, Roman’s face tightens with irritation. “Bad weather. Are you shitting me? The shipment’s supposed to arrive tomorrow, and I’m only just learning about this delay now?”

My back straightens as Roman’s lips part in a growl. I can’t hear what Anatoly’s saying, but I can make out his “soothing” voice over the line; he’s trying to placate Roman.

“I don’t give a fuck if the North Atlantic is unpredictable,” Roman grits out. “It was your job to build delays into the timeline. You know how tight our schedule is to get the product out to the buyers.”

The silence that follows is tense. I’ve never heard anyone talk to Anatoly like that, and I find myself holding back a little smile, oddly pleased that someone put him in his place.

“Do whatever it takes to get the delivery back on schedule,” Roman barks. “And keep me updated. I’ll be back in Russia by this afternoon.” He’s about to hang up the phone when Anatoly says something else. Roman’s eyes flick up to me. “Yes, she’s with me,” he confirms.

My throat goes dry. I’m not ready to deal with Anatoly. I was going to feign illness when we arrived home so I could put off seeing him for at least a few days.

Roman's expression hardens as he extends the phone toward me. “He wants to speak to you.”

I gather my courage and brace for the inevitable confrontation. Even though Anatoly didn’t call me back for a full day after I left him a frantic message about Sofiya, he’ll still be pissed that I didn’t take his call last night.

“Hello,” I say, twisting my hands in my lap.

“I haven’t been able to reach you. Why is your phone off?” he snaps.

“I was asleep when you called last night, and we’re flying right now. Most people turn their phone off in the air.”

“Is it also standard to deceive your fiancé?”

A heavy knot forms in the pit of my stomach. Does he know?

“I allowed you to go to London for one reason, and one reason only. Because you were with Maxim Belov’s wife. Imagine my surprise seeing her at an event in Moscow last night. So let me ask you, princess, what’s going on?”

Unease prickles along my neck, but I force a calm tone. “I wasn’t deceiving you. Kira had to leave early, but I wanted to stay for another day. If you would have returned my call earlier, you’d have known this.” When I look up, Roman's sharp gaze takes me by surprise. “And what about you,?” I huff, unable to stop myself. “Taking my sister to dinner without telling me. Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

I expect his anger, but all that comes through the line is a cruel laugh. “Calm down, Elizaveta. It was just a business dinner. As my future sister-in-law, she needs to learn how to conduct herself around my associates. You, of all people, should understand that.”

“She’s seventeen. You had no right to let her drink.”

“Like you weren’t drinking at that age? It was a glass of wine, for fuck’s sake, and you should be less worried about my actions and more worried about your own. We’re getting married in a few weeks, and sightseeing in London is your priority?”

“It was just a da?—”

“Are you alone with Roman?” The edge in his voice sends an icy sensation trickling through me—a warning that I need to play my next move carefully. If Anatoly digs too deep into my actions last night, my entire plan could fall apart.

I switch to a softer tone, one I've perfected over time. “Tolya, don’t be grumpy with me,” I coo. “I was at the spa all of yesterday. I just want to look my best for when I come home. It was no big deal.”

“I hope you enjoyed your 'freedom' because it ends now.” His voice is an ugly snarl. “Let me speak to Roman.”

My hand shakes as I reach forward. Roman’s fingers brush against mine as I pass the phone back to him, and I have the distinct sense that it’s not accidental.

He scowls at the device in his hand before answering. “What is it?” His tone is even darker than before. “Don’t worry about your fiancée; she’s in good hands. Worry about getting me my shipment in time.” He ends the call.

There’s a brief moment where neither of us says anything. He doesn’t need to; the look on Roman’s face says it all. The air thickens around us, his composure as dangerous as a loaded gun.

I open the blinds and turn toward the window, resting my head against the cool glass. From this altitude, the landscape is a distant memory, but watching the clouds pass by helps clear my mind.

Roman’s sharp intake of breath through his teeth pulls me from my wandering thoughts. When I look up to meet his stare, his fists are clenched tightly in his lap, and a muscle in his jaw tics.

“What is it?”

“Who did this to you?” Roman’s voice is dark as night.

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