Page 5 of Ruthless Reign

His eyes trail down my body and I squirm under his heated gaze. I hope he doesn’t think I’ll make time to be alone with him tonight. Honestly, I’d rather eat worms.

“Thank you,” I say, to keep the peace. “The dress is…” Slutty. “Daring.”

“With that sweet body of yours, you can pull it off.”

Over Anatoly’s shoulder, I see Kira and Maxim arrive fashionably late. Kira waves at me across the room while my parents rush to greet them.

I grin and wave back, then turn to Anatoly. “Are we done here? I have other guests to greet.”

His mouth hardens. “This dinner is important. I expect you to act accordingly.”

“I know what’s expected of me,” I say between clenched teeth.

Tonight, we’re celebrating a new and very lucrative deal between the Petroviches and the Belovs. In short, Petrovich ships will be transporting illicit goods between the Belov Syndicate in Russia, and the Brooklyn-based Kozlov Bratva, run by Kira’s brothers. Essentially, US goods will be sold in Europe and vice versa.

Everyone but me is excited about this partnership. Because Anatoly going into business with my best friend’s husband just tightens the ties that bind me to him, and that’s the last thing in the world I need.

I look down at his hand still wrapped tightly around my arm. “Can you please let me go?” I hiss. “I need to mingle.”

He releases me, but I can still feel the area where he grasped me too tightly.

“You know I just want the best for you,” he murmurs. “The best for us, but you don’t always make it easy.”

Kira’s weaving her way towards us and I’m anxious to end this conversation. I attempt the sweetest smile I can muster. “Let’s start over. You know I hate fighting with you.”

He pats my ass. “I accept your apology.”

I school my expression as Kira approaches and wraps me in her arms. She may be several inches shorter, but she has the presence of someone twice her size and hugs like her life depends on it.

Kira turns and greets Anatoly with forced politeness. She’s no fan of his. She didn’t like Anatoly when we were in school, and I can’t say she likes him any better now.

In some ways, not a lot has changed—he was as much an entitled rich snob back then as he is today. Still, his good looks and family’s name had girls lining up to date him. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t interested in him that he pursued me. I brushed him off every time, but he was relentless. He’d corner me at school dances, send me unwanted gifts, and he even broke into our dorm one night with a bouquet of flowers. Kira, who was my roommate then, nearly pushed him out the window.

I should have known tigers don’t change their stripes.

“It’s so good to see you!” Kira exclaims.

“You too. And you look amazing,” I gush, just as Maxim comes up from behind and wraps his wife in his powerful arms. “Pregnancy really agrees with you.”

“I tell her that all the time,” Maxim whispers against her neck, cradling her lower stomach with the palm of his hand, even though there’s no bump to speak of this early in her pregnancy.

“Not sure you’ll be saying that when I hit the third tri and I’m as big as a whale and can’t tie my shoelaces.”

“Sounds hot,” he purrs. “I’ll gladly get down on my knees and tie your shoes for you.”

A sly smile spreads on Kira’s face. “I'll take you up on that offer."

Not in a million years did I imagine Maxim—the cold-as-ice bratva leader—would melt for anyone, especially my wild-child best friend, but that’s exactly what happened. Seeing them happy together is wonderful, but it also brings a twinge of sadness. It’s a reminder that I’ll never experience what they have.

Kira loops her arm around Maxim’s neck and drops a kiss on his lips. “Why don’t you men folk go talk about business stuff? I need time alone with Liza.”

Maxim gives me a wink and leads Anatoly towards the bar.

With a sneer, Kira watches my fiancé walk away. I can only imagine what she’d do if she knew about the bruise I’m hiding.

I link my arm through hers as we head into the sitting room, where most of the guests are mingling with champagne in hand. Soft jazz music wafts through the air, played by a pianist on a grand piano in the corner. I don't want to know how much my parents paid for that stupid luxury.

“I know you hate when people fuss over you,” I say, “but how are you feeling? Really.”

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