Page 18 of His Tesoro

“My sister and I were trying to figure out how to get one for me, but they’re really expensive, and we didn’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean, they’re expensive?”

Sofiya gave me a confused expression. “They cost a lot of money?”

“Your father is head of the Bratva. He has almost unlimited money.”

“Mila and I don’t, though,” she said, smiling sadly.

“He didn’t give you an allowance?”

She shook her head. Motherfucking bastard.

I ran my hand through my hair. “So how did you get this?” I gestured at her chair.

Sofiya buried her face in her hands. “Please don’t judge me. I know I’m a horrible person, but we were getting desperate. I hadn’t been able to leave my bed for weeks and Mila was panicking, so she convinced our bodyguard to help her break into a medical supply store and steal this.”

I waited for her to say more, but she remained silent.

“And?”

“And what?” Sofiya responded, her voice rising. “This is a stolen wheelchair. It’s not custom or anything, so it’s not like someone was waiting for it, but it’s still horrible.” Her eyes snapped to mine and she reached out to touch my hand. “It’s not Mila’s fault. I made her do it.” Her voice carried an edge of panic, as if she thought I was about to whip out my phone to report a crime.

My lips twitched. My innocent little wife.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you had to steal a wheelchair that clearly doesn’t fit you because your father wouldn’t give you money for one, and you thought I’d be most upset about the theft?”

“Stealing is wrong,” Sofiya said seriously.

I gripped her chin. “You were a Bratva princess, and now you’re a Mafia queen. You’re surrounded by much worse criminals than wheelchair thieves.”

Sofiya gave me a reluctant smile. “That’s what Mila said.”

“Are things better since you got it?”

“Yeah, it’s been better,” she said softly.

“What did your father do when he saw it?”

“Oh… he didn’t know about it until the morning of the wedding.”

I cocked an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “Mila and I pretty much stayed in the east wing of the second floor. We rarely saw our parents.” She cleared her throat. “He wasn’t happy when he saw it, though. That’s why he refused to walk me down the aisle.”

A muscle ticked in my jaw.

I was a cold man. It was who I’d been created to be, who I had to be. But it was hard not to feel something when staring into Sofiya’s big blue eyes.

“You need to engage your core and keep your elbows in when doing shoulder presses.”

She blinked at the abrupt change in topic.

I picked up the two dumbbells and handed them to Sofiya before pushing off the bench and standing behind her. I caught her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror covering the back wall of the gym. She was all light—bright hair, bright eyes—to my darkness. My eyes trailed down her body. From this position, I could enjoy all her curves—the spread of her thighs, the soft roll of her stomach, the way her hard nipples pressed against her top. My fingers itched to move, to touch, to figure out why she had such an effect on me.

She sat up straight, clenching the weights in her hands, and lifted them above her head.

“Keep your elbows soft,” I said, tracing my fingers up her arms. She inhaled sharply and the sound went straight to my cock.

---