Page 77 of Shackled

My God, I will fucking castrate him with a steak knife.

I make coffee and pour it into a cup. When I open the door, I’m not surprised to find three guards standing like a barrier in my path.

“You can’t pass, Mrs. Romanova.”

Of course they’ll tell me this.

I make a sound of disgust. “First, my God, I’m no Mrs. Romanova. There are plenty of those to go around. I’m Isabella, thank you, though you can call me Miss.” I look down my nose, gathering up all the authority I can and funneling it into one withering look. “Have you seen my husband?”

“Not since last night, ma’am,” a tall, beefy guy with a shaved head says. “He said to keep you safe.”

Keep me safe, or keep me here? After what Renata said, I don’t know what the truth is.

I text him again, but it goes unanswered.

I told the girls I would give them their second class today, so whether he’s here or not is irrelevant. I’m going to keep my promise.

“Move,” I snap at the guard.

“No, ma’am.”

“My God, there’s a difference between miss and ma’am. I am hardly an old lady.” He gives me a once-over. “If my husband saw the way you just looked at me, you’d lose those fucking eyes.”

He whips his head away from me as quickly as he can. I’m not bluffing, though. Lev would kill him.

Would he?

Or has this all been part of an act?

Lev doesn’t act, though. That’s not part of his character. His bold honesty is one of the things I love best about him.

Love.

If he’s cheating on me, I’m going to kill him.

“Move,” I snap to the guard. “You do not want to block me right now.”

“If you go, I’ll have to tell Mr. Romanov.”

“Go! Do it. Maybe he’ll actually show his fucking face, then.”

I shove past the guard. He reaches for me, but I stop him by swiveling my camera on and capturing him on video. “Go ahead. Touch me again. Let’s see what my husband says when he sees this video I’ll send him.”

The guard tosses his hands in the air.

I stalk past him toward the small, silver Lexus Lev gave me when we came home after our honeymoon and head straight for the Romanovs.

I glance at my phone.

No response.

If he’s still alive, I might kill him.

When I arrive, my mother-in-law, Ekaterina, stands on the front step, waving to me adorably. Something catches in my throat, and I have to look away. I don’t want anyone to see me cry. I’ve never had anyone be so glad to see me before.

I quickly get myself together and exit.

“Morning!” she says. “I have pastry and coffee for everyone, but most of the girls are ready to dive right in. Did you want to grab something to eat?”

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