Page 30 of Mafia King's Bride

“So,” she rubs her palms, “tell me, Anastasia. Wait, should I call you that?”

My wife laughs—a soft sound that carries a hidden lilt.

“Yes, that’s fine. Although there’s only one other person that calls me by my full name.”

“My brother?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just someone I used to see as a father figure.”

Yelena nods. “Well, I like your name a lot. As I was saying, how does it feel to live under the same roof as my brother? I’ve had years to get used to him, but it’s like living with a ghost—a man without feelings. Sometimes you just want to shake him until the screws that keep his emotions under lock come undone.”

Ana’s gaze cuts to me, and her raised eyebrows, with the slight tilt of her head, convey her astonishment.

I press my lips together, my gaze penetrating hers. “You know why I’m like this.”

She arches one brow. “I see.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Yelena’s voice has us both turning to her at the same time.

Ana shakes her head. “Nope. Nothing. It’s like you said,” she smiles, pulling her hair to the side, “he barely shows any emotion. But then again,” she cuts me with a glance, “it’s not like he owes me anything. I’m fine being the only funny one.”

Yelena throws her head back and laughs.

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you! You have the sense of humor that my dear brother is sorely lacking.”

Ana delivers a reply that’s meant for me. “We can’t all be detached tyrants. Some of us need to have upbeat personalities.”

I don’t have to be told to my face to know who I am in this scenario.

“I’m curious about you, though,” she changes the subject while I stab my chicken. “Where have you been?”

While my sister entertains Ana with her travels, I stare at my plate, trying to burn holes into it. I nibble my Caesar salad while I try not to listen to their conversation. My attempts have me staring at random places in the dining room until my eyes softly land on Ana.

Her hand reaches up to the back of her neck, fingers lightly grazing the delicate skin. The simple gesture pulls my gaze in,fixating on the graceful curve. When she drops her hand back down, I catch a glimpse of the thin necklace resting against her throat, the tiny pendant drawing my eyes to the pale column of her neck.

The smooth skin begs to be touched.

I can’t help my thoughts as they imagine tracing the line of her throat with my fingertips, feeling the subtle pulse beneath the surface.

As she tilts her head slightly, I’m entranced by the elegant slope, wishing I could press my lips against that vulnerable spot just below her jaw. I’m reminded of the night I saw her sleeping on the couch, when I was drawn to her for the first time since we got married.

Then, the party.

The dress she wore, the way it hugged her curves, transformed her into a sensuous, almost irresistible creature. It seems the night she fell asleep on the couch unlocked a part of me that can no longer see Anastasia Petrov as a means to an end.

Every time my gaze falls on her, I’m reminded that she’s a beautiful woman with words that can cut through stone. She’s gorgeous, smart, spirited, more than I bargained for.

“Dmitri?”

I hear Yelena call my name, and I blink rapidly, pushing away my thoughts to focus on the present.

“Yes?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. “You were thinking about work, weren’t you?”

No.

“Yeah. Anything you need?”

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