Page 19 of Mafia King's Bride

Her hair is spilled in wild curls across the cushion, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. She sighs softly, lips slightly parted as she breathes. Something stirs inside me—something I don’t want to acknowledge—as I take in the peacefulvulnerability on her face. There’s a strange beauty to her in this moment, something I hadn’t noticed before.

I reach out, my hand moving of its own accord, and then stop, yanking it back like I’ve been burned.

What the hell am I doing?

This is the woman who despises me, the woman I should be indifferent toward. So why do I suddenly feel this pull toward her, this strange sense of…something?

I shake my head, disturbed by the foreign thoughts creeping into my mind.

“Sir,” Janet’s voice cuts through the silence, startling me.

“I’m going to bed,” I say quickly, stepping away from Ana as if I’ve been caught doing something wrong. “Wake Mrs. Orlov.”

“Of course, sir.”

Without another word, I make my way up the stairs, gripping the banister tighter than necessary, my mind replaying the moment over and over. What’s wrong with me? There’s no reason I should be thinking about her this way.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. I head to the shower, turning the water hotter than usual, hoping it’ll burn away the thoughts swirling in my head. I scrub my hair, my body, anything to feel clean again—anything to erase the image of Ana’s sleeping face from my mind.

But the more I try to wash it away, the more it lingers, like a stain I can’t remove.

And that irritates me more than anything else.

SEVEN

ANA

“Mr. Benjamin,” I say, rising from my desk as the door opens. He walks in, all smiles and swagger. I know who he is immediately—one of those state-level politicians who once ran for governor and lost spectacularly. His opponent was just more conniving, more willing to play dirty.

“Mrs. Orlov,” he greets me, extending his hand with that politician’s grin. It’s wide, practiced. His shake is too firm, borderline painful. I pull away quickly and rub my hand against my skirt, sitting back down and reminding myself this is just another client.

“I’ve read through your case, Mr. Benjamin,” I start, trying to keep it professional. “I want to assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to?—”

“You’re married to Dmitri Orlov, aren’t you?” he interrupts, leaning in with that same grin.

I nod, my stomach tightening. I hate when people bring up my marriage, especially in the office. It’s like they don’t see me anymore—just his name, attached to mine.

“Nice,” he says, still smiling, like he’s just uncovered some hidden gem. He reaches out again, taking my hand, and I resist the urge to pull back. “I know your father. Nikolai Petrov—niceman. But it’s your husband I’ve been trying to meet. Dmitri Orlov. I need his help with something.”

His grip tightens on my hand, and I pull it back sharply this time, my irritation barely contained. What does this have to do with his case?

“He’s a busy man,” Benjamin continues, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. “But I’m running for governor again, and I know he has influence. Could you set up a meeting? Tell him about me?”

And there it is. I should’ve known.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice even. “What does this have to do with your case, Mr. Benjamin?”

His grin widens, the kind of grin that tells me he thinks he’s being clever. “Oh, nothing, really. I just needed to see you. Figured you could help me with your husband.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just waste my time. “I didn’t mean to lie to your boss, but I wasn’t sure you’d see me otherwise.”

The nerve.

I clench my jaw, but keep my tone polite—too polite, considering how I feel. “If you don’t have business here, Mr. Benjamin, I suggest you leave. I have other clients to attend to.”

He leans in again, that same stupid smile on his face, as if he hasn’t understood a single word. “So, will you tell your husband? I’m free tomorrow, and the?—”

“No,” I snap, cutting him off. I’ve had enough. “I won’t be acting as a middleman between you and anyone, Mr. Benjamin. If you want to see Dmitri, go to his office, not mine.”

He frowns, finally moving out of my personal space, clearly not understanding why I’m angry. Of course, he doesn’t. Men like him never do.

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