Page 45 of Mafia King's Bride

I let out a breath, slowly, purposefully, before meeting her gaze again. “What exactly do you think this little performance is going to achieve?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You think you’re going to intimidate me? I’m the one with his last name,” I continue, my confidence creeping back with each word. “You claim to know why he married me,” I pause, letting my words linger in the air before the punchline hits, “but why didn’t he choose you? If he wanted you so badly, I think we both know he’d have found a way.”

I see the shift in her, the crumbling of that arrogant front. Her arms, once cockily crossed, slowly drop to her sides as the reality of my words sinks in.

She’s scrambling.

I step in closer, my voice soft but sharp. “Spare me the theatrics, Lucia. I’m very secure in my position as Dmitri’s wife. If you want to be his mistress,” I shrug casually, “go ahead.”

Lucia’s face contorts with fury as she spits out her parting shot, “You’ll regret your words when I’m moving into your house and sleeping in his room, right under your nose.”

With that, she turns on her heel and storms off, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, the sound ringing in the aftermath of her departure.

Yelena steps forward, eyes wide, mouth agape. “You—you’re a beast!”

I manage a smile, but my hands, still trembling from the exchange, are hidden behind my back. My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest I can barely hear anything else. A beast? No. I don’t feel like one. I feel vulnerable.

“You’re the best sister-in-law ever,” Yelena gushes, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug. I return the embrace, but I can’t shake the unease settling in my stomach.

I said what I had to say to Lucia, but her words are still echoing in my mind. What if there’s something I don’t know? What if, despite everything, she is right about Dmitri? If she’s had him once, what’s stopping him from going back to her?

We might share a home—we might have fucked once—but there’s no real commitment between us. Nothing binding him to me except a last name and a contract. If he decides to see other women, I won’t be able to stop him.

The real question, the one that gnaws at the edges of my confidence, is what I’ll do if I find out I’m not the only one sharing his bed.

SIXTEEN

DMITRI

I slide the file across the desk, watching as Igor Pavlov scrambles to open it like it holds the secret to saving his skin. It does—just not in the way he thinks. He flips through the pages hurriedly, glancing up at me with those darting, nervous eyes. Desperate men never read the fine print. That’s why I like doing business with them.

“As I promised,” I say, tapping the folder with my finger, “the paperwork for the casino project. All you need to do is sign.”

I push the pen toward him, watching him swallow hard. The clock’s ticking, and I know he’s feeling the heat. He needs this deal to go through. The former owners gave him a deadline, and he’s on the edge of losing everything.

He won’t bother reading the part where I take full control after a year. Not until it’s too late.

Igor hesitates when he gets to the signature page, looking up at me with a pathetic attempt at confidence. “How’re we working out the investment? What’s the interest? How long do I have to pay you back?”

I drum my fingers on the desk, letting the tension build before I respond. “I’ll take ten percent of your annual profits for ten years. No payback necessary.”

His eyes widen like I’ve just handed him the winning lottery ticket. “That’s...generous. Too generous.”

I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression calm. “Is it? With the plan I’ve got, those casinos will bring in more than double the purchase cost in the first year alone. You’ll be swimming in money.”

His tongue flicks out nervously to wet his lips. He doesn’t realize he’s about to sign away his empire.

“I see. Okay,” he mutters, his voice shaky, but he picks up the pen anyway. I don’t take my eyes off him as he scribbles his name on the dotted line. The ink dries, and with it, his fate.

“Thank you,” I say smoothly, pulling the file back toward me, tucking it away. “I’ll be in touch.”

Igor leans forward, his desperation showing again. “Don’t you need me for something? I mean, I get to have a say in the renovation, right? I’ve got ideas I thought about implementing.”

I stifle the urge to laugh. His ideas? Not happening. I give him a quick shake of my head. “Don’t worry. I’ll consider your suggestions. But for now, let me handle things. I didn’t leave you hanging, did I? You should trust me by now.”

He chuckles nervously, trying to keep up appearances. “I trust you, Dmitri. Hell, I was one of the few people who supported you when the alliance was first proposed, remember?”

Oh, I remember. I also remember how he tried to stab me in the back when I was grieving my father. But I don’t show that. Not yet.

“Why don’t we celebrate?” Igor’s trying to lighten the mood, offering an olive branch he doesn’t realize I’ll break over his head later. “I know the perfect place. Hell, I’m thinking of buying the bar next. Elite clients, beautiful women?—”

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