Page 80 of Mafia King's Bride

I say nothing for a long moment, studying him like the specimen he is. If he were anyone else, his tells would be obvious—darting eyes, crossed arms, flushed face. But Nikolai Petrov isn’t just anyone. He’s a respectedpakhan, feared and connected. Which makes this whole charade all the more suspicious.

“I’m sure you know that Ana told me about the visit to your house,” I finally say, deciding to lay my cards on the table. “Now, if you want to reconcile with your daughter, that’s one thing. But the man who took her from you? We both know there is no love lost between us, Petrov.”

He chuckles, rubbing his chin. “You’re your father’s son, after all.”

I shrug, unmoved by the comparison. “Forgive me if I’m unwilling to accept things without scrutiny.”

The conversation dances around the real issue, with Nikolai spouting more platitudes about protecting what he loves. As if I’d believe for a second that he sees Ana as anything more than a chess piece.

“And you think mending fences will ensure her safety?” I finish for him, my tone making it clear I’m not buying what he’s selling.

I stand, pacing behind my desk. The truth is, I do love Ana. But our marriage was meant to be Nikolai’s punishment, and I can’t let him see any weakness.

“I might have taken Ana from you,” I say, turning to face him, “but you’re the one at fault. Why would I continue to punish her?”

Something flashes behind his eyes, something cold and unforgiving. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I should thank you, then. Someone else would’ve made her pay the price.”

“I’m not anybody else,” I say curtly. “And you should know that. I spared you a fate that would’ve sent you into hiding.”

The mask slips for just a moment, revealing the disdain beneath. But Nikolai recovers quickly, smoothing his expression back to neutrality.

As he prepares to leave, he has the audacity to suggest we might work together in the future. I give him a noncommittal “We’ll see,” though we both know it’s never going to happen.

I watch Nikolai’s retreating back as he leaves my office, my mind already dissecting every word, every gesture from our little chat. The old fox thinks he’s clever, coming here with his paper-thin apologies and talk of reconciliation.

I settle back into my chair, a humorless smirk playing on my lips. “Fucking Petrov,” I mutter, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

This wasn’t about making amends. No, this was reconnaissance. The bastard’s still sore about losing Ana, still can’t stomach the fact that I outplayed him at his own game. And now he’s fishing, trying to gauge how much influence he might still have over his daughter.

Over my wife.

My fingers drum a steady rhythm on the armrest as I replay our conversation. Nikolai’s tells were subtle, I’ll give him that. But I didn’t climb to the top of this bloody heap by missing details. The way his eyes tightened when I mentioned Ana, the slight twitch in his jaw when I brought up his past mistakes. Oh yes, the great Nikolai Petrov is planning something.

“You want to dance, old man?” I murmur to the empty room. “Let’s dance.”

I reach for my phone, speed-dialing Jakob. “Increase surveillance on Petrov,” I order without preamble. “I want to know every move he makes, every breath he takes. If he so much as sneezes, I want to know what brand of tissue he uses.”

As I hang up, my gaze drifts to the photo on my desk, Ana’s smiling face looking back at me. For a moment, my expression softens. She’s the wild card in all this, the one variable I can’t fully predict or control. And God help me, I love her for it.

But love is a luxury in our world, and Nikolai just proved he’s still a threat. I won’t let him use Ana as a pawn again, even if it means shielding her from the ugly truth about her father.

“You’re out of your league, Petrov,” I say to the empty chair across from me. “You just don’t know it yet.”

I turn back to my laptop, fingers flying over the keys as I set new plans in motion. Nikolai wants to play? Fine. But this time, I’m changing the rules of the game.

And I always play to win.

“Your father cameto see me today,” I tell Ana after kissing her while we stand by the door of our walk-in closet.

She helps me remove my tie, tossing it across the room to the chair in the corner. I shake my head, smiling softly.

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He might have apologized for what happened, asked me to treat you well, and then hinted at a partnership.” I shrug.

“Huh.” She presses her body close, rubbing her hand on my chest and bringing her lips to my ear. “You already treat me well.”

My hands encircle her waist. Through the loose-fitting chiffon gown she has on, her skin feels like silk. I cup her ass with both hands, squeezing and making her whimper.

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