Page 53 of Carved in Ruin

“And what exactly do you intend to figure out here? The Bratva isn’t exactly the place for experiments.” Sofiya continues.

“I intend to figure out what’s expected of me so I can exceed it. Seems smarter than walking in pretending I know everything, doesn’t it?”

“Smart answer.” Dima comments.

Mila takes a sip of her wine, her expression giving nothing away. “Besides,” she adds smoothly, “it seems like I’m surrounded by experts. I’m sure I’ll learn quickly.”

Mila turns her attention to Yelena.

“Your husband handles finances for the Bratva, doesn’t he?” she asks.

Yelena blinks, clearly caught off guard. “He does,” she answers cautiously.

Mila tilts her head slightly. “The funds used for the St. Petersburg expansion—weren’t those initially planned for a different operation? Something involving Zurich, if I’m not mistaken?”

Yelena’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “You’re well-informed.”

“I researched. The Zurich project was a smart move. But I imagine St. Petersburg promised a higher immediate return.”

Igor chuckles under his breath. “Your wife has a sharp eye, Pakhan.”

I smirk, but say nothing, letting Mila take the stage.

“You’re not what I expected you to be,” Yelena whispers.

“I’m not my father.” Mila sighs. “And if I were, Rafael probably wouldn’t have married me.”

The room fills with laughter. She has everyone eating out of the palm of her hand. When the evening winds down and everyone leaves, I guide Mila back to the bedroom. She walks ahead, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. I follow, watching her, feeling something burn low in my chest that I can’t quite name.

She heads straight to the vanity, pulling out a small bottle of makeup remover and a few cotton pads. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I lean forward, elbows on my knees, watching as she wipes away her lipstick and the makeup around her eyes. Her reflection meets mine in the mirror.

“You did well tonight,” I compliment.

She hums lightly, tossing a used pad into the trash. “Did you think I’d embarrass you?” Her tone is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it. “As much as I hate this marriage, your reputation is mine now. If you look bad, so do I.”

Something about that admission stirs something primal in me. I like it. I like the idea of her tied to me. Of us being connected in ways neither of us can escape.

She unties the straps of her dress, letting it fall to her shoulders, stopping just above her breasts. My mind scrambles, drowning in thoughts of how much I want her.

“What is this about?” I manage, trying to focus. There is tension in the room.

“Irina,” she sing-songs as she picks up the hairbrush and starts brushing.

“That was casual,” I defend.

Her hands pause in her hair. “I don’t care about the past, I know you have a colorful one. What I care about is the present. You are not to disrespect me, Rafael.”

She sets the brush down, turns, and faces me fully. The dress clings precariously to her chest, threatening to fall with the slightest movement. She doesn’t seem to care. “You fuck a maid with me being your wife, I fuck two guards.”

I’m on my feet before I even realize it, towering over her, the possessiveness in me flaring hot and wild. My jaw clenches. “Don’t,” I warn, the word slipping out like a growl.

“You disrespect me, I disrespect you more,” she promises, brushing past me.

I catch her wrist, pulling her close enough to feel her breath against my neck. “You don’t touch anyone,” I hiss.

“Then don’t give me a reason to, Rafael.”

I stare at her, my grip firm but not enough to hurt. She’s infuriating, maddening. Especially when she doesn’t know that she’s the only one I crave. In the past, I used other women to forget her. Now? With her back in my life? My cock doesn’t even twitch for anyone but her.

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