Page 33 of Savage Reign

Vadim grins, tearing into a box of Lucky Charms. He has it imported straight from America on our ships, moving product. He’s got a weakness for American sugary cereal—something I’ll never understand.

Eva’s nose wrinkles as Vadim shoves another handful into his mouth. She brushes off her disgust and turns toward me. “What’s the timeline for him accepting the deal?”

“Igor says the contract will be awarded in six weeks. We need the Syndicate’s buy-in before then.”

The Syndicate is too powerful and well-connected to go to war with. That’s why this plan works. With Sofiya as my wife, I have leverage. The Syndicate will fall in line on my terms, not theirs.

Vadim runs a hand over his two-day stubble. “If Roman values his sister-in-law’s well-being, he’ll come around before then.”

Eva frowns with displeasure. “Why would we hurt Sofiya? She’s innocent in all of this.”

Hurting a woman—any woman—isn’t something I take pleasure in, but the thought of hurting Sofiya stirs something inside me. It’s a feeling I can’t afford. I swirl the whiskey in my glass and knock it back in one go.

“As long as the Syndicate comes around, no one will get hurt.” Eva’s about to argue, but I hold up a hand. She’s tough as shit when it’s required, but she hasn’t lost her humanity—a rare thing in this world and something I usually appreciate. Except right now, it’s pissing me off.

Vadim tosses another handful of dry Lucky Charms into his mouth. Eva snatches the box from him and does the same. The moment she tastes it, her face crumples in disgust. “This is nasty. Why do you eat this shit?”

“Because it’s delicious.” His eyes narrow. “So cereal is a problem, but you have no issue that I’m nursing a whiskey before ten in the morning?”

Eva shrugs. “Whiskey is what adults consume. Only children eat this crap.”

“I beg to differ.” Vadim shoots back, a wry smile on his lips.

I stand and button up my jacket. “If you two are done bickering, I believe we have some real business to take care of.”

A container ship full of cocaine from Colombia is arriving this afternoon. Normally, this would be handled by my men, but I want to oversee the transfer myself. This deal has been months in the making, and it’s the largest shipment I’ve handled this year. With so much at stake, we need to be there.

Vadim stands, adjusting the holster strapped under his suit, while Eva grabs her leather motorcycle jacket off the back of the chair, slinging it over her shoulders.

I pause at the door, and a nagging thought pulls at me. I turn to Eva. “Was Sofiya still wearing my shirt when you left the house?”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Eva stops, a slow grin spreading across her face. “She was, but if you’re so worried, check in with Emil. I’m sure he hasn’t taken his eyes off your wife all day. As per your orders, of course.”

My hands clench into fists. The idea of any man who’s not me watching Sofiya burns under my skin. I don’t want Emil noticing all the sexy little things about her. The way she bites her full bottom lip when she’s thinking, or the soft curve of her neck when she tilts her head. That’s for me, and me alone.

“Go ahead of me,” I instruct them. “I’ll meet you there.”

Eva can barely hide her smirk as she and Vadim file out the door.

The moment they leave, I text Emil, telling him he doesn’t need to shadow Sofiya around the estate. Between the ankle monitor and my guards, she isn’t going anywhere, and there’s no chance of her contacting the outside world. All communication devices are locked down tight.

But I need to know if she’s still wearing my shirt or if she defied me. Part of me hopes she did, just so I have an excuse to go home and teach her a lesson.

I pull out my phone and scroll through the camera feeds from nearly every room. I finally find her in the old music room—the one part of the house I didn’t renovate when I bought this former imperial estate. I like how untouched it feels with its worn rugs and antique instruments.

Sunlight pours in through the arched windows, catching the polished surface of the piano in the center of the room. Sofiya stands beside it, her hand drifting along the edge before pulling out a worn piece of sheet music. She studies it for a moment, a faint smile tugging at her lips, and then grazes her fingers over the keys, testing their sound.

Satisfaction stirs within me as she adjusts the hem of my shirt and lowers herself onto the piano bench.

Her hands hover over the keys like she’s trying to remember something she lost. When she starts to play, the notes are rusty, her fingers uncertain. But she keeps going. Her forehead tightens with concentration, and soon, a sorrowful song emerges.

The longer she plays, the deeper she sinks into it, like the music is pulling her under. It reminds me of how she was onstage, completely lost in her own world, unreachable.

When the last note fades, she stays right where she is, her hands resting on the keys as her head drops forward and her shoulders tremble. Something I don’t want to name twists in my gut.

Fuck this. I turn off my phone and shove it back into my pocket.

Sofiya has her demons, just like I have mine, but that’s not my concern.

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