Page 58 of Stolen By The Bratva King

I could have got the best Japanese restaurant in the city to deliver it to my door, but I wanted to make the effort because I had something to prove.

Emery was raised with money. She’s used to luxury in place of attention and care, and I fucking hate it.

I’m rich beyond even her experience, but it’s not who I am—not who we are. I must show her there’s more to me than the empire I built.

I wish my phone would ring, vibrate, anything. It’s sitting on the counter, the silence deafening. I offered to send a car, but she declined, saying she wanted to make her own way. When I asked for an ETA, I got no reply.

Double texting is never a good idea, right? This is the problem with marrying someone before actually dating them; now I gotta go through the anxious phase of getting to know her, learning her quirks, and trying not to be a neurotic, needy idiot.

I remove the pork and put it on the chopping board to rest while I slice the pak choi, almost cutting my finger due to my lack of concentration.

Why am I so whipped? I made her my wife because I wanted to own her, but there’s so much more to it.

Thirty days.Such an arbitrary time limit.

If I’m honest with myself, I thought my obsession would wane once I had Emery in my clutches, but the opposite is true; it’s only deepening, becoming more nuanced and genuine with every minute I spend with her.

Even when she’s not at my side, I feel her influence in everything I do.

Emery is changing me. She’s pulling me toward the light, even if I don’t deserve to be there.

I don’t want tomakeher stay; I want her tochooseto be with me.

With all my wealth and resources, I still have nothing to work with, no tricks or manipulations that might load the dice in my favor.

Either she grows to love me, or she doesn’t, but me? I’ve already got a problem with my heart, and no cardiologist can fix it.

Only one doctor has the medicine I need.

My phone shudders across the counter as it buzzes, and I drop the knife with a clatter. I check the notification and growl with frustration through gritted teeth.

Fuck you, Viktor.Not now. Whatever it is, I don’t care.

As I rinse the noodles a minute later, I hear Emery’s key in the lock. I wheel around to see her standing on the mat, her hair frizzy from the light rainfall.

“Val’kiriya. Are you okay?” I clock her red-rimmed eyes. “Bad day? I can see that. Would you believe me if I told you I cooked? We may not survive it, but I’m confident.”

I set down the noodles, ready to take her coat and warm her. It’s not until she steps into the light that I see the coldness in her eyes that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Don’t come near me,” she says. “Stay there, Leon. I mean it.”

I stop in my tracks instantly.What the fuck?

“At least get dry before?—”

“Do you know a guy called Fabrizio?” she asks suddenly. “Because he knows you, or at least he did.”

“No.”

It’s the truth—I have no idea who she’s referring to, but many people know who I am. Apprehension weighs heavy in my gut; where is this going?

“He came in with a gunshot wound,” Emery continues. “He died on my operating table, butnot before saying your name.”

Shit. I get it now; something must have gone down tonight, and because I was too preoccupied with Emery, I didn’t check Viktor’s message.

Bigfucking mistake.

“Moya zhena,” I begin, holding up my hands. “Let’s sit down and?—”

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