Page 26 of Beautiful Scar

“Humanize her. I get it. But I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Trust me, it’s our best option. It’ll go a long way.”

The doors slide open. I’m tempted to tell her to shove her spreadsheets up her tight ass and fuck off, but she was slightlynice to me a second ago. And she’s probably right about letting the other heads of the family see Dasha.

“Fine. I’ll get her there. But I can’t promise she’ll ever show up again.”

“So long as you do it this one time, that’ll be fine.” Sona nods at me curtly before striding off.

Well, shit.

Dasha’s not going to like this.

But we’d better learn to play the game now that we’re important pieces.

Chapter 8

Tigran

My wife isn’t the only one who appreciates her own space.

This house has been my sanctuary for the past few years. Brotherhood money is good, and I’ve used almost every dime I’ve made to invest in various successful businesses. My personal fortune’s grown substantially, and my greatest and most prized asset is my home.

It’s the sound of the harbor: the lapping of water against the breaker walls, the noise of the boats, the laughter from tourists, the bustle of locals running along park trails and laughing on benches. This neighborhood is the lifeblood of Baltimore, and it’s the only place that makes me feel remotely calm and at peace.

Now I’ve got a problem living in my own damn walls.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with her. Beyond fuck her and get her pregnant. We’re supposed to share a life, at least until the baby comes, and then she can move back to Philly and never set foot outside again.

But until then, she’s my wife.

Which is straight-up baffling.

How the hell am I married? To a little, sweet girl like that?

I’m a black-hearted killer. I’ve got more blood on my hands than a goddamn military brigade in wartime.

And somehow, I’m supposed to coax that sexy little terrified Russian girl out of her prissy little shell?

God, it’s annoying.

I stand outside her door, hesitating. I should just barge the fuck in. It’s my house, after all, but I know that’s the wrong move. She nearly passed out from embarrassment when she walked in on me getting changed. Imagine if she’s naked in there or something?

Wouldn’t that be nice? Seeing her small, tight body stripped bare. Her pale skin would turn bright pink, and she’d mutter something about looking away, and I’d take her by the hair and bury her uptight little mouth with my own. Kiss her nice and deep before fucking her to the hilt. Get her juices all down my big dick. Make her lick it off…

Fuck, I’m having dirty daydreams about my wife.

This is a nightmare.

I bang on the door, forcing myself to calm down. My dick’s half hard, but there’s no helping that. I bang two more times since there’s no answer.

“I’m coming in,” I call out, unlocking the handle with my master key. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to see?—”

I step into her living area and stop dead.

The place is awreck.

All the paintings were torn down and thrown in a heap. Half the drawers were ripped out of the cabinets. Books, photographs, and little decorative statues fill the fireplace. Broken plates cover the floor.

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