Page 30 of Porcelain Lies

But all I can think about is sable hair spread across white hotel sheets.

“Focus,mudak,” I mutter, forcing my attention back to the weapons shipment manifests that need my review. The numbers blur together, meaningless against the ghost of soft skin under my fingers.

Another message from Sofia flashes. This time with a photo attached — her trying on wedding dresses.

I drop the phone face-down, my jaw clenching. One night of weakness shouldn’t haunt me like this. I’ve had my share of women, forgotten them all by morning. But something about this one-

Blyad!

I don’t have time for more woman trouble. I have enough on my plate with this stupid Novikova bitch.

Yet another ping sounds. Reluctantly, I scroll through Sofia’s messages, each one more demanding than the last:

“Why aren’t you responding?”

“My father asked about the venue again.”

“Are you deliberately ignoring me?”

“This is completely unacceptable behavior.”

My thumb swipes over the delete button. This arranged marriage was Diana’s idea — her attempt to secure the Bratva’s future through a proper Russian alliance. Sofia ticks all the right boxes.

And she’s about as warm as a Siberian winter.

Another message pops up: “I’ve selected the chapel. You WILL make time to view it this weekend.”

I toss the phone aside. The presumption in her tone sets my teeth on edge. Even before we’re married, she acts like she owns my schedule, my choices, my-

The office door slams open. I’m on my feet instantly, hand reaching for the gun under my desk.

Sofia stands in my doorway, her grey eyes blazing with barely contained fury. The diamonds at her throat catch the light as she stalks toward my desk.

“Where were you yesterday night?” Her voice carries that familiar edge of possession. “I called six times.”

I sink back in my chair, maintaining the distance between us. “Working.”

“At midnight?” She perches on the edge of my desk, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the wood. “The charity event ended at ten.”

“I had business to handle.” I keep my tone flat, emotionless. The less I give her, the sooner this interrogation will end.

“Business.” She practically spits the word. “Was this ‘business’ wearing a dress?”

Vivid memories flash through my mind. I push them away, focusing on the cold reality of Sofia’s presence.

“Sofia, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” She leans closer, her expensive perfume threatening to suffocate me. “Because Vadim saw you at Petroushka. With a woman.”

My father’s face suddenly fills my mind — hovering over my mother with that same possessive rage, demanding to know her every movement. The parallel makes my stomach turn.

“Enough.” I stand, towering over her. “I don’t answer to you.”

“You’re my fiancé—”

“On paper.” The words come out like ice. “Don’t confuse arrangement with ownership.”

Her perfectly painted lips tremble. “Diana promised—”

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