Page 119 of Thorns of Death
“Ooops, too far,” Dr. Sergei grumbled, and a round of relieved breaths immediately followed.
I must have lost my mind because I heard myself blurt out, “When a body is chopped up into pieces, can you identify its DNA?”
I kept my tone conversational, although every fiber in me twisted. My fingers itched to play with the wedding band on my finger, but I’d hidden it once again in my pocket so Illias wouldn’t ask questions. He’d never known me to be the jewelry type of girl. In fact, I’d rarely worn it.
“I don’t know if that’s an appropriate question,” Dr. Sergei said, his accompanying look slightly reprimanding. Well, it wasn’t his life that was hanging in the balance here. “I will give you some privacy.” He addressed Illias next. “No changes. Babies are good. Mother’s vitals are good. Now we just wait for your wife to wake up.”
He made a beeline for the door, leaving me with everyone’s attention. Okay, sure, it would seem totally out of left field for anyone else sitting in this hospital room, but how could I explain that this question loomed over me every single day? If my brother and in-laws refused to share information, I’d have to figure out another way to find out. Not doing anything and having those chopped-up pieces haunt us for the rest of our lives was unacceptable.
Alexei was staring at me, mouth parted. My brother merely shook his head and resumed stroking Tatiana’s hand.
It was Vasili, pale eyes boring into me and making me feel entirely too seen, who ended up answering my question and becoming my favorite Nikolaev brother. “I’m not a DNA expert”—bullshit, this man knew what he was doing—“but chopping up a body won’t remove his or her identity. Not unless you burned it to ashes.”
I studied him pensively, quite disappointed with myself for not thinking of that. “Burn the body, huh?” His brothers confirmed, nodding their heads. “Hmm, that’s good to know.”
“Just make sure there’s nothing left of it,” Sasha chimed in. “Burn it to ashes, then get rid of the ash.”
My brother snapped at the Nikolaev siblings, but I ignored them all, tuning out their words. They were like old women, bickering back and forth.
“She needs to know,” Sasha said, defending himself. “After all, she is a Konstantin.”
I let out a sardonic breath. “Killing is in our blood, isn’t it, brother?”
Sasha had no idea how true those words were. I reached for my phone and typed a cryptic message to my girlfriends.
“We shall burn it to ash and dispose of it.”
I knew I wouldn’t need to elaborate—they would know exactly what I was referring to.
FORTY-TWO
ISLA
Two days later, we were in a secluded landing area at an airport outside Moscow. We were going home to Italy. At least everyone else kept calling it home. It remained to be seen what it would be for me.
A gilded cage. Or a happy home. The former, I’d escape. The latter, I’d embrace.
“You’re going to like Italy,” Enzo claimed enthusiastically.
“You’ll have to taste our desserts,” Amadeo said. “Gelato.” I knew that meant ice cream thanks to Rosetta Stone. Amadeo and Enzo helped me download the app and set it up for me. It was most helpful, but much to my suspicion, it didn’t have any Italian curse words. “Cannoli. Tiramisù. Panna cotta.”
I let out a strangled laugh. “I’m going to turn into a boat with all those desserts.”
My husband flicked his gaze my way, smirking. “We’ll work out more.”
My cheeks heated, knowing exactly what he meant. If we “worked out” more than we already were, we’d never leave our bedroom. I’d never believed sex addiction was a thing until now. Luckily, it appeared both of us were affected by it. Thank God!
“Andiamo.”Let’s go. Enrico playfully slapped my ass and the sting reminded me of the way he fucked me last night. Bent over the bed, my face smashed against the pillow and my ass up in the air for him to spank. My thighs quivered and my arousal soaked my panties in response, ready for a repeat. At this rate, all my underwear would be ruined. “The plane is waiting for us.”
“Does that plane have a bedroom?” I muttered under my breath so only Enrico would hear me.
The way his eyes darkened told me he liked the idea. “It does,amore mio.” He bent his head and whispered into my ear, “Does your pussy want my cock as we ascend or descend,dolcezza? Your choice.”
My eyes glazed over. I loved his endearments. Every single one of them. Butdolcezzawas still my favorite. It was the first one he’d called me by. “My choice, huh? You’re the best boyfriend—” He cleared his throat, his expression turning slightly darker, and I immediately corrected myself. “BesthusbandI’ve ever had.”
“As far as I know, I’m the only husband you’ve ever had,” he retorted dryly, biting my earlobe to punish. All he accomplished was to turn me on even more. “The only husband you willeverhave,moglie.” The man loved to call me wife. “Remember that.”
I smiled sweetly while my insides quivered with so many emotions. I never thought I’d marry, especially not this young. But I had to admit, marriage had so many perks. Lots and lots of sex. Sexy Italian. Sweet and filthy words. Life was fucking good.
