Page 21 of Hostage of the Russian
It was... refreshing. Dangerously so.
“I’m not poor,” he said, taking another bite. “I’m thorough. Your father needed to understand that crossing the Nikolai family has consequences.”
“And I’m the consequence.”
“You’re the lesson.”
Azriel set down her coffee cup with more force than necessary. “How noble of you. Punishing an innocent woman to teach her deadbeat father a lesson.”
“Innocent?” Kostya studied her face, noting the way her jaw clenched when she mentioned her father. “Tell me, Azriel, if your father makes so much money from his various schemes, why are you living in a student apartment that’s one step above a cardboard box? Why are you eating toast and coffee for brunch instead of something substantial?”
The question hit its mark. He saw the brief flicker of something raw in her expression before she masked it.
“Maybe I like living simply.”
“Or maybe dear old dad isn’t as generous with his ill-gotten gains as he should be.”
She stood abruptly. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“Sit down.” His voice carried the weight of command, and she froze halfway out of the booth.
“Make me.”
Christ. The woman had a death wish. Kostya felt his dark eyes begin to lighten, that familiar shift that happened when he was amused or intrigued. “You really want to test me right now?”
“What are you going to do? Drag me back to your mansion, kicking and screaming? In front of all these witnesses?”
She had a point. The diner was filling up with the late morning crowd, and causing a scene would draw unwanted attention. Kostya smiled, the expression sharp enough to cut glass.
“I don’t need to drag you anywhere, little wildcat. You’ll come willingly, or I’ll make good on my promise about your remaining relatives and friends.”
The fire in her eyes dimmed slightly, but she didn’t back down completely. Instead, she slid back into the booth with obvious reluctance.
“You’re a bastard.”
“Among other things.” He resumed eating, savoring both the food and her frustrated expression. “Finish your toast. You’re too thin.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re malnourished. When’s the last time you had a real meal?”
She didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Kostya signaled the waitress and ordered Azriel eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit without consulting her.
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“I’m not asking. I’m telling.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You’re my wife now, which makes you my responsibility. I don’t let what’s mine waste away.”
“I’m not yours.”
“The marriage certificate says otherwise.”
They ate in tense silence after that, though Kostya noticed she cleaned her plate despite her protests. Good. The woman needed to eat properly if she was going to keep up this level of defiance.
When they finished, he stood and tossed enough cash on the table to cover the bill and a generous tip. “Come on. Time to go.”
Azriel reluctantly followed him out of the diner, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a string of creative curses. Kostya was about to comment on her colorful vocabulary when he caught movement in his peripheral vision.
A man in a dark jacket, pretending to read a newspaper while standing next to a lamppost. Another was lounging against a car, smoking a cigarette with too much interest in their direction. Professional surveillance, but sloppy.
