Page 71 of Savage Vows
I go still. “Did you get a location?”
“I did,” the man replies, unbothered, businesslike. “Want me to send it?”
My jaw tightens as I stare at the empty doorway, mind already spinning. “Send it. Now.”
“Already on its way,” Yonez says, and hangs up.
19
ADRIANA
My thighsstill tremble as I hurry toward my room, hair tousled, dress askew where Dante’s hands were. I’m almost at the corridor that leads to my suite when Sergei Volkov wheels into view. His bodyguard pushes the chair at a slow crawl, as if giving Sergei more time to survey the hallway—and me.
He spots me, and a faint, satisfied glimmer slides into his eyes. He lifts one gloved hand; the guard stops. Sergei’s gaze drifts over my hair, my rumpled dress, the faint flush I can feel in my cheeks. His smile spreads, thin and knowing.
“Busy evening, Mrs. Volkova?” His tone is silk, the edge beneath it razor-sharp. “I’d say you look refreshed, but that wouldn’t be quite accurate, would it? More…well-used.”
Heat shoots up my neck. “Move, please. I’d like to get by.”
He turns the wheels a quarter-turn, blocking the passage. “Of course. But allow me a small observation—you might consider tidying yourself before wandering the house. Some of us prefer not to seeproofof how you spend your afternoons.” His eyes dipto the slight wrinkle in my skirt, linger at my throat where Dante left a faint mark. “You wear your…activities like perfume.”
The bodyguard chuckles under his breath. Sergei goes on, voice deceptively gentle. “Your husband can indulge whatever appetites he likes. That’s his right. But a wife who advertises how she’s earned her position—she invites…commentary.”
I grip my purse strap, nails digging in. “If you have commentary, Sergei, save it for Dante. Not me.”
He cocks his head, feigning concern. “I only worry you’ll exhaust yourself. Men in this family have short attention spans. When novelty fades, what will you trade on then?”
My pulse hammers. I step closer, meeting his gaze squarely. “Careful. Assuming you know anything about my marriage is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” His smile widens. “No, my dear.Predictable.Men tire. The smart women pace themselves. The others—” He flicks his fingers as if shooing a fly. “They’re replaced. Especially woman like you who have little to offer.”
I know exactly what he means. I keep my gaze steady. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll file it where it belongs.”
“And where is that?”
“Underirrelevant.” I straighten. “I appreciate your concern, Sergei. But I don’t need a lecture on how to behave.”
His eyes narrow slightly, his smile sharpening. “A lecture? No. A warning, perhaps. You are young. Naive. You walk around as though your position is guaranteed. But your husband’s name doesn’t shield you as much as you think. One mistake, one wrong impression, and you will find yourself very…alone here.”
That does it. I stop dead, crouch a little so I’m eye level with him. His bodyguard stiffens, but Sergei just raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t scare easily,” I say, my voice low, steady. “If you think you can intimidate me, you’ll have to try harder. And if you have concerns about me, you can take them directly to Dante. Not me.”
For the first time, his smirk falters. Just a fraction.
He leans forward in his chair, voice dropping so only I can hear. “Enjoy this while it lasts, girl. Everyone knows what you are when you walk these halls looking like that. Even your husband’s patience has a limit. And with looks like that, you can hardly tempt him other than by simply exposing yourself.”
Something in me snaps.
“Why do you act like this?” My voice shakes, louder than I want.
Sergei’s eyes narrow. The polite mask drops, replaced by something hard and ugly. “Why? Because your family made sure mine never forgot our place. Your grandfather treated my father like garbage for twenty years. My family worked for yours—cleaned up after your parties, swept your floors, took the blame for your messes.”
He spits the next words. “So don’t walk through this house, head high, acting like you belong. That’s all you are to men like Dante. His temporary amusement.”
Tears crowd my eyes.
He continues, “In the end, you’ll have nothing. Your bloodline’s always thought itself better. Always looking down. That’s all you are to Dante—something pretty to parade, to use, to replace. A little whore with a ring.”
