Page 89 of Jewel of the Assassin
No one has recognized her. At times, I believe some pause, their eyes lingering longer than necessary. But she doesn’t stay in one place too long. My clever zhena.
Toward the end of the night, after picking meagerly at the buffet table while helping herself to a little too much wine, Valentina excuses herself to go to the restroom. I track her steps, following close behind.
“Roman,” she says in a scolding tone once we arrive at the doorway. “You’re so sexy with how you’ve been watching over me, but I’m a big girl. I can go to the bathroom myself.”
If she didn’t look so beautiful and breathless, I’d take offense to her poking my chest. But I lean in and purr low in her ear, “Da, you are a big girl. But I don’t let treasure walk off unguarded. Call it a flaw. I call it loyalty.”
“And I love your loyalty.” She stands on her tiptoes and touches her lips to mine. “But would you mind being loyal outside the door?”
I release a heavy sigh and muster a nod. “You have two minutes.”
Her smile beneath the mask would be enough to bring any man to his knees. The door closes behind her, and I lean against the wall—right until I hear low voices, one lower than hers. One is indefinably masculine.
No hesitation. I charge into the bathroom, stopping in my tracks. It’s no sick violator facing her. So much worse.
It’s her fucking brother.
After somehow maintaining my cool,I invited Sasha to have a private drink with me.
I recall the brief encounter in the bathroom, and I don’t fault him for simply wishing to have a platonic private moment with his sister away from prying eyes. Especially given his concern due to her sudden disappearance and long absence.
Her expression was devastating. The longing in her eyes. One of few things she has shared with me are glimmers of her time with Sasha. Very few of her happier memories regarding her family.
She waits outside, likely pacing.
Folding my hands on the desk before me, I stare him down. Bloody Christ, he looks so much like his father. Same dark hair,but Sasha wears his in curling waves to his lower neck. And his eyes do not pierce like Victor Volkov. No, Sasha wears his heritage with honor. Not pride. It’s clear he has no interest in politics or taking on his father’s mantle. From what I have researched, Sasha is an artist at heart. Far too empathetic for what his father deems necessary for ruling the Volkov empire.
If Victor Volkov had any goddamn sense, he would have signed Valentina in his will to take everything.
To work in my favor, he is a fool with no goddamn sense.
“I am giving you a golden opportunity, Sasha,” I begin, keeping my voice low, even, authoritative. He shifts uncomfortably but does not interrupt. Wise boy. “For the sake of your sister and her desires, I hold respect for you. But it does not mean you may enter her world, my world, without explicit conditions.”
He narrows his eyes at first, but I know he won’t challenge me. It’s natural for him to test, to judge.
“I have two questions. That is all.”
I appreciate his directness. And simplicity. Sasha is uncomplicated, nothing like his father. He has no ulterior motives—apart from a loving one. No strings to pull. No threats to make.
“Why is she with you?” he asks his first question.
I lean back in my seat, fingers steepled in front of me while I explain, “You may not be knowledgeable about this, but my father originally arranged for your sister to be wed to me.” He lifts his brows in surprise, confirming his ignorance. “Rest assured, I did not so much as consider your sister until she came of age. But the first time I met her…”
A night much like this.
Sasha nods, needing no other reason. “She’s special.”
“The understatement of the century.” One side of my mouth tugs into a faint smirk. “But to answer your question in depth, Valentina was never meant for Anton. And he was not the one who spent six years bleeding for her, building a world for her, a life for her—one where she is more than a pawn in her father’s game. Da, I staged the car crash. I stole her away tomy world with no shame. I take what is mine. And she is mine.”
A shadow crosses Sasha’s face, his jaw tightening. Tension thickens the air. I barely flex a muscle. After he looks down, gathering himself, Sasha meets my gaze. “Go on, Mr. Makarova.”
Wise boy.
“Once Valentina woke in my care, it was discovered she had lost her memory.” His eyes widen as I convey, “Amnesia born of trauma. It has been two months, but she only has pieces of her past. One of the more prominent and happier pieces happens to involveyou. Therefore, I am offering you an opportunity, Sasha.”
“Name your conditions.”
I press my lips into a smile. “You will sign a nondisclosure agreement. If you wish to have a place in her life, you will agree to act as though she were my wife for the past two years.”
