Page 46 of Till Death Do Us Part

I push through the bodies crowding on the dancefloor, my eyes drawn to an open door near the back of the room. It looks to lead up the stairs towards a covered balcony, and while I can see nothing—and this is probably a terrible idea—a trickle of awareness washes over me, and I move towards it.

The staircase is devoid of any life when I make my way up. The pit in my stomach grows heavier, and I press my hand to my back, grabbing my gun and flicking the safety off. When I reach the top, I pause for a beat, pulling in a deep breath before pushing at the door and leaving the safety of the padded floor downstairs.

“Pippa,” a deep accented voice says the moment the door closes behind me. Steeling myself, I blink a few times to adjust to the low lighting up here before flicking my gaze over the room and landing on the man in question. “What is it with the Italians and being so damn predictable?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” I mumble, my finger flush to the trigger as a light flickers in the back of the room and Alexei steps out of the shadows. That same wave of familiarity I felt at the wedding hits me, my eyes narrowing as he gestures to a set of seats next to him. “Take a seat. We can have a chat.”

“I’d rather stand, I think.”

“Stubborn too.” He chuckles, dropping down into one of the chairs. With his arm thrown over the back, and one ankle propped on his thigh, he looks comfortable and relaxed—it’s unnerving. Frightening, I suppose, given he must know Antonio and his men are here tonight.

And yet I don’t fear him, even though I probably should.

“How did you know I’d be here?” I ask, stepping into the room farther and flicking my eyes over the space. Aside from the two chairs, the room is bare of décor. Black walls and black flooring with a wall sconce that flickers on and off periodically. The only life to be found is the echoes from the club downstairs.

“Like I said,” he murmurs, a smirk on his lips as he watches me. “Italians are nothing if not predictable. You’ve been around them for too long, you’ve become just like them.”

My eyes narrow on him, a scowl at my lips while he continues, “Natura contro educazione”

“You speak Italian.” I gape at him in shock, my heart thundering when he flicks a vicious smile at me.

“I know my enemy, Pippa.” He shrugs, dropping his arm and leaning forwards. With a tilt to his head, he raises a brow, gesturing. “The question is, do you?”

“I doubt I have enemies, I’m just a lone woman in a man’s world.”

“You’re the most important woman in that world,” he tells me, gesturing to the seat beside him again. This time, I don’t argue, just drop down and cross my legs at the ankles in faux comfort—placing my gun on my thigh. He eyes it for a moment before lifting his gaze to mine again.

“It’s amusing, really, that you think that. You claim to know your enemy, you learn their language, and yet you don’t understand their hierarchy.”

“I never said you were high up on the food chain, Pippa. In fact, you’re probably the lowest. Those men you’re surrounded by? They don’t like important women. They chain them, drag them into the pits, and bury them under children and housework.”

“That’s awfully judgemental of you,” I comment, though I don’t disagree. He’s correct. After all, that’s everything my father warned me of before I came here—that being the perfect wife was imperative. “Can you honestly say your Bratva is any better?”

He doesn’t answer, only chuckles to himself for a moment. The scar on his face wrinkles as he does, a harsh reminder that his world is as bad as mine—perhaps worse, even.

“You utter the word with such disdain, as though you’ve already decided we’re worse than you precious Italians, which is awfully judgemental of you too, don’t you think?”

“I guess that’s a character flaw we share, then.”

“I guess so,” he agrees, lifting from his chair and moving to the glass barrier that overlooks the floor below. “What do you think your men are planning to do here tonight?”

“Like you said, women aren’t high up on the food chain here. I’m not clued into their movements, and even if I was, I’d hardly be telling you all about it.”

“Why did you leave the safety of the car and come in here?” My blood chills with his words, an icy blister burning me alive inside. How does he know I was sitting in the car? How did he even know I’d be here tonight?

He turns away, walking towards the door and pulling it open. His back straightens, his shoulders tensing as he speaks once more. “Remember, Pippa. I know my enemy. Perhaps it’s time you learn yours. I’ll be seeing you.”

With that, he leaves me there, sitting in the dark. Footsteps bound up the stairs a little while later, hurried and impatient as Antonio storms into the room and finds me sitting there. His eyes narrow on me, and a scowl takes over his face as he walks towards me.

My eyes water in fear when he reaches out, his fingers threading in my hair as he pulls me up. When he steps back, I let out a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived when the back of his hand comes flying at my cheek. The weight of his slap, paired with his anger, has my head snapping backwards and pain reverberating through my skull.

Blood rushes to my ears, the pounding of my heart the only thing I can focus on as he stares down at me. His blue eyes are icy and cold, his face set in stone.

“Do you know what you are, wife?” His voice is deadly as he speaks, unwavering and brittle. “Pathetic. You can’t just sit in a car and wait. You have to inject yourself, and what happens when you do? You have a cosy chat with the man who wants you dead.”

While there is some truth to his words, I think he’s wrong about the latter. There isn’t a single part of me that believes Alexei intends to harm me despite evidence that perhaps says otherwise.

He sent a man to grab me off the street, then he bombed the home I was living—and yet tonight, he had prime opportunity to end my life or snatch me away, and he didn’t. Instead, we talked without a single raised voice, or a weapon fired.

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