Page 34 of The Payback

Knowing I have to hand over the body cam later, I cringe in my expensive suit. Wrapping myself in luxury like armour only does so much. It doesn’t stop my disgust at myself and the things I sometimes do in the name of the Bratva.

The lift dings as it reaches the foyer, and I stride forward as the doors slide open. The need to lose myself and remember there are things worth living for somewhere out there in this great fuck of a world crawls along my skin. Couple that with my insane jealousy that Nik knows my wife better than I do and has spent more time with her than I have, and there’s this primal rage growing in the pit of my stomach.

She ismine. Not his. Elsa and Dimitri Aslanov. And I want to remind both of us repeatedly until I’m branded on her body and she on mine.

“Elsa!” I call out, my voice ringing through the home as it echoes off the marble tile and stark walls. Now that I’m home, it’s like an electric current takes up residence in my skin, only sated when I’m near her.

“In here!” she answers.

I pass the staircase and enter the living room, where my wife is sprawled across the couch in yoga pants and a soft long-sleeved shirt. Comfortable. Relaxed. Unguarded. She’s holding a magazine between her fingers and pauses midpage flip when she catches my expression. The neckline of her shirt dips low, showing off an expanse of skin and a collarbone I want to trace with my tongue. My cock hardens, and my mind has one thing running through it.Claim.

“Nik, clear out,” I order over my shoulder.

He crosses his arms over his chest in defiance and plants his feet shoulder-width apart like he’s preparing for battle.

“We need to talk,” he says, reminding me of the conversation we’d started in the car and never finished.

It’s been a long fucking day, and I don’t have the wherewithal to argue, so instead, I glare. “Later. I’m warning you. If you don’t want to watch me fuck my wife on this couch, you’d better move your ass.”

Instead of turning towards the stairs, he heads to the bar cart, pours himself a healthy glass of vodka, and drops into the club chair across from Elsa. “I’ll wait.”

She looks from me to him and back again. Her eyes are wide, and her shoulders inch higher towards her ears with tension. Then, her mouth tips into a slight grin.

“Suit yourself,” I say, stripping out of my jacket and draping it carefully over the other chair so the small camera I subtly switched off in the car doesn’t dislodge from the breast pocket.

“Dimitri, no, we can’t...” The words are what’s expected from Elsa as she plays her part, but my girl’s thighs are rubbing together, and she has a hungry look in her gaze as she trails my body.

“Put the magazine down, Elsa.”

She closes it, smoothing a hand along the cover and places it on the coffee table between the seating furniture.

With sure movements, I remove my cufflinks, put them in the pocket of my trousers, and start working on the buttons of my shirt.

“Did everything go well today?” she asks, her voice unsure.

“Everything went according to plan,” Nik answers before swallowing his drink in one go.

“Why does that sound bad?” she asks, turning her attention to him.

I reach out with two fingertips on her jaw and turn her face back towards me. Having her eyes on Nik when I’m already dealing with the fact he knows more about her than I do irks the fuck out of me. Her eyelids close, so I tap her jaw. “Look at me.”

Nik shifts in his chair, leaning forward as if he’s going to do something stupid like try to stop me, but I shoot him a warning glare as Elsa’s eyes flutter open.

“Good wife,” I coo. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about right now. Are you okay with Nik being here?”

“Yes,” she says, glancing at him for a moment before bringing her eyes back to me.

Good. The only thing I want her focused on right now is me and my cock as I lose myself in the abyss that only Elsa can provide. She mouths the words “Carpe diem”with a genuine smirk, and I lose my breath for a second.

To see a flash of her authentic self in this moment has my cock hardening to the point of pain. Fuck, how I’ve replayed the moment I sank into her pussy the other night over and over again—her undercover mask slipping away and her true self shining through. The kitchen now gives me a hard-on every time I walk in and spy the stretch of counter I fucked her against.

She hasn’t been happy with me since then, probably because I denied her an orgasm. But she had to learn her actions have consequences, and I can’t have my underlings thinking I don’t have a handle on my wife. Shecannotdo that again. Ditching her driver and guard, wandering the streets of New York unaccompanied, and distracting me from fucking meetings when my phone alerts me that she’s on the move. Too many things hang in the balance for me to track her whereabouts and ensure she always follows orders.

She’s here to gather intel, fine. But she will do it on my terms.

“Shall I just continue to sit here and look pretty, then?” she asks, her voice taking on a prim and proper tone. “I am your wife. I hoped to be somewhat in the loop.”

“I’d much rather you were on your knees,” I volley back, flicking the button of my trousers open while ignoring her demands for more access to information. That will come with time as everyone gets used to me having a wife.

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