15
IVAN
I feel the air change the moment we step out into the hallway. I’m pretty sure I smell sulfur and brimstone, too, actually. Which makes sense, because—
“Ivan!” she calls out.
Yasha curses behind me as I look down the hall at Francia.
She’s standing at the mouth of the hallway, blocking the exit. Her hands are on her hips and a sickly sweet smile twists her face.
I never found Francia attractive, but she was a cute enough girl. Innocuous. Now that I know what she’s really like, though, it’s as if I can see through the optical illusion. Whatever trick she uses to look nice and normal doesn’t work on me anymore.
All I see is the desperate fucking ghoul underneath.
“Where are you two off to?” she asks.
It’s the first time I’ve stood face to face with her since she moved in. Last night, I brushed past her in the kitchen. She was at the table eating what looked like warmed-over slop. I breezed past and went to my room where Niles had left me a plate of steaming hot beef and broccoli with a chocolate souffle for dessert.
I need to talk to Niles about the piss-poor job he’s doing making our new house guest feel welcome. Maybe give him a raise.
“Out,” I growl at her.
It’s as much as I’m willing to say. It’s already more than she deserves. She should be grateful.
“Do you know when you’ll be back?”
“No.”
I gesture to Yasha and he slinks away, keeping his face low and guarded so she doesn’t see his vicious scowl.
Francia hurt Jorden, too. Yasha is every bit as furious at her as I am. I position myself between them so he doesn’t do something stupid—even though I’d love nothing more than for him to do something really, really stupid.
But instead of moving out of our way, Francia steps into my path as we near the end of the hall. “I’m asking because I had plans for dinner.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“We haven’t had dinner together all week.”
“I’m eating just fine.”
“If you don’t like the meals your chef cooks, we can fire him,” she suggests. “I haven’t been thrilled with his cooking, either.”
“We aren’t firing anyone. I am happy with my staff.”
She sighs. “Fine. But you can’t eat out for every meal. All that salt and cholesterol is bad for your heart.”
I try for a fake smile, but it ends up as more of a grimace. “I suggest you worry about your own heart.”
Francia steps closer and smooths her hands across the collar of my shirt. “You’re so sweet to worry about me, Ivan. Believe me, I take very good care of myself. My body is a temple, after all. I want the worshipers to enjoy the view.”
She gives me a sultry smile. My stomach physically turns.
“I didn’t realize Satanists worshiped at a temple,” Yasha muses from off to the side. “Is that why you look like a goat?”
I have to stifle my laugh with a cough, but Francia isn’t fooled. Her face and neck turn angry shades of red as she looks past me to my second, who is wearing his usual shit-eating grin.
“I think there’s a bit too much male influence around here.” She snaps her eyes from Yasha back to me. “You’ve been living like you’re in a frat house for a long time now. I think this place is ready for a long overdue shake-up.”
“Are we still talking about your body temple?” Yasha asks. “Or…?”
“I’m talking about the house.” When her eyes land on me, they soften again. “I have some ideas for redecorating. The house should feel more like us.”
Unless she’s envisioning flames shooting out of the walls, brimstone scent in the oil diffusers, and torture devices in every bathroom, I’m not sure how she’s going to capture our “vibe.”
“I’ve put together some ideas for a design revamp. I wanted to show you what I’m thinking over dinner,” she finishes.
It’s not as if I’m in love with the design of the mansion. Much of it was done under my father’s leadership. He passed the buck onto designers and let them craft a beige palace.
But Francia is overstepping by a fucking mile. She’s trying to carve out a place for herself here. If she manages to do that, I’ll have no choice but to burn the house down once I’ve disposed of her. I do not intend to let anything of her linger once this shit is all over.
“All design decisions go through Niles,” I lie.
Niles will hate me for sending Francia his way, but I’m more liable to strangle her with a curtain than choose a fabric color with her.
Her jaw sets, her already thin lips disappearing in an angry line. “Fine.”
I move to walk past her, but she shifts into my path again. “Also, I want to be introduced to the other Bratva wives.”
Unexpectedly, a laugh bursts out of me. Her eyes narrow and there isn’t a cough big enough to disguise the fact that I just cackled in her face.
I control myself and shake my head. “No. No, that won’t be possible.”
“How am I supposed to acclimate into this world if I don’t know anyone? You don’t take me anywhere,” she complains. “I’ve been cooped up in this house since I got here and I don’t know anyone. I need to make friends if I’m going to…” Whatever she was going to say, Francia thinks better of it. “I need friends so I don’t go crazy.”
“Too fucking late,” Yasha mumbles.
Francia starts to look at him, but I drag her attention away. “People at the top don’t have friends.”
She gestures to Yasha. “Then explain him.”
Yasha wags his fingers at her from under his own chin. “I defy explanation.”
“He is my second-in-command. He works for me.”
“Well, I don’t have a staff,” she whines. “Everyone here works for you.”
“Which you agreed to.”
“I agreed to be the Bratva wife. So let me be one. I want to meet some other women who can relate to what I’m going through.”
“Good luck with that,” Yasha guffaws. “I don’t know of any other Bratva wives that abducted their predecessor and held them ransom so their new husband wouldn’t murder them the first chance he got.”
If looks could kill, Yasha would be a smoldering hole in the carpet by now.
“No, I suppose not.” Her gaze flicks back to me. “Maybe that’s why you seem unfamiliar with the concept that Cora’s life is in my hands. You’ve never seen or experienced this kind of thing before. If you don’t cooperate with our deal as it was laid out, then I can make sure she suffers… or worse.”
I positioned myself between Yasha and Francia to keep the peace, but it is Yasha’s hand fisted in the back of my shirt that acts as the only thing keeping me from throwing myself at Francia. My chest rises and falls in ragged gasps. I blink away the hatred blinding me and try to think clearly.
She’s right. With Cora in her control, she has me by the balls.
I have to be more careful.
“I am cooperating with our deal,” I tell her icily. “I’m saving you embarrassment.”
“You think I would embarrass you?” she practically shrieks.
“The pakhan’s wife wouldn’t be caught dead fraternizing with ‘lessers’ in the family,” I lie. “I’m not going to introduce you to them—because you are above them. It would make you look weak. Is that what you want?”
Francia studies my face, searching for signs of my deception. She must not find any because she shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”
“I didn’t think so. Now if you’ll excuse us,” I purposefully sidestep her and move into the entryway, “we have things to take care of.”
Get away. Get away now. Before you strangle this fucking bitch and throw Cora’s life in the balance.
Suddenly, her hand wraps around my bicep. On instinct, I jerk my arm away. Francia frowns, but recovers quickly. “I am tired of being cooped up. Maybe I could come with you.”
“No!” This time, it’s Yasha with the outburst.
We both turn to him and he swallows. “I—I’m in charge of security and it wouldn’t be safe to bring you along.”
“Are you doing something dangerous? If so, I deserve to know what it is. I live in this house, too. If my fiancé is going to get hurt, then I—”
“Every day is dangerous for Ivan,” Yasha says. “It’s even more dangerous for his… his woman.”
He stumbles over the descriptor the same way I do. It’s just plain fucking wrong. Francia is not my woman.
“You are safe when you’re here. I can keep a closer eye on you and make sure nothing happens to you. It’s—It’s my duty to protect you.” He bows his head slightly. “Even if I don’t want to.”
Francia’s mouth twitches at the last little barb, but it actually serves to make the rest of Yasha’s message seem genuine. Despite his own feelings about her, he feels it is his duty to protect her. How noble. It’s his loyalty in action.
It’s also utter bullshit. But based on the sparkle of surprise in Francia’s eyes, she doesn’t know that.
She sighs. “Okay. Then I suppose I’ll stay here.”
I nod and move towards the door, but Francia reaches out one last time. Her hand swipes over my shoulder. “Be careful.”
I don’t bother to respond.
As we walk through the door and to the car, I want nothing more than to go back inside and shower. I want to scrub the feel of Francia off of me—with bleach at the least and with fire if necessary. I want to forget she ever existed.
Not much longer until I can.