I even dared to share a bit of little bit of my fears with Cerise, and she or he listened attentively after which tsked in annoyance.

“In all probability attempting to be a gentleman,” she mentioned, in a tone of loathing. “Give him a bit of time. He should work out his personal approach of accepting who he’s.”

26

ANDREI

My investigations into the assault are lastly beginning to present one thing helpful. I’ve found out that Boris was being paid off by a rival Bratva, and I’ve discovered from my informants that there’s one other, undiscovered, spy in my group. Boris was meant to drive the ladies off observe in order that they may all be killed, however Boris didn’t know he was going to be killed, too. The spy who’s left is simply too high-ranking to be killed. I want to search out out who the opposite traitor is, and who organized the hit, so I can kill them.

It’s then that we get contacted by Pyotr Zharkov. He’s not a member of any Bratva. He’s personal collector of artwork and antiquities and, in fact, Faberge eggs. Since Cerise loves the tiny, delicate, golden-spun eggs I do know of Pyotr. He’s extraordinarily rich and highly effective, and he offers in data as a lot as he does artwork and antiquities.

The invitation is for the higher-ranking Petrovic Bratva and their wives to come back for tea.

“He should have some data,” Cerise says eagerly once I point out this at dinner. “I can’t wait to see his home. He has some rarer Faberge eggs I’ve by no means seen earlier than.”

“You’ll not be coming,” I say. My abdomen twists at the concept Cerise could be concerned in something to do with discovering details about who ordered successful on the ladies.

“The invitation says and their pretty wives,” she retorts, flipping her lengthy darkish hair throughout her shoulder, and me with these darkish eyes that ensnare me with a need so deep that it’s a primal, pressing want as important to me as respiration. “In order for you one thing from him, it is best to deliver your spouse. My Russian is getting fairly good.”

“She’s proper,” my father says. “We are able to’t afford to disregard the invitation.”

Cerise’s full lips curve up in a smile and my hand itches to say my dominance over her, fist her hair and pressure her to her knees earlier than me, her full lips round my cock.

“And Mary,” Cerise says serenely. “Pyotr clearly is aware of Frederik is married, too.”

27

MARY

My abdomen twists as our limousine pulls as much as the Zharkov residence. Just like the Petrovic home, it’s closely guarded by males with huge weapons and a excessive wrought iron gate. I need to throw up because the gates open slowly and our limo strikes down the driveway. It’s a giant, luxurious Greek-style mansion overlooking the Black Sea, with creamy curved home windows, huge columns, and a line of luxurious automobiles outdoors.

I can really feel my palms sweating as we get out of the limo and cross the swish glowing fountain. I’m carrying a gown that value greater than my complete house rental again residence, a backless deep inexperienced gown with a protracted practice. I watched Frederik’s eyes as I got here out with it on, and I assumed I noticed a flash in them. Then he appeared away.

I would like so badly for him to take me tonight, do one thing to point out me that he needs to be married to me.

Like the opposite Petrovics, he has a crisp white shirt and darkish swimsuit on, and it’s molded completely to his tall, lean physique. He turns his head again barely to attend for me, and I see his neat white beard, these lips that may flip me into liquid with simply the comb of them on my pores and skin.

“Don’t contact something in right here,” he says. “Simply keep subsequent to me. You’ll do tremendous.”

We go up the sweeping staircase and previous much more armed guards. Inside, we meet the Zharkov household. Pyotr Zharkov is a brief, cultured-looking man in his 60s with a slender aristocratic face, and we’re launched to a bewildering variety of sons and nephews and cousins, and his mom, a deeply revered girl in her 80s who’s seated within the place of honor on the desk.

I pressure myself to maneuver slowly on the desk, placing just one lump of sugar in my tea and refusing the cream, for concern I’ll spill something on the tablecloth, which is a fragile lace with elaborate decorations.

The dialog is in a mix of Russian and English, and Cerise and Grigoriy or Cerise and Frederik discuss to Pyotr in regards to the climate, the seaside, the solar, and the tea.

We don’t point out the assault on the Petrovic home, and Pyotr doesn’t point out why he invited us right here.

Frederik talks to Pyotr a couple of e-book I’m unfamiliar with, his voice low and musical to me, and I really feel a stab of satisfaction listening to what he says, the sensation so sharp and immediate that I ache with the enjoyment of being married to him. Even when it was an organized marriage. Even when he solely did it to be a gentleman. Even when he doesn’t actually love me. The enjoyment of being married to him fills me and vibrates by way of my core.

Pyotr is joyful to point out us round his residence, stopping by every sculpture and piece of art work and explaining all of it, typically in English, however largely in Russian.

There are numerous different males round, some much less cultured-looking than Pyotr. He introduces us to all of them too. There’s a Vadim, and a Vladimir, and a Lev, they usually all seem like Pyotr’s guards. I’m amazed at Cerise. Her Russian comes out so rapidly and effectively, with even the identical cadence and tone to the native audio system. She strikes over to a chunk of artwork by the window, gesturing at it and speaking in Russian. I wander round beside her and cease by a show case with a Faberge egg.

I’ve by no means seen one earlier than. It’s a sensible jewel inexperienced, and formed like a dragon, every particular person scale completely and delicately made. The egg is open, simply barely, sufficient to see the tiny crystalline diamonds inside.

I need to see what else is inside, and I attempt to transfer the egg, simply barely, to get a greater view and, in a single second, my clumsy awkward fingers stumble over the fragile Faberge egg, and it breaks into items in entrance of me.

There’s a sudden shocked, utter silence. Then I really feel a knife level prick at my throat and it’s Vadim, his darkish eyes evident at me, hissing a stream of Russian at me that I can’t perceive. My coronary heart is pounding in my chest, and I see that the Petrovics and Pyotr are all momentarily frozen in place.

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