Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(85)

“There were only two people who knew about my marriage to Paige.”

“Me,” Konstantin supplies, beaming and folding his hands under his chin like he’s in a photo shoot for

a teen magazine. Then his grin vanishes and he sneers at Yan. “And you.”

“Then it was Konstantin!” Yan crows immediately, turning back to me. “It wasn’t me.”

Konstantin moves forward lightning-fast and punches my lawyer in the gut. “Vse dlya sem’i,” he hisses. “I would die before I betrayed the family.”

Yan straightens slowly, spit clinging to the edge of his mouth.

“You have no such loyalties, do you, Yan?” I ask. “That’s why you took a meeting with Petyr Ivanov a week after Paige and I got married.”

His eyes go wide. I know so much more than he thought I did.

“Do you want to go ahead and deny it?” I ask. “Because I’d be happy to show you proof.”

“Pro tip,” Konstantin suggests, starting to circle the poor bastard again. “Don’t conduct a rendezvous with men like Petyr Ivanov in public places. There are almost always cameras.”

“I… It… It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Unfortunately for you, we only care about what it looks like,” I say harshly.

He drops down to his knees, his prominent canines taking center stage as he tries to bargain for his life. “Please, Don Orlov,” he pleads. “Please. He—he was threatening me!”

A cruel laugh bursts out of me. “Petyr Ivanov wouldn’t have known who the fuck you were. I know you were the one who contacted him. Too bad the money he paid you to betray me will never be spent.”

“Please… Don Orlov—”

I pull out my gun, the silencer already in place. The basement is soundproof, but I don’t want to take any chances with Paige in the house. She doesn’t need to know what goes on down here. I want her sleep to be dreamless and peaceful. She deserves that much at the very least.

“I would ask if you have any last words. But to be honest, I don’t fucking care.”

I shoot him right between the eyes. It’s a subtle, groaning pop. Sort of a miserable noise with which to end a man’s life. Almost pathetic. His body falls slack, crumpling like an old rag against the cold cement floor.

Konstantin looks at the body with distaste. “Fucking rat.”

“See that the body is dealt with,” I tell him, heading towards the staircase that leads up to the main house.

“Want me to send his head to Petyr?” Konstantin calls up after me, only half-joking.

“No need. A bloody head is going to be the least of Petyr’s worries once I’m done with him.”

I leave Konstantin in the basement and climb upstairs.

I'm walking through the kitchen when I hear a familiar laugh. I round the corner and find my mother sitting in the living room with Paige.

Strange—in the past, it would have been effortless to leave the brutal killer part of myself down in the basement where it belongs. I’d shed it like a snakeskin and play whatever role was next required of it.

Now, though, it feels almost like I’m lying to her. Like Yan’s blood is still caked on my hands. Like touching Paige with those same hands will stain her in a way I never, ever intend to do.

I glance down at my knuckles surreptitiously to make sure they’re clean. Then I straighten back up and put on the mask I was born to wear.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” I say to Paige.

“Your mom decided to pay us a visit. Isn’t that nice?” she asks brightly. There’s not an ounce of insincerity in her tone. She’s actually happy to see my mother here again so soon.

“Mother,” I say in a voice that is decidedly un-enthusiastic. “Did you forget something from last night?”

She gives me a cool smile. “I forgot what a poor host you make. Thank goodness your wife is more welcoming.”

“Don’t mind him,” Paige says quickly. “He just gets grumpy when he’s stressed.”

The fact that she’s even noticed that characteristic of mine feels too intimate to classify our relationship as a “business arrangement.” Not to mention that I opened up to her last night. We made love—that’s the only way to describe what happened between us—and I woke up next to her.

In some ways, seeing her first thing in the morning was more intense than the sex itself.

“Well, why don’t you hurry and get changed? Then we can head out and leave Mr. Grumpy to his own devices,” my mother suggests.

Paige nods and glides past me with a secretive little smile.

“Where are you going?”

“Lunch,” Mother answers for her as Paige disappears around the corner. “I thought we could discuss wedding details.”

“We’re already married.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t there to see it,” she says sharply. “So as far as I’m concerned, you’re not married.”

“Ma—”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she interrupts, her voice bristling with hurt. “Getting married is a monumental occasion. Why would you assume that I wouldn’t want to see my only remaining son make that step in his life?”