Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (87)

“It is.”

“Well, hooray for small victories, I guess.”

She moves back to the armchair and sits down. She pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them. She looks so fucking fragile that all I want to do is go to her and hold her.

So that she’s not forced to do it herself.

“When are we leaving?” she asks suddenly.

We. It irks me to admit how much I like the sound of that phrasing. A little too much.

“Tonight. In a couple of hours.”

“I’m guessing this is to go and see Lachlan’s family?” she asks.

“I have to return his body to them,” I confirm. “He’s always wanted to be buried on Scottish soil.”

“I suppose in your world, planning for an early death is… pretty standard?”

“We have to be prepared for everything. Including death.”

“I really am sorry, you know. I liked Lachlan.”

I walk over and take the seat opposite her. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows illuminates half of Camila’s face and shrouds the other half in shadow. Her green eyes are thrown into high relief. She looks like a fucking daydream.

“He used to tell me that he was going to retire from the Bratva at fifty,” I tell her. “He was going to go back to Scotland and run his parents’ farm.”

She smiles. “Was he serious?”

“Nah. He just liked to believe he was. After living this life, you can’t go back.”

She nods. Her expression mellows. “I… I should start packing.”

When she shifts in the light, I see the shimmering tracks left behind by her tears. Two meandering streams on her cheeks.

I reach out instinctively and cup the side of her face in my palm. She doesn’t move. Hell, she doesn’t even look surprised.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” I tell her.

She accepts the compliment without a word. It’s a fragile truce, and no doubt it will be easily broken. But I savor the quiet moment with her.

Because for as long as it lasts, I can let myself believe that at the end of this, we might have a future together.





34





Camila





The moment the flight attendant’s back is turned, I eye her suspiciously.

She’s blonde like me, though her hair is whiter, almost platinum. It’s ironed straight and flows down her back like some silver waterfall out of a fantasy film.

Her body looks like it’s straight out of a fantasy film, too. And not the PG kind. The skintight top and pencil skirt uniform she’s wearing feels incredibly inappropriate at first glance.

But when I look at her objectively, I’m forced to admit that there’s nothing wrong with it. She’s just got a rocking body and amazing boobs. Boobs that are on full display thanks to the fact that she’s left her top three buttons undone. Her white shirt hugs her chest tightly, highlighting her impressive cleavage.

“If you want a moment alone with her, I can leave.”

I turn to Isaak with a start and realize that he’s caught me staring.

Great. Just fucking great.

“I asked her for water ages ago and she still hasn’t brought it over,” I explain, feeling like a complete bitch for lying to cover up my own insecurities.

Isaak looks up. “Marissa,” he says, “bring us some waters.”

“Of course, sir,” Marissa says at once with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

Fake eyelashes, no doubt, to match the fake tits and the fake ass and the fake girlish pitch in her voice.

Even the way she says the word “sir” sounds full of innuendo. It makes me want to roll my eyes every time she leans in a little too deep and says it to Isaak.

She struts down the broad aisle of the luxurious private jet we’re currently on. Her hips sway with every step, and I can’t help think she picked her clothes this morning for this purpose exactly.

“Something wrong?” Isaak asks, giving me an amused smile.

I settle for rolling my eyes at him. “No. Nothing.” My voice is salty and bitter. I know. I’m in complete and total bitch mode right now, but I can’t seem to turn it off.

“You want me to speak to her?”

“No. Just leave it.”

“As you wish.”

Marissa heads back down the aisle towards us. She’s got a bottle of Avion water on a silver tray and two tall crystal glasses.

“Here you go, sir,” she says, her eyes glossing over me before they settle on Isaak. “Would you like anything else?”

“It’s a little cold in here,” I interrupt. “Can I get a blanket, please?”

I don’t really need one. I just want to force her eyes off Isaak.

“Of course,” she says, her tone falling considerably in the enthusiasm department when she addresses me.

She heads off to fulfil my request. I stare pointedly out of the windows. There’s nothing but a sea of cotton candy clouds right outside. Makes you want to jump right in.

When I turn away from the window, Isaak is still observing me with a half-smile on his face.

“What?” I demand defensively.

He chuckles. “Nothing.”

I want to smack him, but only because I know exactly what he’s laughing about. And I know how smug it’s making him. Damn my telltale face.