“What?” She cocked her head, her long, glossy ponytail twitching. She’d done something to her hair so that her bangs were slicked back into her high ponytail and her hair was straightened until it shimmered in the low light.
I pulled her closer to me, my mouth just brushing my ear. “Suck me off at the opera, in the private box, and I’ll allow you to wear the dress.”
Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated with arousal. Her hips shifted in that subtle movement that meant she was pressing her thighs together.
“I’ve never done that before,” she whispered.
“I’ll show you.”
“Then yes, it’s a deal,” she said, holding out her hand.
I looked down at her hand and fought the urge to smile as I shook it. Her nails were manicured and painted dark red and she wore her enormous ring. She was a beautiful wet dream and she was mine, not just for tonight, but for every night ever after.
Goddamn, I needed to win, I needed to kill Romano. I had too much to live for now to fail.
I helped her into her coat and pulled on mine. Viktor had had them waiting for us as a welcome gift, one I was very grateful for because I hadn’t packed anything that held up against the Russian cold. Olivia’s coat was made of creamy wool and lined heavily with fur, complimenting her dark hair beautifully. I had to tear my eyes from her as I helped her into the car and slid into the heated seat beside her.
“I could live here,” she said quietly.
I turned, surprised. “Really?”
“Yes,” she said, sighing. “I love the summer, love gardening, but I love how beautiful everything is here. I just feel like everything in the city back home is just gray and boring and modern.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” I said. “Perhaps when everything is over, we’ll come back and visit. I imagine I’ll have business here occasionally.”
“But as long as you have your duties with the outfit, you’ll never have the freedom to go where you please,” she intoned.
“True.”
“Won’t you have more freedom when you’re…you know?” she said. She glanced up through the glass at the driver, unsure if she could speak plainly about my plan to kill Romano.
“You get less freedom with power, not more.”
“Then why do it?” she asked.
I leaned my forehead against the cold glass for a moment, the lights of Moscow glittering in the distance. “I have to. Sometimes you know you need to do something, even if it isn’t what you want,” I said. “I was born to change the outfit, of that I have no doubt.”
She studied me for a moment, her face unreadable. “You are an ambitious man. It scares me sometimes.”
“Why?”
She hesitated and then released a sigh. “Because I worry it’ll never be enough for you. The more I know you, the more I realize you aren’t the kind of man who is ever satisfied.”
I had nothing to say to this. She was right. Growing up under my father’s thumb and watching helplessly as he beat and abused my mother had made me determined to never answer to anyone. I would never be helpless again.
“I will be satisfied when I am done,” I said shortly.
“It’s because of your father,” she said, as if she could read my mind.
I nodded reluctantly.
She was quiet for a moment and I glanced over as we entered the city. The lights glittered off her face, catching the sheen of makeup on her mouth and eyelids.
“How did he die?” she asked quietly.
Her question caught me off guard. I knew the grisly truth, but I was loathe to tell my beautiful, innocent wife. It was bad enough I had revealed the morbid details of my upbringing to her. I shrugged, deciding to stick with the reported details.
“He was killed by an assassin,” I said. “We never found out why or who it was.”