“No, I have to. I never wanted him to live his father’s life, but I failed. It’s my fault, and maybe a little yours, too.”
I flinched at that, but I wasn’t about to argue with Fiona, and besides, she was right. Without me, and his love for me, Kirill would have never gone to his father in the first place.
“But despite his past, despite the thing he’s become in order to survive, he never stopped loving or needing you, Mallory. I guess what I’m saying is no matter what he’s been through, he still loves you.” She met my stare frankly, like she was challenging me to disagree with her.
“Likewise.” I muttered instead.
Her fierce expression melted into a grin, and I could see Kirill in the fine, defined bones of her face. She might be ill and worn down by life, but I could see how striking Fiona had been in her youth, like her son. Her eyes shifted and lighted on my ring.
“It was a small ceremony, more out of necessity than anything else,” I explained.
“If Kirill convinced you of that, you’re as naïve as you were in high school. That boy’s been aiming to marry you since he was seventeen.” She smiled, taking any sting from her words. “He’s not his father, you know. You can trust him if you ever decide to have children. He won’t let them walk in his steps.”
“I know. Neither will I,” I said resolutely.
Fiona must have caught something in my tone because her brows drew together, and her eyes dipped to my belly. I was wearing a close-fitting dress that sheathed my body down to my knees. I thought I was developing a tiny bump, and when Fiona’s eyes lit up, I knew I hadn’t imagined it. A tear formed in the older woman’s eye as I reached forward and took her hand.
“I’m going to be a granny?” She looked at me, a terrible hope in her eyes. She must have taken my silence as confirmation, as her lined face broke into a wreath of smiles. “I need to get knitting.” She fell quiet for a long moment. “I hope it’s a girl, for your sake.”
I forced away the pain and worry those words gave me. Viktor’s greedy, speculative eyes looking at me, and hoping for a boy—another heir to fuck up and torture.
“It doesn’t matter, either way,” I told her firmly. “They won’t be like us.”
* * *
As partof Kirill’s plan to ensure the underworld knew he had married, and his wife wasn’t to be touched, we went to the opera.
As I got dressed in a blood red, floor-length dress, he lingered in the dressing room doorway, watching every movement I made until I twisted around.
“Can you zip me up?”
“I’m rethinking leaving here at all,” he muttered, approaching like a jaguar stalking prey.
He was in a tux, and I could hardly take my eyes off him. He looked powerful and dangerous, and the sight of him sent a thrill through me. He tugged the zipper up slowly and moved my hair over one shoulder, so he could kiss the other, one hand falling to my neck. He circled it easily with his long fingers, sending my pulse fluttering. I watched our reflection in the mirror.
“Let’s skip it.”
“I thought it was important.”
“That was before I saw you in this dress, Princess. Now, nothing else seems important,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on my neck to tilt my head back against his chest. His other hand delved into the modest neckline of the gown. “Besides, I’m not sure it’s safe to wear this in public. You’ll cause a riot, and I’ll be forced to massacre the opera house.”
“You’ll be fine. I was looking forward to going out,” I confessed softly.
Kirill’s fingers tightened for a moment, and then he let out a resigned sigh. “Fine, we’ll go, but I’m going to fuck you in this dress in the car on the way home.”
“Sounds like a deal,” I murmured, turning in his arms to smile winningly at him. “It’s only for four hours anyway,” I teased him.
“Blyat,don’t make me change my mind. Let’s go.”
The Met was buzzingwith paparazzi and well-known faces on the opening night of Tosca.
“It’s not the faces you know who are the powerful ones,” Kirill explained as we headed inside, flanked by his security. “The celebrities and socialites are rich, but they aren’t the power behind this city. The ones you want to watch out for are the nobodies who somehow have invites to an event like this. They are far from being nobodies, but only powerful people recognize that.”
“So, what kind of people are we talking about here? Bratva, clearly, since you’re here. Who else?”
“Politicians and bankers, investors who could arm a rebellion or buy a new president for a country. Probably the rest of the New York five.”
I paused with the glass of mineral water Max had handed me, after tasting it himself, halfway to my lips. “What, you mean those stories about the five families of New York are real?”