ADRIK
“You’re throwing a party?” I ask Stefan in disbelief. I pull the phone away from my ear for a second to check that I’m speaking to the right person. It’s him, though.
“Not me personally,” Stefan says. “I’m not throwing it. But people are. I don’t even know if I’d call it a party. It’s more of a memorial, I guess. For your dad.”
“I know who it’s for,” I drawl.
“They want to say goodbye. And get really drunk,” he adds. “They mostly want to get drunk, if I had to guess.”
I sigh. “And what you’re saying is…”
“Yeah, you should probably be there.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“It would look like you were running scared if you didn’t show up,” Stefan says. “Not the message you want to send on your second day as don.”
“Son of a motherfucking bitch,” I say again.
“C’mon, don’t be such a sourpuss. It’ll be fun. Bring the whole fam.”
I grimace. My temples are suddenly throbbing. “Hell no. I’m not chancing that.”
“Why not? It’ll be safe. The whole damn Bratva will be there. It’d be like attacking the Pentagon.”
“I’m not worried about the Bratva’s safety. I’m worried about Emery’s if she keeps this shit up.”
“Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?”
“Fuck off.”
Stefan laughs. “The two of you are on an emotional seesaw. Teeter back to being disgustingly in love for a couple hours. God knows you have the charm to pull that off.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time: fuck off.”
There are a billion reasons to keep Emery under lock and key. She’s a liability, for one thing. I can’t trust her to obey commands that even a dog can understand.
Sit. Stay. Don’t do anything stupid.
And second… she pissed me off.
Bringing up Sofia’s death was an attempt to get under my skin. To slip under my defenses and pierce me where I’m vulnerable. It didn’t work, but that doesn’t change the fact that she tried. That she took a piece of information I trusted her with and tried to manipulate me.
She knows I blame myself for Sofia’s death. I fucking told her as much.
Yet another reason why it’s better to trust no one.
“So…” Stefan says, interrupting my brooding. “You two crazy kids gonna figure it out and be there?”
"I want all the specs on the location: exits, windows, vulnerabilities,” I say in response. “And I want double security in the front and back."
"Ask and ye shall receive, Your Highness," Stefan says. "See you tonight."
I hang up, pocket my burner phone, and walk down the hall. The door is cracked open. I push it all the way.
Emery is in the middle of the room with her arms over her head and her eyes closed. I see her flinch when I walk in, but she's trying to pretend she doesn't notice me.
That's fine by me. Because I may be pissed, but that doesn't mean I'm blind.
The woman is dressed in head to toe spandex. Her leggings squeeze her ass and thighs and she's wearing a sports bra that pushes her breasts up. Her flat stomach is bared, glistening with sweat. I lean against the doorframe and admire it all, waiting for her to break.
Thirty seconds later, she does. With a sigh, Emery drops her arms and opens her eyes. She glares at me. "What?"
"Nothing." I shrug.
She plants her hands on her hips. "It's hard to have a relaxing yoga practice with you leering at me like a creep."
“I’m not leering.”
“What do you call this then?” she demands, gesturing to where I’m standing. “You just walk in and stand quietly, watching? I’d say that’s the textbook definition of creeping.”
“Someone has to make sure you aren’t going to take off, abandon your daughter, and call a cab.”
She sighs, mutters something I don’t catch but that cannot possibly be flattering, and drops down into a downward dog.
Fuck. Me.
Her ass is high in the air, and I wouldn’t mind tearing those legging down her thighs and taking out some of my frustrations with the infuriating little kiska.
Then she wiggles her hips, and I realize that is exactly what Emery is hoping for.
Cunning little witch.
I sigh and walk further into the room. “Stefan just called.”
She bolts upright, eyes wide. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“Nothing important. If it was, I wouldn’t be telling you.” Her lip curls at that comment, but I continue as if I hadn’t seen it. “The Bratva is throwing a party. A memorial for my father.”
“Is it a party or a memorial?” she asks.
I shrug. “Where I’m from, there isn’t much difference.”
“Great. Well, have fun. Can’t wait to hear all about it.” Her sarcasm isn’t exactly subtle.
“Stefan is setting up security at the bar,” I remark.
She arches an eyebrow. “And I care because…?”
“Because you and Isabella are coming.”
“To a bar?” she blurts, her green eyes wide. “Not sure if you’re aware of the facts of the situation here, but Isabella is six. And I’m pregnant. I don’t think either of us has any business being in a bar.”
“It wasn’t a question, Emery. You’re coming.”
She huffs. “You don’t get to order me around. That’s not how this marriage is going to work.”
I take a menacing step toward her. “This marriage works how I say it will work. Unless you’d like to leave?”
Emery’s eyes narrow to slits. “You know I can’t leave.”