Chosen By A Sinner (Sinners 4)

“Feels like whenever we off one, three grow in the fuckers place,” Marco says. “How do you want to handle it.”

I pull on my suit pants and grab a dress shirt. “I want surveillance on them twenty-four-seven.”

“Done.”

After buttoning the shirt, I step into a pair of brown leather shoes. “How are things in Europe?”

Usually, the Albanians would be Nikolas’ problem, seeing as Albania is right next to Greece, but for some fucking reason, they’re coming after me.

“Quiet after we took out the fuckers four months ago,” Marco replies. “Lorenzo and Diego have everything under control.”

I tuck my Heckler & Koch behind my back in the waistband of my pants and pick up the phone just as Mariya comes out of the bathroom. She stops to glance at me, frowns, then leaves the bedroom.

“By the way,” I mutter into the device, “I got married yesterday."

“What?! To who?” Marco exclaims.

“Mariya Koslov. We got drunk in Vegas, and one thing led to another.”

Worry laces his words as he asks, “Christ, Luca. Do Alexei and Viktor know?”

“Relax. They know.”

“Fuck, my heart can’t handle that kind of shock. Dealing with the Albanians is stressful enough without you adding to it.”

Shrugging on a coat so the weapon behind my back isn’t visible, I chuckle while walking out of the bedroom. “I have to go and deal with my wife.”

There’s a burst of laughter in my ear. “Good luck.”

We end the call, and I tuck the device into my pocket as I reach the guestroom I found Mariya in earlier. It pissed me off that she even dared to climb into another bed.

Opening the door, I’m met with a shriek. “Do you freaking mind?”

“Not at all.” I stroll inside as Mariya turns her back to me and quickly fastens the buttons on her silk blouse.

“Well, I do,” she snaps. Once she’s dressed, she swings around to face me with a scathing glare. “Just because there’s a piece of paper saying we’re married doesn’t mean you can come and go as you please.”

I tilt my head to the side, my gaze lazily sweeping over her body. I love the way she dresses, always looking like the queen she is.

Fuck, you can fit a diamond in the gap between her thighs.

“You better get used to it,” I lift my eyes to hers, “mia moglie.”

A flash of anger tightens her features, and it has me noticing she’s not wearing any makeup. I was too tired to notice earlier.

Staring at her, I take in how vulnerable she looks without the warpaint covering her face.

Without hesitation, I say, “You look so much more beautiful without all the makeup.”

Her head snaps back as if I physically struck her, her lips parting in shock.

A compliment from me was the last thing she expected.

Her reaction makes me feel shitty, and I make a mental note to compliment her more.

Wanting to share an ordinary moment with her, I say, “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

She glances at a small bag on the bed. “If we’re going out, I need a couple minutes to get ready.”

Stepping forward, I take hold of her hand and pull her out of the room. “You’re perfect as is, and I’m starving.”

“Luca,” she protests, rearing back against my hold. “You don’t have to drag me.”

“Apparently, I do,” I mutter.

She tries to free her hand again. “I need my purse!”

“No, you don’t.” I tug her down the stairs, and reaching the bottom, I glance at her. “I have a phone and wallet, so basically, I'm all you need.”

“You wish.”

When we step into the elevator, Mariya’s fingers flex in my hold as she sighs, “It’s going to be a long six months if you insist on being unreasonable.”

“Only if you keep being stubborn.”

Her eyes snap to my face. “You’re the stubborn one.” She turns her gaze to the doors, then adds, “And so freaking bossy.”

“I’m used to getting my way,” I chuckle.

The doors open, and when we step out into the basement, she mutters, “That makes two of us.”

Mariya’s guards, Ivan and Lev, climb out of the SUV.

“We’re heading out for lunch,” I call to them.

Instantly smiles stretch over their faces.

I’m going to have to show the two men around the apartment and the private escape stairs for when they’re guarding Mariya whenever I’m at work.

I open the passenger door for my wife and wait for her to climb into the G-Wagon. On the spur of the moment, I lift her hand and press a kiss to her fingers before setting it down on her lap.

A cautious light fills Mariya’s eyes, telling me she doesn’t trust my actions one bit.

She just needs time.

I shut her door, and walking around the vehicle, I slide behind the steering wheel and start the engine. As we pull on our safety belts, I ask, “Anywhere specific you’d like to have dinner?”