Page 12 of A Bride for the Mafia King

No, I’m afraid of how much I already want to know him.

Chapter Five

Eva

Tolya’s Penthouse, 7:09 pm

The car slows as we approach the building. A sleek modern high-rise downtown, towering with glass and steel—it reflects the night lights of the city. We pull into the underground garage and stop outside a private elevator.

“Welcome home,” Tolya says as he steps from the car, reaching his hand out to help me. When our hands meet, a shock of electricity arcs between us. With a slight gasp, I drop his hand and walk toward the elevator.

The guard on standby waves a keycard at the pin pad, and the elevator doors open with a small ding. Stepping inside, all I see is our reflection in every inch of the small space. The interior is made of ceiling-to-floor mirrors on all four sides. The floor, thankfully, is an ornate black tile with veins of gold that won’t reflect up my skirts.

“Did they run out of your marble and crimson?” I blurt out sarcastically as I examine the mirror all around me. My hand flies to my mouth as I realize—I did just say that out loud. “Oh.”

Tolya doesn’t respond, but he can’t keep the smirk from crossing his lips either, rubbing his nose in an attempt to hide it.

So he does have a sense of humor.

When the elevator door opens again, it leads directly into the penthouse itself. The windows that line the front room open out to a panoramic view of the city beyond.

Stepping inside, Tolya sheds his suit jacket, laying it over the back of a leather chair as he passes it. He walks straight to the bar and pours himself a drink. Judging by the dark amber of the liquor within the crystal decanter, I safely assume it’s whiskey. No ice.

“This is where you live? No wonder no one can ever find you,” I say, standing awkwardly in the entryway.

“That’s the point, now, isn’t it?”

I watch him move through the space like I’m not even in the room. Stepping down the stairs, I approach the windows overlooking the city, taking in the brilliant lights of the night sky. From this vantage point I can even pinpoint where the city meets the lake, the lights fading into the darkness of the water beyond.

In the reflection I watch as Tolya loosens his tie, pulling out his phone and pressing a button before putting it to his ear.

“The view is beautiful here,” I say with a hmph. “Living in the sky, great idea. Unless someone throws you out the window.”

Tolya continues ignoring me, listening intently to something on his cell phone. He pulls it from his ear, and his fingers dance across the screen before returning it once more.

He barks what I assume are instructions to whoever picks up the other line in a slew of Russian I have no hope of understanding.

Turning to face him, I wait for him to fill me in on whatever’s going on. Nico always would, even if it was only because he needed someone to be his sounding board. But Tolya doesn’t. He scribbles some notes with a pen on a leather-bound notepad. His face is unreadable as he proceeds to ignore my existence.

“Everything alright?” I ask.

Still no response, no acknowledgement. Anger builds within me at the way he ignores me.

I clear my throat, attempting to tactfully interject my presence into his flurry of action. But he continues on as if this is any other Tuesday night.

Seriously?

Crossing my arms, I watch him with growing disbelief. My jaw clenches and I begin to grind my molars.

“Ah, excuse me,” I finally try.

Still no response. He just goes on organizing… whatever the hell it is that Pakhans organize. His expression isn’t nervous. He isn’t stalling. He simply doesn’t give a damn that I’m here.

“So this is how it’s going to be? Even married, we're still going to be enemies?” I ask in frustration, stepping closer. “No small talk, no awkward post-wedding tension? Just voicemails, phone calls, and whiskey while I stand here like a deaf and dumb statue?!”

He still doesn’t look up from his notes. Phone in one hand, pen in the other.

“HELLO! Would it be a huge inconvenience for me to interrupt your majesty?” I say haughtily, my hands shooting to my hips.