Page 16 of A Bride for the Mafia King

“They pretend to trust you,” he replies coldly. “Your presence here is nothing more than a game. You’re here to look like peace. But you’ll always be an Italian, nothing more. When it comes down to it, when it really matters, you’ll pick them. Not us. Not Tolya.”

Mid-sentence, the elevator dings behind him and when the doors open they reveal Yaro within. I stiffen. Happy for the interruption and not having to respond to his accusations. Because, really, there’s nothing I can say to that. Not knowing myself whether his words are true or not.

“You should watch how you speak to her, Mikhail,” Yaro warns, his tone venomous. “She is the Pakhan’s wife and is due the respect of her station. Regardless of your personal opinions on the matter.”

The room seems to freeze as Tolya’s second-in-command speaks. The guard stiffens instantly, his mouth snapping shut as Yaro steps up to him. Toe to toe. His sharp suit and dark eyes make him all the more menacing.

“She is not your comrade,” Yaro continues, voice low and packed with danger. “She is not your woman. She is his. And that means she is beyond reproach.”

Mikhail opens his mouth to speak, but Yaro’s hand shoots out, gripping his collar.

“Un-fucking-touchable,” he growls. “One more word of disrespect comes from your mouth and I will feed you your own tongue. Understood?”

Mikhail nods, eyes darting to the wall.

Yaro releases him with a shove. “You’re done here. Get out of my sight before I change my mind and make your head into my gym bag.”

The man leaves without another word, disappearing into the elevator.

I exhale a heavy breath. One I hadn’t realized I’ve been holding.

Yaro turns to me and runs a hand through his hair, expression softening, just barely. Suddenly, he reminds me of my brother Nico.

“Apologies.” He says. “I’ll talk to Tolya and ensure Mikhail is no longer put on your guard detail. Obviously it is not the correct assignment for him.”

I nod, swallowing down a knot in my throat. “Thank you.”

Dipping his head. “Tolya asked me to stay with you this evening. He’s tied up for a few more hours.”

“So… what, you’re on babysitting duty?” I blink.

“Babysitting would imply that you're an unruly toddler.” He smiles faintly, looking me up and down. “Which I do not believe is the case here.”

I arch a brow.

He’s going to chastise the other men for talking to me disrespectfully and then have the audacity to gawk at me? That takes some nerve.

“Come on, I’ll cook you dinner,” he offers, stepping down the stairs and sweeping past me toward the kitchen.

“Wait…what?” I’m surprised, turning to watch him carefully.

When I enter the kitchen, he’s already pulling pots and pans from cabinets I haven’t even looked in yet. Obviously he knows his way around.

“Sit,” he instructs, pointing at the barstools that line the island. “Red or white?”

I sit, still in shock that this burly, fierce man knows his way around my kitchen. “What?”

“You say that a lot, you know that?” he says, laughing at my expense. “Wine. Do you want red or white?”

“Oh. Red please.”

With a nod, he moves to another cabinet, pulling a bottle of wine from it and uncorking it. Pouring two healthy glasses of the beautiful crimson liquid and handing me one.

“You… um… cook?” I ask in surprise.

“Habit I learned during a stint in Lisbon some time ago,” he informs me, pulling ingredients from the pantry and the fridge. “It’s not a bad thing to be handy with a weapon as well as in the kitchen. Just makes me a good catch for some lucky woman down the line.”

I’ll say. I wonder if Tolya knows how to cook?