Page 76 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

Familiar work.

I should feel calmer than I do.

Instead, part of my brain is still standing in Aleksander’s apartment last night with his hand at my jaw and his forehead pressed against mine.

Say it again.

Sasha.

The name had slipped out before I understood I was giving it to him. And the way he stopped—the rough breath, his eyes closing, the brief devastating fracture in all that control—and then he stepped away, and I went to bed alone.

Sometime after midnight, the bedroom door opened. Aleksander moved quietly through the dark, but I was still awake when the mattress dipped beside me. He lay on his back without touching me. I stayed facing the windows, equally still. Neither of us said a word.

But his breathing never fully settled, and the tension held through his body was too sharp for sleep. I could feel it across the space between us, the same restless awareness keeping every inch of my own skin awake.

I spent half the night furious with him for stopping.

The other half relieved that he had.

Neither feeling is especially useful before a client meeting.

Mikhail glances sideways at me. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The silent argument with someone who isn’t here.”

“I’m reviewing the consultation.”

He studies me for another second, then settles back against the seat. “Aleks has been unbearable all morning.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Mikhail gestures carelessly between us. “Put your husband out of his misery, will you?”

I turn to glare at him.

“What?” He grins. “You’re married. I’m not proposing anything radical.”

I suddenly become very interested in the material boards. “You’re supposed to be preparing for your new career, not giving relationship advice.”

He reaches past me and taps one of the limestone samples. “This one turns yellow under northern light. The architect prefers it because he already ordered half the slab allocation. Amelia Healy wants the wall between the foyer and salon removed, but you think it should stay because the apartment needs compression before the main room opens.”

I stare at him.

He raises his eyebrows and leans back, smug again.

“And the proposed library chairs are too shallow for anyone over sixty to stand up without assistance.”

“You read the file?”

“Aleks insisted.”

I focus on the samples because the thought has weight.

Aleksander did not simply assign a man with a gun and tell him to follow me. He made sure Mikhail understood the project well enough to be useful.

“You memorized the furniture specifications?”