Page 67 of Twisted Fate

Instead of going back to the penthouse—where I know I’ll be distracted by my wife—I head to an office space that I rent in a high-rise building instead, working through some of the backlog of paperwork and other responsibilities that I abandoned for a week to go to the Serengeti with my new bride. When the sun starts to set, I pack up, heading back down to where my Porsche is parked to head back home. I can feel the pleasant ache from my workout, and my mind feels a bit more settled as well, the physical exertion and mental work having taken the edge off of my frustration, if not eliminated it entirely.

When I step off of the elevator and walk into the front door, I’m greeted with a startling scene: Sophia, in a black leather thigh-length skirt with a ruffle diagonal across the hem and an emerald-green sleeveless silk top, her hair piled on her head and her legs shown off by high, strappy heels. She’s standing next to the long table that’s by the left windows, and candles are burning in the center of it, framing a display of plated food and poured drinks.

She smiles at me, and I stand there, stunned by the sight of something I’ve never walked in on before.

“Welcome home, Konstantin.”

18

KONSTANTIN

Iblink at her, startled. I’m not sure where to look first. She looks like a vision, backlit by the candlelight, and the scent of the food finally reaches me. Steak and shrimp, I think, and as I walk toward the table, I can see that’s what’s served, along with what looks like a salad dressed with crumbled cheese, dried fruit, and a creamy vinaigrette. The drinks are different—a glass of wine for her, and what looks like a rum cocktail for me.

“What is all this?” I look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Can you cook?” I glance at the kitchen, but there’s no sign of it having been used. It rarely is. I have a full set of cookware and dishes, the finest money can buy, but I’ve maybe put them to use twice in all the time I’ve lived here.

Sophia laughs, walking toward me. Her heels click pleasantly on the wooden floor, and as she wraps her arms around my neck, her perfume wafting over me, all I can think isI could get used to this.

“Absolutely not,” she says, the laughter echoing in her voice. “I ordered takeout. From La Mer. I will confess, I did make the cocktail, though. I got into your liquor cabinet for it.” She purses her lips playfully. “Forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive.” I lean in, my hands resting on her waist as I kiss her. It all feels so foreign—coming home to a wife, a meal, a ready-made drink, and I’m not such a fool as to think that a woman like Sophia is going to do this every night. But for tonight…

The barest graze of my lips against hers, and I can feel my cock twitch, already rising to the occasion. Sophia arches against me, deepening the kiss briefly, and she lets out a soft laugh as she feels my burgeoning erection press against her core.

“Not yet,” she teases. “First, there’s dinner.” She disentangles herself from me, glancing back toward the spread on the table.

"I thought after everything that happened at the resort, we deserved something special for our first night back. But I didn't want to go out."

I lean down, capturing her mouth with mine, unable to resist. She tastes like wine—she must have already had a glass—and something sweet underneath. When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed.

"Thank you," I murmur, and I mean it.

Sophia has already plated the entire meal. We sit down, her next to me on the left, so that she can enjoy the ocean view from the windows as well, and I take in the perfectly prepared meal in front of us. Rare steak, bearnaise sauce, shrimp and scallops grilled in garlic butter, the crisp salad, and a side of perfectly grilled asparagus.

She reaches for her wine glass, taking a sip. "How was your meeting with your father?"

I consider how much to tell her. "Tense," I admit finally. "He wants to meet with Genovese and Slakov. Set a trap."

Her eyebrow rises slightly. "That sounds risky."

"It is. But necessary." I take a bite of the perfectly cooked steak. "It’s a rare thing that we agree on, although I’m not as sure as he is that they’ll take the bait. But we’ll see. He’s sending hisright-hand man, Damian, to set up the meeting. If they refuse, then we’ll look into other options.”

Sophia nods, taking a bite of her salad, her expression thoughtful. "When is this meeting?"

“A week from now. If they agree.” I let out a hum of pleasure as I take a bite of a scallop. “Mm. I forgot how good La Mer is. It’s been a while since I’ve gone out to dinner, actually, since before the honeymoon. I usually got some kind of takeout, but nothing like this.”

Sophia smiles. “Well, I’m glad I thought of it, then.” She pauses. “Should we be worried about an attack? With the meeting being planned?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. At least, not if they agree to the meeting. We’ll be cautious, all the same. But I think they’ll hesitate to try anything again so soon, here in Miami. They’ll be waiting for a response, especially after what we did to Elia.” I reach out, touching her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Sophia raises an eyebrow. “I can take care of myself,” she says with a smirk, and I chuckle.

“Oh, I know.” I curl my fingers briefly around hers. “Believe it or not, it’s one of the things that I like about you.”

Our conversation flows easily after that. We talk about nothing important—the city, places she enjoys going to or ones she hasn’t tried yet, music we both enjoy. It feels... normal. Like we're just a couple having dinner, not the heir to a crime empire and his mysterious bride.

In this moment, with candlelight reflecting in her eyes and the Miami night spread out below us through the windows, Sophia feels like a refuge. A bright spot in a life that, for me, has often been dark and without much light. I find myself laughing more than I have in years, genuinely enjoying her company. I feel?—

My chest tightens as I resist putting a word to what I feel. But regardless of the fact that I’ve never experienced it before, I know what it is.

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