Page 42 of Iron Crown

Whatever frost existed between us melted away as I touched her lower back, and she leaned into me.

She turned in my arms and wept into my chest.

“A few days, and he’ll be back,” I promised.

“I know, but I’ve never… I’ve never...”

“I know.” I held her, rocking her back and forth in my arms until she settled herself into soft sniffles.

She wiped her tears, then blinked away her sorrows. She was letting me soothe her, and that was a great comfort to me.

“I’ve barely spent any time with him, and separation already feels unbearable,” I admitted, placing her forehead against mine. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

My poor, sweet Muse. If I could kiss her pain away, I would. But even I knew that seducing her now would not lessen the ache she felt.

She pulled away, and I let her go, even though I wanted nothing more than to feel her skin against me. I needed her warmth now, more than ever.

“Andres Lutkus, or as many of us call him, Blink, was the man who helped me get rid of Giorgio Morelli’s body.” She turned away, clasping her hands in front of her, her shoulders slumped.

The confession took me by surprise, but I stood there, quietly waiting for more. Patience hasn’t always been a virtue ascribed to me, but for her? I had all the time in the world.

“He is my mentor, of sorts. He trained me.” She turned to me, her face grave. “He was my handler, and my friend.” She went onto her tiptoes, planting a kiss on my cheek. “I thought you should know.”

I was either the luckiest or the unluckiest man who ever lived. Lucky because every time she trusted me, I felt like arealman. A father, a husband, a person worthy of the Muse that had inspired me. Unlucky, because all of these precious moments were happening too late, and it could all be slipping from my grasp.

“Thank you,” I said, kissing her forehead, the way I had kissed Cillian’s earlier. “You did not have to tell me. I appreciate your trust.”

I cupped her cheek, looking at her with the same adoration she’d had in her eyes yesterday when my secrets were laid bare for the Bratva leadership. I took both of her hands in mine, tracing my thumb along the smooth backs of hers.

“I adore you, my darling wife.”

She didn’t look up from our joined hands, flipping my palm up. She traced her thumb down the line that should have been there, the scar of a handfast missing from our vows. She opened her mouth, but before she could ask again, I changed the subject.

“I have to go meet Cosima and give her one last chance to surrender peacefully. I’ll be back soon.”

“I should go with you,” she whispered.

I mulled on that for a moment. Men had been watching the meeting spot and would be there the whole time. O’Malley would be my driver, and he was a sharp fighter. Shiny herself would be doing oversight, and she was no slouch either. I wish I could take credit for their training, but I couldn’t. That had been Dairo who’d insisted on finding veterans and former service members for our ranks.

“Alright,” I said quietly.

What happened next was the single most intimate act I could do as a husband. I dressed my wife.

I brushed her hair and picked a dress from her luggage. I chose flats from among her things just in case something happened, and we’d need to run. Neither of us would wear armor since the meeting would take place in public. No one wanted things to end in a shootout and attract the attention of the law.

From what Morelli told me, Cosima was too clever a woman for something like that to happen. I touched Kira’s skin as I pulled up the zipper of her dress, placing a kiss at the base of her neck where the collar began. It felt intimate because it wasn’t just for the purpose of lust.

I sat her on the bed and carefully rolled tights up her legs to keep her warm against the cold spring. I kissed where they ended at her thighs, feeling the tender skin there, resisting the urge to place my teeth marks on her skin.

Before I left my place on my knees in front of her, I gave her another confession of my own.

“I knew about Giorgio Morelli,” I whispered, holding her hand. “Not who helped you, but that you had killed him.”

She nodded solemnly. “After yesterday, that means you know everything about me.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was so soft, so heavy with shame that I wanted to reach out and pull her onto my lap. But I wouldn’t just yet. “If this changes things—”

“Why would it?” I asked, my thumb caressing the delicate lines of her palm.God, I was a sorry fool for still wanting to see a mark there.

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