Page 83 of Jewel of the Assassin
ROMAN
HALLOWEEN MORNING
So far, my methods have worked.
With alternating and securing my trade routes, I haven’t received any surprise packages from my brother. Not since that one day, nearly two months ago. And thankfully, the Bering Sea in winter provides more than enough protection, whether from fierce storms or sea ice restricting air and boat travel. Not even God would fly through the high winds and storms.
Valentina has become one with my world—winning the favor of all my staff, including Emilian, who forgave her for setting his kitchen on fire. Turns out she is simply better at baking than cooking. Her and Emilian partnered on a Baked Alaska, which resulted in the staff’s favorite voted dessert.
And the vodka trick in the study worked. Valentina’s successful felony of the heart. Now, Mikhail and Zina are often seen holding hands.
When I learned exactly which bottle she had used, I’d snorted. “Next time you trap someone in the cellar, maybe don’t use the hundred-year-old vodka,” I informed her.
And my sassy Koroleva waved her hand with a sparkly laugh. “That’s what love tastes like.”
I turned her over my knee and gave her a spanking until she was redder than poppies and squealing for my cock. I was supremely proud of my wife the whole time.
When I caught her enjoying too much vodka tasting and magic mushrooms with Levka, I did more than a spanking. I took her to the tallest island clifftop, chained her to an iron stake in the ground, set her on her knees on the very edge, and fucked her from behind as she screamed until the sea roared with her.
Arms crossed, I lean against the shadowed doorway and watch as she kneels beside Fleur, arranging silver-dipped pumpkins beneath the tall windows of the salon. God, she’s a vision. The fitted burgundy sweater clings to her like it was spun for her alone. With the deep V-neck, she unashamedly shows off the jewel brand, owning it like the monarch she is—not to mention driving me damn near mad with her cleavage and the soft inner swells of her full breasts. Her black leather skirt gleams faintly in the firelight, molded to the curve of her hips, and her legs—long, endless—are sheathed in sheer black tights that shimmer every time she moves.
I’m not a lucky man, I remind myself. I sweat for her, bled for her, killed for her.
Though my father had informed me of the proposal when I was eighteen, I was indifferent. I refused to research her until she turned eighteen. It was not until she was nineteen at the Volkov’s significant masked ball—when I looked upon her for the first time—and that was the night I knew she was my destiny.
I spent the next six years slaving away, taking every goddamn contract I could to buy this island, to build this very manor…all for her. Valentina became its queen the moment I carried her onto the land.
She’s bending low near the salon hearth, adjusting a garland of crimson berries and twisted twigs. For fucks sake! With the leather stretching from the thrust of her sensual ass, it’s easy to tell she’s not wearing anything underneath. It’s more than a man can stand.
She doesn’t know I’m watching. Or maybe she does. Either way, I’m transfixed. Proud. Possessive. She’s elegance and sovereignty wrapped in temptation, her golden hair spilling over one shoulder as she straightens and laughs at something Fleur says.
She doesn’t yet know what I’ve planned for tonight. How I’ll adorn her next.
Because what is the damn point of stealing a priceless treasure if you can never show it off? At least with the highest level of subterfuge. Tonight will also be an opportunity to test the definition of ‘hiding in plain sight’.
My annual masked ball begins at nine p.m. I have no intentions of leaving my wife behind.
She’s been a glutton for my history, my exploits. Now that she knows who I am, what I am, I have no qualms about sharing the more intimate details with mywife. Especially when it gets her hot.
Every night, I’ll don my gold mask and sit in my study leather chair, swirling my vodka. She will sit in my lap as I tell her another memory of a contract I fulfilled. I do away with a piece of clothing until I’m finished with the story, and she’s ready to be fucked against my desk.
“Valentina,” I finally summon her.
She pops her head up. Her lips tug into a proud, incandescent smile. Blood storms to my cock. She has many smiles, but that one is mine.
Smirking, I crook a finger, not minding when she lifts hers in a “be right there” gesture so she may kiss Fleur on the cheek. Fleur waves before resuming the duties of our decorator and greenhouse keeper.
When Valentina is at my side, I offer her my arm, donningthe nature of a gentleman for this particular conversation. Gets me harder when she leans her head against my arm. Especially with her autumnal scent of cinnamon, apples, warm amber, and a hint of dark chocolate. Someone’s been sneaking Emilian’s truffles again.
“He’s such a gem,” she shares, nodding at Fleur. Masculine today. “I love decorating the manor. I hope you like the new additions.”
“They are lovely.” I pat her hand approvingly. “As long as you are happy, it is my ultimate goal, moya zhena.” When she bites her lower lip, a soft blush spreading in her cheeks, I lower my head to kiss her brow. “Share anything you want, Valentina.”
We pause in the hallway as she steps in front of me, clutching both my hands this time. “I love everything, Roman. I love this life. I may still want to know more about my past, but you’re right. Our future matters most. And means the most for me.”
Smile spreading, heat pulsing in my veins, I lift a hand to comb my fingers through her hair, knuckles brushing her warm cheek. “It pleases me greatly to hear you say this, Moya Samotsvet.”
Her eyes turn watery, but her smile is still soft and appreciative. “You know I love everyone here. And please don’t think I’m ungrateful, but all this work we’ve put into this manor, this place…it seems like such a gift wasted on having no guests, no one to entertain, no one to invite.”
