Page 99 of Jewel of the Assassin
She tips her head with an amused laugh. “Hardly, milaya moya. I simply gave him the tools. Roman forged his own path. And the path was never clearer, never brighter than the one he forged on your behalf.”
I smile. From the little I have learned, mostly from Mikhail and Zina, Roman took every contract imaginable. This island,this sanctuary, was years in the making, all for one reason. “Everything. For me.”
Roksana’s eyes narrow, a smirk curling her lips. “For you, Valentina. And God help you, the only one who deserves him.”
“High praise.”
“No.” She turns, nearly incinerating me with her intense green eyes, a silent command not to diminish myself.
I don’t. I stand, tall and proud, with the supreme weight of a bejeweled crown on my head. “How is it that we never met before? You weren’t at the wedding?”
“Oh, I was. The official one with its hundreds of guests and pomp and circumstance. But I was called away on last-minute business,” she explains. “With the boys grown, a female tycoon must have her hobbies. Such hobbies allow me to keep an eye on both my boys. My only regret in life will ever be that I did not meet you earlier, Valentina Makarova.” She smiles with keen approval.
I know better than to ask the details of her “hobbies”, but I can’t help but ask, “So what is Roman’s father like? Roman implied some bad blood in his family. I know it wasn’t a reference to you.”
“Hmm, bad blood is an understatement.” A shadow crosses her features as she stares at the image of her husband. “Roman was always mine. Nikolai claimed Anton. He was never satisfied with just politics—he wanted a legacy. And Anton… he wanted power without honor. When he was eighteen, he betrayed me. Used my name. My contacts. My network. For flesh. A trafficking ring, disguised as humanitarian aid.”
I flinch, bile rising in my throat. “Oh, God.”
Disgust gnaws at my stomach lining. No wonder Roman goes to such extreme lengths for me, for everyone.
“When Roman found out, he began to burn it down,” she goes on. “One deal at a time. One buyer at a time. Quietly. Without mercy. Anton took out a contract on him. Family,” shesays with disgust, “meant nothing. But my son—myson—killed every last hitman who came for him.”
She pauses, eyes straying from the portrait, and I follow as she moves on, putting it behind her. “Anton is more of a lion. He would never do the real dirty work his brother does. Roman topples empires. Anton sifts through the rubble and builds thrones from the ruin. Power and money versus Roman’s cunning and intelligence.” Her voice quiets. “My youngest son has been lost to me for a long time. The blood was already bad, Valentina. You simply made it personal. You are Roman’s softest spot… and the sharpest blade they’d use against him if they ever got the chance.”
“A blade can always turn on the hand that tries to wield it,” I say, straightening, shoulders back, chin high.
She turns, her eyes gleaming. “Whatever loss I feel for my son pales in comparison to what I have gained in you as a daughter, Valentina.”
“Valentina.”
Roksana and I both turn at the familiar voice. There is my storm standing in the entryway. Lowering his hooded eyes, Roman crooks a finger, a simple summons. I lean in, giving Roksana a cheek before crossing the gallery to my husband. I overhear her laughing softly behind me.
“I must steal my wife away for a short time, Mamma,” he tells her, offering me his arm.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Somehow, I will cope, moy syn. I’ve been wanting to connect with Fleur in any case.”
Roman smirks. “Don’t get any ideas, Mamochka. I may lend Fleur to you for a party or two, but they are my floral designer.”
I refrain from giggling as Roksana stiffens and wrinkles her nose. “I have offered to pay themdoublewhat you do.”
He pats the back of my hand with a snicker. “If only you could buy blood loyalty.”
She hisses, but I can see the subtle upturn of her mouth. Allin jest. Without another word, Roman escorts me into the hallway.
“What are you up to, moy korol?” I tiptoe my fingers along his arm.
“It’s time to give you a lesson in self-defense.”
My lips part in shock. “Seriously? You’re going to use me as a punching bag now?”
He raises a brow. “Your twisted mind never ceases to surprise me, Moya Koroleva. No, I have something more suitable in mind. A knife may be a useful tool, but I intend for you to be armed more accordingly.”
He leads me to an elevator at the end of the hall, presses his thumb to the sensor on the right, and it opens to his print. Once we’re inside, I stare up at him, reading the concern creasing his eyes. “Roman? Is everything okay?” I cup his shoulder.
A shadow crosses his face, and he glances away.
“Hey.” I touch my fingertips to his cheek, drawing his attention back to me. “I’m your wife. Your queen,” I remind him.
