With me still in his arms, Rafael sits down on one of the empty chairs before the desk, making sure I’m comfortably situated on his lap. The room grows quiet, and then the old fellow across from us starts speaking. His soft voice and the melodic Italian words soothe me into that tranquil void where reality and dreamland mesh, leaving me feeling like I’m soaring upon warm currents of air.
Jesus fuck, I should have stopped after that second shot of tequila. I’m going to pass out in the middle of Rafael’s meeting. What if I drool? The man keeps speaking, but now he seems to be drifting far, far away. I’m so out of it that, for a moment, I thought he said my name. That doesn’t make sense, though. I don’t know him. I snuggle closer to Rafael, nuzzling his neck and inhaling his scent.
“Vespetta.” Rafael’s breath fans my ear. “I need you to say yes.”
“Yes,” I mumble.
My eyelids feel so heavy. The speaking continues. Then, there’s shuffling and rustling as people approach the desk. They seem to be signing something. It must be a very important contract since there are so many of them here. Rafael’s hold on me tightens as he takes the pen from Guido and leans forward, scribbling something into the thick red book.
“I need your signature here.” Rafael places the pen in my hand, but it slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor.
“You want me to sign?” I open my eyes to a blurry room. “Why?”
“To confirm that you were present at the signing of the contract. It’s tradition.” He hands me the pen again and pulls the book closer. “Just here.”
“You have weird traditions.” I giggle and, setting the ballpoint on the line at the bottom of the page where Rafael is pointing his finger, sign my name. “Will I get a cut of whatever deal you just made?”
“Yes.” His lips are on mine now. Tasting. Claiming.
I let myself be enraptured by his mouth while my consciousness slips away. The last thing I hear is the old man’s more vigorous Italian words. He’s probably chastising us for kissing in the middle of a business meeting.
“Vi dichiaro marito e moglie.”
Bright lights flank the runway. My plane is ready for takeoff, waiting for its passengers to arrive. Guido stops the car a few feet from the jet and turns off the ignition.
“Raff. We’re here.”
I sweep the hair that’s fallen over Vasilisa’s face away, lightly caressing her soft cheek with my knuckles in the process. She looks so young when she sleeps. “I am aware.”
“When will you be coming back?”
“I’m not going with her, Guido.”
“But, I thought . . . Why?”
“I told her that I love her, but she didn’t believe me. She said I don’t know what loving someone truly means. And she was right. I tried to make her stay with me by buying her presents. And issuing threats. I’m letting her go, so she can decide for herself.” I open the car door and step out with Vasilisa safely cradled in my arms. “Take your bag from the trunk and hurry.”
“My bag?”
“With a change of clothes. You’re getting onto that plane to make sure my wife arrives safely at her family’s home.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Calogero will retaliate in the next twenty-four hours. You need me.”
“I know. And I’ll handle him. Alone.”
“The fuck you will! He has more than ten men on his personal security team!”
“Shut. Your. Mouth. Because if you wake Vasilisa, I’ll strangle you,” I sneer through my teeth. “The deal I made with Biaggi includes a no-witness guarantee. I’m going to take down Calogero myself.”
“Raff—”
“This discussion is over.”
Standing at the foot of the airstairs, the flight attendant clutches the sides of her blazer to her chest as she watches me approach. I climb the steps, Guido following close behind me. Inside the cabin, I carefully lower my precious cargo onto the beige leather sofa. Vasilisa stirs, her eyes cracking a little.
“Are we home?”
I crouch next to her and brush the back of my hand along her chin. “Soon.”
“Okay,” she mumbles.
Her eyes flutter closed. I never imagined that letting go of something could hurt so much.
Sharp talons are slicing through my chest, trying to tear out my fucking heart. I reach into my pocket and take out the ring I put there earlier. It’s one of mine. Just a solid band of plain silver, worth practically nothing at all. I had the jeweler resize it to fit her delicate finger. He tried to convince me that it would be too small, as if I wouldn’t know every inch of my wife. Taking her right hand in mine, I slide the band onto her ring finger. Russians traditionally wear wedding rings on the right hand, and I want to honor that custom. The ring is a perfect fit.
“Farei qualsiasi cosa per te, vespetta,” I whisper as I lean toward her and kiss her slightly parted lips. “Perfino lasciarti andare.”
Vasilisa’s lips pull into a slight, sleepy smile before she turns around, tucking her face into the soft cushions of the sofa. I take off my jacket and cover her with it. After one last look, I straighten and rush toward the aircraft exit, feeling like every step is shredding my insides.
* * *
The videoconference window pops up on my laptop screen, showing Roman Petrov sitting at the desk inside his office.
“Rafael. It’s been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“My plane will be landing at a private airfield outside Chicago in ten hours. I’ll send you the exact location. You want to be there when it arrives.”
