my chin towards her again. I hold back the urge to slap her hand away. “…You’re not listening! Wasn’t it so romantic? Oleg’s suit was so sharp, and Zhanna looked like she stepped right out of a movie. Aren’t you excited to get married one day?”
“I rue the day,” I say sarcastically.
“Huh?”
I turn to fix my gaze on her. “Would you like to flip a coin, darling?”
She crooks her head and tries to smile through it, but she’s confused. “I … I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Flip a coin,” I repeat. “Heads or tails.”
“I thought we were talking about, um … like, weddings?”
I nod. “That’s exactly what we’re talking about, Daniella. Flip a coin. Heads or tails. That’s what marriage is. Say you’re lucky—you get heads. You fall in love, raise a family, pass through your golden years in matching rocking chairs on the front porch. Then, surprise surprise: you get a front row seat to watch your life partner wither and die before you. Is that the happily ever after ending you find so endearing?”
She’s frowning now, her brow wrinkled as she tries to process what I’m saying.
But I’m not done yet. “Or let’s say you lose. Tails. The person you choose turns out not to be who you thought they were. You change, they change, the whole thing changes, and it crumbles to dust in your hands. You cheat, you lie, you learn how much you actually hate each other. Is that the better option?”
“I, I …” she’s babbling, trying to interrupt, but I just lay a soft finger over her lips to shush her.
I lean in close, almost nose to nose, to make my final point. “Listen to me—you lose either way, Daniella. The game is rigged. The house always wins. Pick your metaphor. So, to answer your question, sweetheart: No, I am not excited to get married. The whole thing is a fucking joke.”
When I’m finished, I settle back against my seat and turn my attention back to the television. Daniella looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I think love exists,” she says softly. “I know it does. My parents are still together. They’re happy.”
“An anomaly, I’m sure,” I drawl.
“Alright then, Mr. Angry Bachelor, if you’re not interested in getting married anytime soon, what are you interested in?” she asks. She leans forward and grazes her lips over my ear sensually. “I think I have an idea.”
My eyes remain on the television. According to the latest reports, the vigilante has now killed a crooked cop and drawn his trademark scales on the man’s bedroom wall.
“Stop watching TV and look at me,” she whispers. She tries to tug at my chin, but I shake her off. “I’ll treat you exactly how I know you want, Matty. I’ll put porn stars to shame for you.”
Her blunt attempts at sex appeal fall on deaf ears. This mystery unfurling on the television screen has captured the entirety of my attention.
All I can think about is what I would do to this Batman wannabe. It’s not just hypothetical—given the reach of the Bratva Syndicate, it is only a matter of time until he makes a scene somewhere that I control.
With all this going on, I don’t have the patience to pretend I’ll enjoy robotically fucking Daniella upstairs in my bedroom. Something tells me she’s one of those girls who starts moaning like a stuck pig from the second you enter her.
I also have to wonder if she’s just coming on strong because she’s desperate or because she has ulterior motives. I can’t be sure anymore. My enemies are everywhere, and even when they’re not around, Oleg is trying to set me up with every girl he knows. I can’t say for certain which motive I fear more.
My phone rings. I grab it from the other side of the couch and see my brother Dmitry’s name pop up on the screen.
“You should go,” I tell Daniella.
She frowns and tries to straddle my lap. “But—”
“Now,” I growl. I am losing my patience with her. I need to take this call.
“C’mon, Matty, I promise I’ll make you feel good.”
I take a deep, steadying breath and shove myself up from the couch. Daniella stumbles back, nearly falling flat on her ass. I grab her arm and drag her to the front door, opening it and pushing her through.
“Wow, seriously, Matvei?” she cries, adjusting her dress to cover up the flash of lacy panties peeking from the crest of her exposed thigh.