I just nod and take a seat at a booth next to my uncle.
He’s already pouring himself a drink, his eyes trained on the dance floor a few feet below us, where a group of young women are dancing.
His eyes linger on their asses, their breasts. He’s not subtle—but his position in this city means he doesn’t need to be.
I look at the women. It’s easy to see why Budimir is watching them. They’re young, sexy, definitely looking for attention.
But that’s the very reason I turn from them.
Because they aren’t her.
Though I can’t help but notice they are dancing in the same spot where I first noticed Esme.
That image is stuck in my head. Her eyes had been closed, her head tilted back, her hair flowing around her shoulders as though she were in freefall.
She hadn’t been concerned about being noticed, which was exactly what was so fucking beguiling about her.
“See something you like, Artem?” Budimir asks, drawing my attention back to the present.
“Not really.”
“That’s okay,” he replies with a wink. “I have a few other surprises planned for tonight.”
I have to suppress a sigh, but I don’t need to ask because I have a good idea about the kind of surprise that Budimir has in mind.
Strippers.
Hookers.
Drugs.
Drinks.
Everything our money and power can get us, in quantities that would kill lesser men.
None of it is appealing in the least.
I wonder what Esme is doing right now. She spent the whole day shopping on Rodeo Drive.
A part of me secretly wishes I had been with her.
I relish the thought of sitting there while she parades in front of me in outfit after outfit, her body on display for me to admire.
To look at her and think, I own that now.
Something about the feeling that image provokes is unsettling.
I pull out my phone and check the live security feed of my penthouse. All I have to do is type in my password and I can see exactly what’s going on in my apartment at any time.
I had three extra cameras installed in Esme’s room before she arrived. It was just a precaution, but now I’m glad I did.
I see her sitting at her dressing table brushing out her hair. She looks tired, reserved.
She’s wearing a long silky robe that covers her body entirely. Not an inch of skin to be seen, and yet she still looks like a fucking dream.
“What are you doing?”
I close the feed before Cillian can lean in and see what I’m up to.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just… work.”
“It’s your bachelor party, Artem,” Budimir booms. “Put your fucking phone away! I’m going to make a toast.”
A full glass is shoved in my hand and Budimir raises his already half-empty glass. All around us, his entourage does the same.
“To my nephew! May your new wife’s pussy be as tight and beautiful as the rest of her.”
My fingers clench around the glass I’m holding. I set it down quickly before I break it.
Everyone else drinks, so I’m hoping no one notices that I don’t.
Unfortunately, Budimir doesn’t shut his fucking trap once the toast is out of the way.
“Here are some words of advice, Artem,” Budimir tells me. “Never forget who or what she is. Don’t be fooled by her pretty face either, or the sweet nectar between her thighs. She’ll seduce you like the whore she is, but she’s never going to be loyal. Women don’t know the meaning of the word.”
I can feel the vein in my forehead throb.
“What makes you think she’s a whore?” I growl before I can stop myself.
Budimir cocks one eyebrow. “She’s a Moreno, isn’t she?”
“After we’re married, she’ll be a Kovalyov.”
“Grow up, boy,” Budimir says, with a wave of his hand. “Taking a name doesn’t make it your own. Do you really think she will forget that you murdered her father and destroyed her home? You’re not marrying her to play house—you’re marrying her to build an empire. She is and always will be expendable to you.”
I can feel my temper flare with every word he speaks. I need to keep my feelings in check, but I keep seeing red.
It doesn’t help that Budimir still does not fucking stop talking.
“But it doesn’t matter what she feels inside,” Budimir continues. “To the rest of the world, she must be a dutiful Bratva wife. And if she misbehaves, you can simply fuck her into submission.”
My fists clench together.
“And if you don’t have the stomach for that, tell me and I’ll do it for you.”
It takes all my strength not to upend the table and punch Budimir in his saggy fucking face.
“You, Uncle?” I manage, as calmly as I can. “I’m surprised your cock even works at your age.”
He chortles, but it cuts off a little too soon to be real. He searches my face.
“Touchy touchy, Artem. I meant no harm. I didn’t realize you had developed… feelings for the woman so soon.”
I scoff. “I haven’t,” I lie. “But I have claimed her. She is mine and no one else’s cock gets anywhere near her.”
Budimir bows his head, concealing his eyes from me for a moment. “As I said, I meant no offense. I’m just a tired old man out past his bedtime. In fact, I think I’ll take my leave now.”
He puts down the glass in his hand as he stands and offers a quick bow.
Then he’s gone, leaving behind only a ridiculous wad of cash—par for the course when it comes to dear old Uncle Budimir—and a whiff of foul Russian cologne. His men file out behind him.
I frown, surprised by Budimir’s abrupt departure and the manner in which he left.
But I’m not upset about it. I have no interest in enduring any more of his advice tonight.
“Well, you sure know how to kill a party,” Cillian teases, moving to fill the seat that Budimir just vacated.
“It was that or I was gonna punch him in the face,” I tell him. “This was the
