Page 61 of The Bratva Sinner

His eyebrows shoot up. “What kind of marriage is it then?”

“Protection. I married her to keep her safe. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” he repeats slowly. “You married a woman you’re not sleeping with?”

“Yes.”

“Maksim, you’re not a monk. If your wife isn’t in your bed, will she be okay with another woman in it? Will I get a call from Damien that your dick’s been sliced off, or that you’ve had a knife driven through your eye while you slept?”

The questions are valid because both things have happened to men we know. The women who marry into the bratva aren’t known for being sweet or polite.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“You don’t know?” Nikolai is genuinely confused. “What kind of arrangement is this? You’re protecting her but not touching her? This makes no sense.”

“I know.”

“What happens when you want sex? You just... what, go to one of your girls?”

I imagine walking into one of my clubs, picking someone, and taking them home. That’s what I would have done before. What I’ve done dozens of times. Not any of my girls; that would cause problems within the hierarchy. Cinder would cut off my balls.

“I don’t know,” I repeat.

“You don’t want another woman,” Nikolai realizes.

“No.” The admission feels like pulling teeth. “I don’t.”

“You want her.”

I lean against the railing, staring out at the red hills beyond the city.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. She made it clear that she’s not interested. This is a business arrangement. She gets protection, I get... I don’t know what I get.”

“You get to play hero,” Nikolai says, not unkindly. “You get to save her.”

I want to hit him, but he’s not wrong.

“She doesn’t want me,” I say quietly. “She tolerates me. She lives in my house, eats my food, and uses my resources. But she doesn’t want me.”

“Have you asked her?”

“She told me she’d never sleep with me. Said I could go fuck my other women if I wanted.”

Nikolai winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what will you do?”

I don’t have an answer. I’ve been avoiding the situation, throwing myself into work, and staying away from the house as much as possible. Being near her and not being able to touch her is torture. Every day I stay away, I think about her more.

“I’m not going to do anything,” I say. “Ride out the Albanians’ rage and then ship her off.”

“You think that will work?”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You probably should have thought about that before you fucking married her.”