Page 91 of The Bratva Sinner

I watch her saunter off, hips swaying seductively in her five-inch heels. I wish I could walk like that.

The evening stretches on. The champagne helps. I make small talk with strangers and watch women fawn all over my husband. I eat something small and expensive off a tray. And then, I eat something breaded and sweet because Ava said I had to.

I think I’m buzzed. I feel good. Light and loose.

I end up near the pool bar, leaning against the edge while I watch the crowd. Okay, him.

And her.

Some woman has been glued to Maksim’s side for the past fifteen minutes. She’s rubbing against him like a cat in heat.

Before I can seethe for too long, another man is there to talk to me. This is how it’s been all night. I play nice. Do my best to give a shit about The Hamptons and whatever other nonsense these people gossip about.

I’m on my fourth glass of champagne when a hand gently grabs my elbow.

“Hey there,” Maksim’s voice comes from just behind me.

I jerk my elbow away. “You stink.”

“Excuse me?”

“You smell like flowers. Women’s perfume.”

He pulls me away from the bar and the mingling people. “Lila, how much have you had to drink?”

“How many women have you fondled?” I retort.

“Lila.” His voice carries a warning.

I could play the jealous woman, or I could fight fire with fire. I’ll always choose the latter. It’s in my DNA.

I grab his tie and jerk him toward me. The heels help, but I still have to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. I slam my mouth against his, opening wide and plunging my tongue into his mouth. He kisses me back for three seconds before he closes his hands around my upper arms, and he pushes me firmly away.

I stare at him with confusion and maybe a little hurt. He’s pissed. At me.

“Don’t do that again,” he says quietly.

“Don’t do what?” I ask. “Kiss my husband?”

“Not like that. Not here.”

“You mean not when you’ve spent all night letting women rub all over you.”

“It’s business.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes and wipe his kiss from my lips. “I forgot. I’m the wife. I stand in the corner and look pretty in the dress you chose for me, and I don’t make scenes. That’s my job.”

His expression doesn’t change. “You’ve been drinking.”

“It’s a party. Aren’t we supposed to drink? Maybe I should be friendlier with your guests.”

“You won’t touch another man.”

“I’m not good enough for you to pimp out?”

“Stop it.”

“You’re a pimp,” I say with disgust. “A pimp and a drug runner. A mobster.”