apologize. He didn’t know for what, but the stale taste in his mouth mixed with the hangover he seemed to be experiencing was a pretty good indicator he’d done something he shouldn’t have.
“Vine—”
“Oh, it’s not the wife today?” Viviana asked, cocking a brow.
Anton flinched. Had he called her that? “Where’s Dem—”
“ Sleeping ,” she interrupted. “It’s still early, Anton.”
“I should … move, or something.”
“Three in the morning, really? I can’t even believe you! If it hadn’t been for that new girl answering the phone at the club, I would have thought you were fucking dead .”
Anton blinked at the bright white ceiling, guilt and queasiness filling him up to the brim. The memories he tried to reach from the night before were hazy at best, but he could remember being at his club in Brighton Beach. A few of his guys had showed up and they drank a bit, but that wasn’t anything new.
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, your pupils were the size of a dimes, if that helps any. Thank God for Rory driving you home. That was a selfish move, Anton. And coming home stoned, drunk, and stupid? That’s nothing like you.”
“I’m sorry,” Anton said softly. He wasn’t going to make excuses, because clearly he fucked up, but he really wished he could remember why or at least how it had happened. “Vine, really, I don’t know … Did I say anything?”
“Other than telling Rory that the wife would handle it? No.” A heavy sigh fell into the room. The sound felt like a loaded gun pointed directly at his chest. Viviana had never seemed so totally overwhelmed or angry at him before, not like this. “Anton, I just … After last night, I can’t do this.”
The beating heart in his chest might as well have stopped altogether. “What?”
Something was tossed to the bed and Anton didn’t miss the fleeting disgust that flitted over Viviana’s pretty face. Pushing himself up in the bed, he grappled for the dress shirt that now lay forgotten where she threw it. At first he assumed she gave it to him to put on, but a simple glance at the article of clothing told him that wasn’t the case.
Smelling like it’d been washed in a brewery with the faintest smudge of sparkly, red gloss at the collar, the dress shirt might as well have been a bomb ready to blow. Anton choked on the air in his throat. Sure, it was his shirt, no doubt about it. That gloss on the collar, though, meant something else entirely.
“No way,” he said, dropping the shirt like it’d burned him. “No fucking way, Vine. I wouldn’t ever—”
“Pick it up and smell it,” she whispered, anguish filling up the brown eyes that met his unflinchingly. “Smells like a whore , Anton. Smells just like she was all over you, and the fact that I had to take it off of you last night to get you into bed … Why would you ever do that to me?”
Anton hurt all over. It wasn’t just a physical pain from the hangover, but an emotional one. Simply looking at his wife, her heart so open and broken on her sleeve, he fucking damn well ached. What had he done? Surely there wasn’t any way he would do that to Viviana. It just wasn’t possible. He couldn’t even think the word, let alone consider it as a real possibility. They’d been married three years and not once had he strayed from his wife.
There were opportunities, sure. Considering his profession as a high ranking boss in the Russian mafia, mixed in with his many businesses that had beautiful women roaming in and out by the dozens, Anton was surrounded by those kinds of opportunities. Drugs, illegalities, and women were a common thing in his day-to-day life, but never … no. Anton could not even consider it.
“Vine, I swear to God,” Anton said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You know—”
Viviana shook her head, the coffee cup in her hands trembling. “I don’t know anything.”
“You know me ,” he insisted.
“The man I know doesn’t
“Vine—”
“Oh, it’s not the wife today?” Viviana asked, cocking a brow.
Anton flinched. Had he called her that? “Where’s Dem—”
“ Sleeping ,” she interrupted. “It’s still early, Anton.”
“I should … move, or something.”
“Three in the morning, really? I can’t even believe you! If it hadn’t been for that new girl answering the phone at the club, I would have thought you were fucking dead .”
Anton blinked at the bright white ceiling, guilt and queasiness filling him up to the brim. The memories he tried to reach from the night before were hazy at best, but he could remember being at his club in Brighton Beach. A few of his guys had showed up and they drank a bit, but that wasn’t anything new.
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, your pupils were the size of a dimes, if that helps any. Thank God for Rory driving you home. That was a selfish move, Anton. And coming home stoned, drunk, and stupid? That’s nothing like you.”
“I’m sorry,” Anton said softly. He wasn’t going to make excuses, because clearly he fucked up, but he really wished he could remember why or at least how it had happened. “Vine, really, I don’t know … Did I say anything?”
“Other than telling Rory that the wife would handle it? No.” A heavy sigh fell into the room. The sound felt like a loaded gun pointed directly at his chest. Viviana had never seemed so totally overwhelmed or angry at him before, not like this. “Anton, I just … After last night, I can’t do this.”
The beating heart in his chest might as well have stopped altogether. “What?”
Something was tossed to the bed and Anton didn’t miss the fleeting disgust that flitted over Viviana’s pretty face. Pushing himself up in the bed, he grappled for the dress shirt that now lay forgotten where she threw it. At first he assumed she gave it to him to put on, but a simple glance at the article of clothing told him that wasn’t the case.
Smelling like it’d been washed in a brewery with the faintest smudge of sparkly, red gloss at the collar, the dress shirt might as well have been a bomb ready to blow. Anton choked on the air in his throat. Sure, it was his shirt, no doubt about it. That gloss on the collar, though, meant something else entirely.
“No way,” he said, dropping the shirt like it’d burned him. “No fucking way, Vine. I wouldn’t ever—”
“Pick it up and smell it,” she whispered, anguish filling up the brown eyes that met his unflinchingly. “Smells like a whore , Anton. Smells just like she was all over you, and the fact that I had to take it off of you last night to get you into bed … Why would you ever do that to me?”
Anton hurt all over. It wasn’t just a physical pain from the hangover, but an emotional one. Simply looking at his wife, her heart so open and broken on her sleeve, he fucking damn well ached. What had he done? Surely there wasn’t any way he would do that to Viviana. It just wasn’t possible. He couldn’t even think the word, let alone consider it as a real possibility. They’d been married three years and not once had he strayed from his wife.
There were opportunities, sure. Considering his profession as a high ranking boss in the Russian mafia, mixed in with his many businesses that had beautiful women roaming in and out by the dozens, Anton was surrounded by those kinds of opportunities. Drugs, illegalities, and women were a common thing in his day-to-day life, but never … no. Anton could not even consider it.
“Vine, I swear to God,” Anton said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You know—”
Viviana shook her head, the coffee cup in her hands trembling. “I don’t know anything.”
“You know me ,” he insisted.
“The man I know doesn’t
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