Now, we’re stepping back into the hotel suite, and I can feel the distance between us like I’m standing on the edge of a huge, dark canyon filled with shadows at the bottom. He’s taking off his shirt in the bedroom when he speaks for the first time in twenty minutes.
“We’re hosting a dinner next week.”
“A dinner?” I ask, trying to get him to make eye contact with me. He refuses.
“We need to address your resurrection, and we need to introduce you to the Bratva from a position of power. It’s a good time to announce your pregnancy, too. Strategically, the timing is right.”
I frown. “Okay. Strategic dinner. Got it.”
“This is important, Paige,” he tells me, as though I’ve just told him that I’m not willing to host it. “It won’t be just the family—it’ll include council members, senior Vors,
