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Shrugging on a coat so the weapon behind my back isn't visible, I chuckle while walking out of the bedroom. "I have to go and deal with my wife."

There's a burst of laughter in my ear. "Good luck."

We end the call, and I tuck the device into my pocket as I reach the guestroom I found Mariya in earlier. It pissed me off that she even dared to climb into another bed.

Opening the door, I'm met with a shriek. "Do you freaking mind?"

"Not at all." I stroll inside as Mariya turns her back to me

and quickly fastens the buttons on her silk blouse.

"Well, I do," she snaps. Once she's dressed, she swings around to face me with a scathing glare. "Just because there's a piece of paper saying we're married doesn't mean you can come and go as you please."

I tilt my head to the side, my gaze lazily sweeping over her body. I love the way she dresses, always looking like the queen she is.

Fuck, you can fit a diamond in the gap between her thighs. "You better get used to it," I lift my eyes to hers, "mia moglie."

A flash of anger tightens her features, and it has me noticing she's not wearing any makeup. I was too tired to notice earlier.

Staring at her, I take in how vulnerable she looks without the warpaint covering her face.

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