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“Andrei…” I held up my hands. “Calm down, just calm down for one damn second!”
Tex busted out laughing and relaxed against the smooth leather couch, propping his feet, yet again, up on the coffee table. He’d changed into a navy blue suit and had no shirt underneath, just tattoos and a gun in his lap. “This might turn out to be the best night of my life.”
“Can’t say the same,” I said through clenched teeth, hands still up, turning to Andrei with a glare. “Listen, she’s just making shit up.”
Katya smiled at me sweetly. “Was it shit when we were in the SUV and you—”
“Nixon, hurry, get popcorn.” Tex snapped his fingers while Nixon, smirking and shaking his head, left the room and went into the kitchen like this was some sort of blockbuster film.
Phoenix grabbed a hundred-dollar bill and calmly passed it to Dante. “My money’s on Andrei.”
Dante took the money with a shrug. “What? I like a good bet.”
“Santino’s going to die,” Chase agreed with Phoenix. “I wonder how fast or slow… Now that I’ll bet on.”
I took a deep breath as the barrel of Andrei’s gun pressed against my temple. “This is my fault. She doesn’t want an arranged marriage with some random stranger, and I’m assuming she’s sacrificing me on the altar of matrimony, which will never work since I’m—”
“Did you get her pregnant?” Andrei blurted as he clenched his teeth again like he was ready to eat me alive, then pull my intestines through my throat.
“What? In two days? No!” I shouted and held up my hands as calmly as I physically could while the situation worsened. “She’s not pregnant.”
“I could be pregnant.” Katya shrugged.
“Son of a bitch, stop talking!” I yelled at her.
“Don’t yell at my baby sister!” Andrei fired back, waving the gun in front of my face.
Chase started snickering. “Classic.”
I lowered my hands. Andrei somewhat lowered the gun, now zeroing in on my dick, which I guessed was better than a kill shot. He sneered. “Hasthisbeen anywhere near her?”
I could lie.
I should lie.
But for whatever reason, I locked eyes with him and confessed. “Yes.”
Theboomof the gun going off was the last thing I remember.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“The triumph of anything is a matter of organization.” —Kurt Vonnegut
Katya
Holy shit, my brother just shot at him. I covered my face in horror and let out a scream when another gunshot rang out. Santino didn’t as much as move. He just stood there frozen.
Two pretty red throw pillows suffered a quick death on the couch; down feathers went everywhere, coating the white leather like snow.
The wives came running in, took a solid judgmental look at Andrei, then at the pillows, and shook their heads, most of them scattering back into the kitchen as though shooting throw pillows was an everyday occurrence during dessert.
Alice marched up to her husband and smacked him in the shoulder twice before grabbing him by the neck and touching her forehead to his, or I guess more like slamming it. “Those were from Pottery Barn, you dick!”
Tex let out a low whistle. The room fell silent. I swear everyone leaned forward just to see what my scary brother would do after his wife slapped him.
“They were on sale too,” she snapped, shoving at him, even though he didn’t move an inch.
“I love a good sale,” Trace added.
