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“Of course. . .the best man will be Valentina.”
A low chuckle left him. “Of course. I am sure she will love that.”
“King David, you, Misha.” I rubbed my chin. “This is a good group to be in my wedding. Perhaps, I will think of one or two more, if my mouse has a lot of women.”
“I assume Maxwell will be her maid of honor?”
I nodded. “It will be a unique line up indeed.”
“Excellent.” Tisha pointed at me. “Now please go to sleep, cousin.”
I scowled.
“You must.”
“I will.” I put my gaze on Boris standing in our bedroom. “But first, I must have a conversation with them.”
“A conversation?”
“Yes.” I frowned at Boris. “A conversation.”
Chapter thirty-eight
The Mahogany Casket
Kazimir
I headed into the bedroom.
Everyone in there turned to me, waiting for my orders.
Meanwhile, I put my gaze on Emily. The cadenced melody of her steady breaths filled the air. The sound gave me a sense of calm amidst the chaos of tonight.
She was an island of peace in a sea of turmoil. Yet somehow, her presence, even in sleep, was my anchor.
Still asleep, and no appearance of Lunita. Will we be lucky this evening?
My eyes then shifted from Emily’s tranquil form to Wassily and Boris.
They stood near the bed, dressed for conflict–black sneakers, black tactical pants, and form-fitting shirts.
Items chosen for utility and stealth.
But it wasn’t just their attire that caught my attention; it was the resolve etched on their faces. Their expressions were set in stone too. Determination burned in their eyes. They were more than just dressed for war; they embodied it.
Hmmm.
I found myself pondering their motivations.
Was this display of readiness a reaction to the night’s events, an unspoken understanding of my fury and their eagerness to act upon it?
Or was it a deeper display of loyalty? Some testament to their commitment to me and the Brotherhood?
Interesting.
The events of tonight had shaken the foundations of our world in New Orleans. The attack, the looming threat of the sicarios.
In such times, the true nature of individuals came to the front.
