Page 11 of The Arrangement

Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. Possessiveness flooded Anton’s veins.

“Your coat, Ivan,” Anton demanded with a nod at his lawyer. “Cover her.”

When Ivan’s suit jacket was spread across her legs, Anton watched silently as she fisted the fabric and thanked him softly. “It’s no problem, Vine, but perhaps next time you could just knock instead of making a grand entrance like that, huh? Nearly got yourself shot,” Ivan joked with a wink.

“Enough,” Anton muttered. Did she know just by looking at him that he’d missed her so much? Immediately, her eyes dropped from his to find a spot on the floor. The rising rejection was hard to hide. “Viviana, you’ve met Boris …” She looked back up at the sound of his voice, “… and Viktor,” he added, nudging the prone man on the floor with the toe of his laced up boots.

Viviana chanced a look away from Anton, seeking out Ivan who smiled. “And you,” she added quietly.

“Yes.” Anton nodded at Ivan who was pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of the jacket lying across her legs. “He is my Sovietnik.” At her befuddled expression, he clarified with, “My Councilor, Viviana.”

It was clear she still didn’t understand. “I’m a lawyer. His, to be specific,” Ivan said before lighting up a cigarette.

“Like a Consigliere.”

Anton felt his anger flare slightly. “Similar, but we are not Cosa Nostra.”

“I’m aware,” she mumbled dryly.

“There are rules that need to be followed in this house for your safety. My office is off limits unless Ivan, or Erik …” he waved at the much older gentleman behind him sitting on a leather couch, “… or I accompany you inside. Whatever doors are locked are meant to remain that way. The attic and basement are barricaded with alarms and passcodes. They are not for you to enter, ever. If doors are closed, you knock and wait to be permitted inside.”

“The doors weren’t closed completely,” she muttered, refusing to meet his stare.

Anton sighed. “Don’t play word games or bother with the semantics. These rules are not vastly different from the ones you had growing up.”

“I’m not a child, Anton.”

“Then you know to knock before entering an office where my associates and I are residing.”

“You were going to shoot him!” Viviana shouted.

His jaw gritted. “Another rule—you’re not to step in when I am handing an issue.”

“I want to leave.”

“Then go back to my bedroom, and I will have the maid bring you whatever you need,” Anton dismissed her and turned back to Viktor.

“No,” she snapped. “Here. I want to leave here.”

His unaffected, hard stare turned back on her. Those words hurt, but Anton wouldn’t let her see how damned much. “Viktor,” he said, nudging the man on the floor with his foot once more. “Up with you. I believe you have something to say to Viviana.”

“I want—”

“Be quiet!” he snarled.

Shrinking back into the chair, she swallowed, her shaking hands clasped in her lap. “He doesn’t need to apologize.”

Anton was disgusted. “He absolutely does. Up, Viktor.”

Viktor rose from the floor, brushed down his pant legs, and then regarded Viviana with a blank expression. “My apologies, Miss Carducci, for treating you less than you deserved. You are not my property to do with as I wish, and my disrespect goes beyond just you. Anton has every right to be angry with me for disobeying his orders; please accept my apology.”

Was that a ghost of a smile that played on her pretty, full lips?

“You also called me a bitch.”

Anton growled from behind Viktor, who cringed at the sound. The brigadier was worried. The boss was even less happy now. “I’d forgotten about that. I’m sorry.”

Flattening her hands against the jacket and steeling her gaze beyond Viktor to stare at Anton, she finally nodded her assent. He was a little bit proud, then, given others wouldn’t have been so elegant about it.