Page 22 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

“Knock it off.”

“Ah.” He waved Igor off. “I let you clean out the house of any pills.”

“I thought liquor, too.”

Vaslav squinted at that. “I need something.”

And it couldn’t be a half of a pack of sleeping tablets, according to that prick in the city. Not on top of everything else.

“At least tonight—Christ, it’s only been a day,” Vaslav added.

Not even a good day, for that matter. If he were an honest man, Vaslav might admit that having Vera as close as he did, but not within the four walls of his own home, did not help the matter of his mood or the constant churning in his gut.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Igor said.

Vaslav let out a heavy breath. “Maybe, yeah.”

“You don’t have to speed it up, no?”

The morbid joke landed perfectly for a tipsy Vaslav who knew better than to down nearly two liters of vodka within the time span it would take his man to drive the ROV down to the guesthouse and power off the generator system for the evening. That didn’t mean he intended on telling Igor he was right, though.

“Are they fighting, do you think?” he asked without warning.

Igor seemed to know who he meant without the explanation. “Wouldn’t you know better than me? I found you pounding in fence posts with the man this morning again.”

Vaslav rolled his eyes, refusing to admit that the entire time he was down the hill earlier in the day, Vera had all but refused to speak to him. Clearly, she still had feelings about their discussion the day before. “That’s the only thing I like about him; he’s willing to do a job with me.”

“I offered to do that job with you,” Igor pointed out.

“You talk while we do it. And you didn’t answer me. Are they getting along?”

Igor sucked on his two front teeth, muttering, “I’m not sure. He’s not that interested in having a conversation with me whenever I’m around. I don’t take offense. Her father isn’t exactly here to chat with me, is he?”

Vas tipped his head to the side in silent agreement, but then he replied, “He also doesn’t have a choice but to be where he is.”

Neither did she, in a way.

Igor passed Vaslav a wary glance. “Kiril still doesn’t believe you won’t cut off his dick for going into Vera’s place last night to pack a weekend bag.”

“He does understand that it would have been already done, yes?” Vaslav asked back. “I told him to do it. I got on the phone myself.”

The other man only shrugged.

“Explains why he’s been missing all day,” Vaslav said to himself.

“Yeah, well ... You know you’re going to puke all that vodka up, yeah?” Igor asked, his concerned tone warring with his disgust.

Yes.

Yes, he did. Vaslav could already feel it sloshing because he’d taken that forty-percent way too fast for his stomach and liver. Yes, he’d puke until he couldn’t anymore.

And then he would feel like absolute death.

“But I’ll sleep,” Vaslav mumbled.

Like a fucking rock.

That’s what mattered.