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Then Isla casually drops the bomb. “I’m staying a few extra days.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “You’re what?” If Vasily or anyone on his team knew about this, which he must have, they did not tell me first.
She laughs. “Don’t look so horrified.”
“I’m not horrified.” I’m absolutely horrified. “I’m just surprised. I thought the clinic was too busy for a vacation?”
Isla shrugs. “You need a break, and I want to spend time with you. So I’m staying.”
“That’s great.” My voice sounds so convincing that I almost believe myself.
She was supposed to be leaving the morning after tomorrow, but a few more days…I can handle that. Arthur will just have to keep lurking nearby, shirking whatever important Bratva duties he has.
Wonderful. He’ll love me even more.
“How long exactly?” I ask.
“Until Friday, at least. I have the overnight Saturday, so…”
I smile. “Perfect.”
Inside, every alarm bell starts screaming. I just started lying today. Can I keep it going for another week without losing my mind or giving up the secret that I’m the only thing standing between a Bratva Pakhan and the demise of his entire empire?
Chapter 16
Vasily
By late afternoon, I’m furious enough that the lake house great room seems too small to contain it.
I pace, passing the enormous fieldstone fireplace for what has to be the twentieth time. Dark green walls rise toward exposed beams overhead, and the windows stretching along the far side of the room should make the space feel open. Instead, every pane gives me another view of the lake and the darkening woods beyond it, and none of it does a damn thing to calm me down.
“Again.”
Art stands near the windows with three Boeviks behind him, all of them looking like they’d rather face a firing squad than answer another question.
“That’s everything we know,” Art says.
“Then you know nothing.”
The doctor shifts uncomfortably beside the sofa. Kevin is lying upstairs, unconscious, thank God. When we found him, he was conscious and in excruciating pain.
The doctor clears his throat. “He has two fractured ribs. His left humerus is broken. There’s significant bruising across his face, along with several other soft-tissue injuries. He’s fortunate there doesn’t appear to be—”
“Will he live?”
“Yes.” The answer comes quickly. “He needs monitoring, but yes. Assuming there are no complications.”
“Good.” I stop pacing, deeply aware that I sound anything but satisfied, and look to Ariadna. “Send someone to his mother’s house.”
She nods.
“Tell her he’s here. Tell her he’s being treated and that we’ll keep him safe.”
“How much should I tell her?”
“Enough.”
She understands; Kevin’s mother knows roughly what he does for “work.” Everything but the double-crossing, which she might kill him for herself if she knew, with how dangerous it is.
