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“You’ll stay?”
I feel his chest rising under my palm as he takes a deep breath. “I’ll stay.”
Smiling, I bury my face into his neck and, inhaling his wild, familiar, comforting scent, I close my eyes and revel in the feel of his arms enveloping me, and his breath in my hair. He’s scared that he might unintentionally hurt me, but the fact is, I don’tremember the last time I felt as protected as I do in Sergei’s embrace.
“Don’t you dare leave this bed,” I mumble and let myself drift off to sleep.
I wait until Angelina falls asleep, then get up, head to my closet to put on some clothes, and rummage through the drawers until I find my stash of cigarettes. Taking the half-full pack and collecting my phone on the way, I leave the room and whistle for Mimi, who rushes up the stairs a couple of seconds later. I point to the bedroom door and give her the order to guard, then descend the stairs and go outside. I fish out the ashtray hidden under the first step, take a seat on the porch, and call Roman.
“How’s the kid?” I ask.
“Christ, Sergei!” he whispers-yells into the phone. “It’s five in the morning.”
There are some rustling sounds, probably him heading into another room, then a door closing. “He’ll be okay. Olga and Valentina have been busy being his nursemaids the whole night.”
“Do they know he’s slept with both of them?”
“Well, based on the scene I walked into when I went to check up on him earlier, they most certainly do. I found him sprawled out in bed, with Valentina on his right and Olga on his left. The three of them snuggled together.”
“Nice.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder if there’s anyone who isn’t crazy under this roof.” He huffs. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” I light up a cigarette and take a big inhale. “What are we going to do about the Irish?”
“I had Yuri and Dimitri burn down that bar of theirs. And, I sent a message to Patrick, since I assume he’s the one who will take over now.”
“Oh? What was the message?”
“They have two days to leave Chicago. Everyone who stays will end up dead.”
“You think he’ll do it?”
“Fitzgerald is a coward. They will leave.”
“Good.” I lean my back against the railing and take another drag. “Roman?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” I say. “For putting up with me.”
There are a few moments of silence from the other side before he answers. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Sergei. You’re good at what you do for the Bratva.”
“Yeah. When I don’t blow up stuff or kill people I shouldn’t.” I snort.
“Well, there is that.” He yawns. “Varya always puts too much salt in the soup. Kostya crashes cars every month. I guess nobody’s perfect.”
I burst out laughing. Leave it to Roman to pull a parallel between my case and Varya’s cooking. “Phone me tomorrow to let me know how it went with the Irish.”
I cut the call and drop my head back on the post behind me, closing my eyes. I hoped calling Roman would distract me from what happened with Angelina earlier. It didn’t. And I have no idea what to do with her. Even though I know it would be for the best, the mere thought of sending her away makes me want to go on a rampage.
“Sergei?”
I open my eyes and find Angelina standing at the front door, wrapped in a blanket, and watching me with concern. Her feet are bare, her hair is tangled and sticking out in all directions, and she has sleep creases on her left cheek. Mimi is six feet behind her, but when she notices me, she barks and turns away, probably heading to the living room to sleep.
“You’ll catch a cold,” I say.
Angelina shrugs, covers the distance that separates us in a few quick steps, and sits down between my legs, leaning back on my chest.
