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“I’m putting bratoks on the street. We will talk in the morning.”
“Thank you, but I don’t—”
“Don’t run.” He squeezes my hand. “I programmed my number into your phone. Call me if you need something.”
Before I can say more, he strides out of the kitchen, and I hear the door open and close. “Sweet mother of disaster.”
Stasia walks in with the envelope in her hand. “This really is thePrincess Diaries.”
“Only the Queen isn’t offering a nice cozy kingdom but warnings to trust no one and stay on my toes.”
“Reread the letter. The breathing dragon vibe is hard to miss. Olga Tarasov wants to secure your legacy.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
She takes the plates and hands me the letter. “Let’s read it together. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
Nodding, I follow her and pray that the incoming Russian storm isn’t as deadly as I’ve always feared.
CHAPTER NINE
Yuri
The moment I walk into my loft, I notice an immediate absence of relief.
Trailing my eyes over the minimal furnishings, I try to determine what might be responsible for the disquiet and realize it’s futile.
I drop my coat on the back of the black sofa that dominates the room and quietly acknowledge that my life is about to change. “It’s time, man. To learn a new fucking language.”
The sound of the alarm system disengaging interrupts my thoughts and I turn. Only two people know the code, and I’m not sure which one is about to walk in.
“He’s ruminating,” Vlad announces.
“That’s like announcing he’s breathing,” Dmitri replies as the door slides closed behind him. “It’s Taco Tuesday.” He holds up a bag. “And I brought the best ones in the city.”
“I wasn’t aware we had dinner plans.”
“We should eat together more often,” Dmitri announces as he strolls into the kitchen and pulls down plates. “Gianna makes the Volkovs sit down together every night, and let me tell you, they are a new freaking family.” He sets the plates down and digs through the bag of food. “It’s good for the soul.
“You know what else is good for the soul?” Vlad says as he grabs glasses from the bar. “Tequilla. Top fucking shelf Don Julio 1942.”
“Does this impromptu get-together have anything to do with the Tarasov heiress?”
“Duh!” Dmitri shakes his head as he grabs a stool at the island. “Gianna’s fingers have been flying since you left yesterday. I barely left her office today because she kept making me check the translation accuracy.”
“Is the dry cleaner girl really about to become a billionaire?” Vlad asks as he pours three glasses of tequila.
“Woman. Lina is a grown-ass woman and deserves respect.” I swipe the glass off the marble island and shoot it back. “And don’t fucking forget it.”
Vlad snaps off a salute and then flips me off. Two gestures that illustrate our relationship perfectly.
Dropping down on a stool, I scrub my hands over my face. Five days ago, I could’ve told you down to the minute what my day would entail. Now I’m unsure of what the next hour will hold.
Dmitri pushes a plate toward me. “Eat. You’re about to become a husband.”
“Fuck you.”
“He’s right,” Vlad adds before digging into the food on his plate. “You won’t leave this woman to the Russian wolves. Your code of honor won’t allow it.”
