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“If you’re scared, you shouldn’t have blown my property to bits. Might’ve saved us all the heartache.”
“You do not want to start a war with me, Egorov.”
I chuckle darkly. “Wanna bet?”
“I’ll say it again: I had nothing to do with targeting your warehouse.”
“Just like you had nothing to do with Elena’s death. Am I getting that right?”
“Jesus Christ, Dmitri!” He actually sounds panicked and it’s giving me life. This is what I came for. “If you do this, you will leave me no choice but to respond. Once this starts, there will be no stopping it until one of us is dead.”
“I’ll take that as a promise,” I growl.
I hang up and give Pavel a nod. Seconds later, the embossed green sign that reads O’Malley’s starts to glitter with light. The fire spreads fast, throwing off heat and color and swallowing everything in its midst.
Who knew that starting a war could look so beautiful?
38
DMITRI
Wren startles like a frightened deer when I walk into the kitchen. “I can leave,” she offers quietly when she’s got her wits about her again. But she doesn’t get up from the high stool.
“No need. I won’t be here long.”
I grab one of the bottles hanging from the overhead bar rack and pour myself a hefty shot of whiskey.
“Why do you smell like a burning forest?”
I purse my lips after I down half the drink. “That’s a very specific analogy.”
“Well, you smell like smoke and your normal musk is really, like, stormy…” Her cheeks go beet red as she’s talking. “But yeah, I mean, uh, mostly the smoke.”
“There was a fire in one of my warehouses.” I purposefully leave out the bomb. I don’t want to stress her out. Because of the baby, obviously.
She gasps. “A fire?! Was anyone hurt?” Her eyes are wide with concern, her forehead puckered with worry. The fact that she cares so much right off the bat is annoying as hell.
No—it’s endearing as hell. And that’s what makes it annoying.
“A few men working the night shift were injured.”
“But they’re going to be okay?”
“Yes.” The plan was to walk my drink out of here and enjoy it alone. But I find myself sitting down instead. As it turns out, I don’t even need the drink to calm down. She does that to me all on her own.
“Well, okay. Good. That’s good. You must be relieved.”
How is it possible that she can still assume the best in me even after I’ve proved time and time again that I’m an asshole? Then again, she seems to think Cian O’Gadhra is a stand-up guy, so it’s safe to say that her judgment is, to put it mildly, flawed.
“Sure. Relieved.”
Wren tilts her head to the side. “Are you hungry?”
I’m not in the slightest, but I nod anyway. She promptly bounces up and starts fluttering around the kitchen, pulling things out of the fridge and the cupboard. “Fair warning: I’m not the greatest cook in the world, but I make a decent grilled cheese.”
She radiates self-consciousness as she makes the sandwich. Her gaze keeps flickering over to me when she thinks I’m not looking back. I wonder if this is her attempt at an olive branch.
I almost wish she wouldn’t, though. Being at odds with her makes it so much easier to justify the colossal secret stuck in my throat.
