Rico looks seconds from starting what we didn’t finish years ago, but his retaliation is halted by Justine propping herself between us. “Tonight was a lot of fun. We should do this more often.”
After issuing me a warning glance to behave, she stands to her feet to help Blaire clear away dessert plates smeared with cheesecake crumbs. Her suggestion sounds good in theory, but I don’t see it being viable. For one, Rico and Blaire live in Ravenshoe—thousands of miles from Vegas. And two, I’m not a dinner party type of guy. Although I enjoyed myself tonight, I’m only here because Justine’s agreement to become my wife put me in a good mood.
That and the fact we fly home tomorrow.
My curve in protocol hasn’t come cheaply, though. I have three men in the hall, four monitoring the street, and Roman faking a placement with the security firm that monitors the surveillance devices planted around Rico’s apartment building.
Speaking of Roman, I haven’t heard from him since he swept Rico’s apartment hours ago. Although ordinary men see silence as gold, it’s unlike Roman to maintain radio silence. He knows how pedantic I am about Justine’s safety, so he keeps me thoroughly updated. He has always run with the same motto: it is better to know than assume, just as it is better to ask than imply.
With that in mind, I dig my phone out of my pocket.
It’s barely halfway out when Rico growls, “Thanks for that, Eli. Kitten won’t let me live down my half-assed proposal for weeks, if not months.”
I try not to smirk at his annoyed tone, but the high curve of my lips reveals a true smile.
“It’s about time I did something better than you. I’ve only been waiting thirty years.”
Rico struggles to accept my praise as much as I strive to disregard it. Compliments are not given in our industry. . . and neither are dinner parties.
“Do you do this often? Floral teacups and homemade cheesecake?”
The waggle of my brows lessens the sting of my scorn. I never thought I’d be envious of any man living a humble, meek existence. Rico is proving me wrong. I don’t want to emulate his life, but I’m glad he’s found peace in the tumultuous world we were born into.
My smile stretches from ear to ear when Rico mumbles, “If it makes my kitten purr, sign me up.”
He takes a hefty gulp from his recently replenished drink, the tingling of my lips the only indication he swapped the brown liquid in our cups for something more tempting than brewed leaves while Blaire wasn’t looking.
When he sets down his once again empty cup, I notice a baby monitor on the side table next to his chair. I nearly rib him about cutting the apron strings—Eli is four, making the need for a baby monitor pointless—but I hold back my jeering.
I know as well as anyone how hard it is for old habits to die. I struggle every day remembering Vladimir is gone, and up until last week, I only had Justine to protect.
Rico has so much more to lose.
Years ago, he made a decision no boy his age should have been forced to make. He paid for his bend of the rules in the cruelest way, so I have no doubt he’ll stop at nothing to ensure his son isn’t prosecuted under the same laws.
As I will for my child.
I stop peering at the swinging kitchen door, craving a quick glance at Justine to weaken the knot in my gut, when Rico murmurs, “I’m proud of you, Eli. I’d prefer you step away from the industry altogether, but I understand that isn’t something you’re likely to do.”
I halfheartedly shrug. “You got the kitten. I got the tiger.”
I’m not looking to start a fight. I’m just reminding Rico why it’s easy for me to stay. I have a woman strong enough to stand at my side. If I didn’t, who knows where I’d be right now.
“Your girl has been good for you.” Rico’s comment proves he understood the gist of my remark, but that doesn’t mean he’ll tread lightly with me. “She must see something in you no one else can.”
I laugh, taking his comment as he intended: playfully. “Every good person has a bit of bad in them. I’m just a bad guy who has a little bit of good.” My tongue peeks out between my teeth as I struggle to hold in my shit-eating grin. “Thankfully, Justine has the ratios mixed up.”
Any reply Rico is planning to give is snuffed by a hushed whisper. The low, thigh-quaking tone isn’t responsible for his frozen stance. It is the words the man is singing in Russian: “Send the angel to the devil’s bed, hold her, cherish her, then cut off her head. She danced with Satan and now she is dead, all for lying in the devil’s bed.”
The dessert we consumed an hour ago rushes to the base of my throat when panic makes itself known in my gut. Only one man sung that song to us during our childhood. He was killed by my knife twelve months ago today. It was our father, the man who sent us to hell long before he groomed us to be as evil as him.
With his heart beeping in his neck, Rico charges for the room his son is sleeping in. I bolt toward the kitchen just as fast. The nursery rhyme came over the baby monitor, meaning the threat is in the opposite direction of Justine, but I can’t help but move for her first.
Eli is my family, but Justine is my everything.
“Get Eli to safety while I grab the girls.”
Rico’s nod barely registers before he’s lost in the darkness of a long hallway. I was impressed by the size of Rico’s home when I first arrived. Now I fucking hate it. I should have never allowed so many steps between Justine and me. My gut has been twisted up in knots all week, and right when I should be more vigilant, I let my guard down.
