We’re almost out the door when one of the Kucherov men steps into the hallway from a side room.
Evgeny levels him with a look.
“There’s an issue we need to deal with.”
He won’t say what the issue is in front of me, but from the set of his mouth, it’s not a good one.
I start to turn back toward the kitchen when Evgeny shakes his head. “When I return.”
The man’s eyes round, his mouth taking on a frown. “But, Boss, this?—”
“I said I will deal with it later.”
There is an edge to Evgeny’s voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I take an involuntary step back. My movement draws the attention of the bratva member, and I can almost feel the chill interest of his gaze. That look sends a shiver through me, but I push it down and glare a warning at him.
Except it’s not necessary.
A low sound in his throat becomes a growl, a warning to match the frightening look in his narrowed eyes. He doesn’t need words to scare the guy off or intimidate him into backing away.
“S-sorry, Boss,” the man yelps before he turns tail and nearly runs back into the room.
Evgeny takes my hand and pulls me along as though nothing happened, and I follow.
I sit stunned in a beach shack in Torrance as a version of Evgeny I’ve never seen talks to the couple who run the sandwich shop. I watch him interact with them as the man assembles our sandwiches and the woman makes my milkshake. He is smooth, and his quirk of a smile is so easy I almost don’t believe it. He inquires after their children and grandchildren as though he were an average guy and not thepakhanof a powerful Russian mafia family.
As much as I hate to admit it, it’s an enormous turn-on, the dangerous, lethal predator hiding behind that sexy, sophisticated exterior.
A shiver runs through me, from my head down my arms, through my torso, all the way to my toes, and a throbbing takes up residence between my thighs that’s hard to ignore. When Evgeny brings my milkshake with our sandwiches, I down it like it’s putting out a fire.
And it kind of is.
I wonder at the change as we both stare out at the ocean, the strip of early evening sunlight shimmering on the surface. Umbrellas dot the sand, surfers bob beyond the break, and kids dart in and out of the water, screeching and laughing. A runner passes by on the path behind us, shifting aside as a couple on bikes ride past, ringing their bells.
“God, it’s good to be out.” I clap my hand over my mouth as soon as the words are out, a cold dread chilling the heat instantly.Expecting instant anger, I’m not sure what to make of the smile that lifts the corners of his mouth.
“You said you like Russian fairy tales. Aren’t you excited to live one out yourself?”
I laugh nervously. Did Evgeny just make a joke? Or was that a not-so-subtle reminder that, despite the sandwiches and hint of freedom, I am still his to do with as he wants, per my punishment?
“Relax,” he murmurs, no edge of danger or warning in the word.
I nod and force myself to do as he says, taking another long slurp of my milkshake.
Evgeny takes a chip from the pile, and I nervously gnaw on the pickle. “So,” he says, swallowing. “WhyThe Scarlet Flower?”
I shrug, taking another bite of the pickle. “I just like it. I read it over and over when I was younger until my copy fell apart, and I had to wait until my birthday to get another one.”
From the way Evgeny watches me, he suspects that’s not the entire story. And it isn’t. I just don’t want to admit my weakness for romantic fairy tales in front of him, as though it might erode what little respect he seems to have gained for me.
“The age-old tale of the princess finding a beast in a forest, only to learn he’s a prince under a spell? She changes his heart and falls in love with him despite his monstrous appearance?”
My ears are hot again, and I pick up my sandwich for a big bite. I can’t help but groan with pleasure. “You’re right, this is so good.”
Evgeny only chuckles, then takes a large bite of his, too.
“What’s your favorite book?” I ask him.
He waits until he’s swallowed and wiped his mouth, then answers. “The Death of Koschei the Deathless.”
