For the rest of the morning, I go through every delivery and shipment I have coming in for the week and create a roster to hand over to Yaroslav so he can make sure the additional security guys are prepped and ready for each task.
It takes a few hours, but I don’t even notice time moving by, I’m so deep in work.
When my phone rings, it’s already past three in the afternoon, and I’m shocked to glimpse the time as I pick it up to answer.
“Yaroslav, tell me you’ve got news?”
“I do. And it wasn’t Josiah. It was Gusev. And get this: I also got feedback from the attack at the gallery the other day. It took a little longer, but it was the same team that attacked the warehouse. Gusev was behind both attacks.”
“Pavel Gusev!” I say in disbelief. “That little rat!”
“Word on the street is that he found out Josiah was after you and that you were lying low. He thought he'd take advantage of your weakness. That, and he possibly wanted to earn favor with Josiah if he could, who knows,” Yaroslav says.
Intense anger is itching inside me as my fingers grip tighter around the phone I’m holding. “So, he’s the one who tried to take Izabel?”
“Yes, sir. He sent his team to that gallery. They all know you have a new wife, but I’m not sure if he knows she’s actually Ilyin’s sister. He might not have been so rough with her if he’d known.”
“He threatened her. And he put her life in danger,” I snarl angrily.
“I know. We won’t let it happen again. We’re aware now,” Yaroslav tries to reassure me, but I’m too pissed off to listen to much of anything.
I end the call and stand up at my desk. There is no way that I will be able to work anymore. I have an urgent, tugging need to get back home to her. I want to see her and make sure she’s okay.
I can’t believe that asshole came after her because of a stupid idea that he could win favor with Josiah. But now I know who he is.
I’m used to mafia bullshit. Having my operations attacked isn’t shocking. It isn’t new to me. But in the past, it was different.
I don’t have siblings. I don’t have family. There is no one in my life that I’ve been responsible for. There is no one I needed or wanted to protect.
I’ve done everything on my own. My whole life, it’s just been me. All decisions were made for me. Everything I did, I did alone.
But that’s changed now.
Izabel. Mywife. It’s not just a piece of paper. She ismine. Shebelongsto me, and I want and need her to be safe. I need to be the one to makesureshe is safe.
And I almost failed.
It feels strange to be responsible for another person.
But I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Because it’s her.
At home, as I walk into the mansion, I smile. It’s because opening the door sends a rush of the scent of sweet orange blossoms breezing over me. I’m not sure when I started noticing it or when it became something I anticipated as I arrived, but I’m already taking a breath in as I open the door and half-closing my eyes in expectation of it.
The warmth of her scent fills my lungs and sets a current running through me.
“I’m back,” I shout as I push the door closed behind myself.
We had a very intense moment in the gym yesterday, and while I enjoyed the connection, she was awkward about it andmade a very hasty escape midway through. Since then, I haven’t seen her. She stayed in her room last night, and this morning I left for work early.
On the way to work, I was contemplating how to break the ice between us again, and I came to the conclusion that pretending nothing happened and that everything was exactly the same as it was before was the best way to handle it.
So that’s what I’m doing right now.
Pausing after I call out, I cock my head to the side to listen for her response. It comes from downstairs in the living room area. “I’m in here,” she calls back. Sighing in relief that she doesn’t sound off or sassy, I head in that direction.
Izabel is curled up on the sofa right in front of the fire. Flames are licking at fresh logs she’s just tossed in.
