She laughed. “We've spent all week together.”
I didn’t see the problem. “And?”
“Targen. I gotta be neighborly. I’m trying to be a good Bratva Bride like your mama.”
I scoffed. “Joia too hard-headed to be a good Bratva Bride.”
I reached over and squeezed her ankle. She kicked at me, but there was no force behind it.
“Baby… I gotta do some shopping, too.”
“For what?”
“The events your parents planned.”
I groaned. That alone told me everything. When Sergei and Joia planned celebrations, the preparation was hell for everyone else.
She leaned forward and kissed me, quick and sweet. It was still dangerous, because now I wanted more.
“Behave, husband.”
“I always behave.”
Theory laughed so hard she nearly dropped her sunglasses. Then she stood.
“We gotta go get ready. Come on, Pip.” She turned back to me. “See you later.”
Her parting kiss was slower, hotter, full of promise.
“Off the bone,” I vowed to her before letting her go and watching her walk away.
The Atlantic breeze tossed and teased her curly hair. She glanced back once and smiled before disappearing into the house. I stared after her, longer than necessary. I loved that damn girl.
An hour later, I was dressed and seated with my father in his office. The room overlooked the water. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view worth millions. The view usually helped, but neither of us was paying attention to it. A secure video call occupied the large monitor mounted across from us. Maxim appeared on one side of the screen. He claimed he was escaping most of Joia’s hoopla by arriving tomorrow. Personally, I think he didn’t know what to do with Seraph. Kael Walker occupied the other side of the screen.
Maxim had called the meeting because Kael said four words: “I found something interesting.” Kael rarely asked for meetings. When he did, we listened.
“Let me begin by saying, you know for the last few weeks, I’ve been watching Marguerite Armstrong even more closely, especially once we suspected she might have a Russian ally. I've been following leads. Money transfers. Travel records. New business connections. At first, it looked random. Small pieces, nothing substantial,” Maxim said.
“What changed?” I asked.
“A name.”
“What name?” Sergei demanded.
The answer came immediately. “Nikolai.”
There were a million Russian Nikolais, but only one could explain Kael’s presence. I frowned.
“Nikolai Sokolov?”
Maxim nodded. “So, I reached out to Kael.”
Kael leaned back in his chair. He always managed to look relaxed while discussing violence, almost bored. “And I’ve been keeping an eye on them.”
Kael was technically a Sokolov but was once permanently banished from the family. That tended to happen when you killed your father, the head of a Bratva cell. He would’ve been dead himself, if Sergei hadn’t taken the extraordinary step ofintervening in family business and offering Kael and his family protection and asylum. Apparently, Kael’s father, Vladimir, had been an abusive piece of shit. Still, the Sokolovs, under Kael’s uncle Kolya, had hated him. For a long time, the only ally Kael and his brother Kieran had in that family was their uncle Nikolai who had secretly helped their mom and worked to change some of the family’s mind about Kael. Nikolai had eventually pushed Kolya out of power. In the years since then, the Sokolovs and the Sidorovs had reached an uneasy peace, mostly political. We could play the part, but none of us completely trusted them. I was surprised by Kael watching them, though. He and Nikolai seemed close.
“Nikolai has indeed been meeting with people tied to Marguerite Armstrong,” Kael continued. “Not directly. He isn't stupid enough for that. But the connections are there.”
