The tea house is my worst nightmare, bright, civilized, and far too delicate. Bone china tops the silky white tablecloths draped over numerous round tables. Silver platters of pastries, tea sandwiches, fruit, and steaming cups of tea clutter each one.
Alexei insisted this was the safest spot for all the ladies to assemble. In the middle of our territory, where we can keep an eye on everyone coming and going.
And Nika insisted on meeting the women so she could ask for their forgiveness. She even offered to pay for the outing, as if any of the men would allow that. I thought Kolya Ilyin’s head might explode at the very idea.
We compromised and used the company American Express card instead, since we had to rent the entire establishment out for safety reasons.
The Falcones are still milling around, and with Dimitri “missing” for two weeks, there’s no telling what his group of mercenaries might do. We’re also wary of the cops.
Even when we’re behaving ourselves, they need something to occupy their time. And what better way for publicly funded police to spend their day than sticking their noses up our asses while we’re trying to relax?
Thus, the women gather in the back while the rest of us spread out, guarding the doors and windows. Outside, a few of our guys keep an eye on every approach.
This group is the heart and future of the Bratva.
Aurora. Chloe. Jordan. Paige. And Nika.
The women have all been caught in the gears of our world and damaged by the inherent violence. Most of which was planned and instigated by Nika and Dimitri.
Now she’s here to try and make amends.
Nika leans forward, gesturing with her good hand while her broken one rests in her lap. She’s apologizing. I can read it in her body language and her earnest expression.
The other women tilt close, offering forgiveness Nika doesn’t think she’s earned as she shakes her head and wipes her eyes.
Alexei’s wife, Aurora, gathers Nika’s hand in her own, her pink skin nearly tan against Nika’s pallor. Beside them, Chloe—the ever-cheerful kindergarten teacher Kolya somehow managed to bewitch—pours everyone more tea, a yellow bow bouncing in her brown hair.
I’m sure Nika thinks she’s overbearing, but she means well.
Alexei sits with Kirill and me, each of us cradling cups of murky liquid that tastes like mowed grass. Kirill grimaces as if someone’s poisoned him, his lips twisting in disgust with every sip. Alexei mirrors me, lifting the cup but never drinking.
On the other side of the room, Vanya sprawls in his chair like he owns the place, exuding his typical charm. Kolya sits across from him, the polar opposite, silent and watchful. Two ends of the enforcer spectrum. Charm and threat. Seduction and violence. Both necessary. Both valued. Both exactly what they need to be.
“She’s doing well.” Alexei’s voice snaps me back to the moment. “Considering.”
“Considering she spent fifteen years being groomed by a monster?” Kirill’s voice contains no judgment. “Yeah. Pretty well.”
They’re right. Nika’s still figuring out if she can trust this.
Us.
Still learning that family isn’t just a cage with prettier bars and that belonging doesn’t mean being owned.
Maybe these women can help with that. Show her that real love doesn’t come with strings attached. I’m about to broach that idea with Alexei when Vanya goes from languid playboy to alert Doberman, his hazel eyes flashing gold as they fixate on the door.
I spin around and spot Artem, one of our young enforcers, standing just outside the closed glass. His curly brown hair catches in the breeze as he jerks his chin toward the sidewalk and disappears out of sight.
We all pivot to look, except for Vanya, who casually strolls closer to the women. He might look like he’s checking on their drinks, but he’s ready to run them out the back door in case anything goes sideways.
Kolya repositions himself, creating a barrier between whatever’s coming and the people we’re here to protect. Except Artem doesn’t reach for his gun or indicate trouble. If anything, he seems annoyed.
As the man he’s staring at comes into view, I understand why. My lip curls in disgust.
Detective Colvin peers through the window and tips his hat to us.
Alexei’s straightens as Kirill’s hand drifts toward his weapon like he senses danger. I keep my shoulders loose, ready to move if needed.
Artem opens the door, his eyes flashing to me to ask permission. I nod, then give him the signal to go back to his watch.
