Victoria pushes her forehead against mine but proves how perfect she is because, interruptions and distractions aside, she whispers, “Ne lezhit dusha."
The world fades to nothing.
Because she understands.
My soul has lain down for her as hers has for mine.
I cup her cheek and inhale air scented of her. My lips brush hers just as the knocking on the door turns to pounding.
Releasing a soft snicker, she presses a final kiss to my mouth. “Typical.”
“Sorry,korovka.” Vowing to kill whoever disturbed us at the most pivotal moment of my life, I collect my phone and answer it. “What?”
Her gaze flicks over me when I put the call on speaker.
“Someone at the door,shukher.”
“No fucking shit. Who is it? Are they on the approved guest list?”
“Not exactly.” Vlad clears his throat. “Levin.”
My eyes bug. “Ilya Levin?”
“Yes, sir. He… Well, you know, there’s no mistaking him.”
“Ilya Levin?” Victoria mutters. “The guy who runs the Bratva’s secret task force in Moscow?” Her voice grows louder. “What the hell areyou doing allowing someone in the Bratva to knock on our door?! They’re our enemies!”
Before desire has a chance to burn into arousal at that one statement—our enemies—Vlad offers, “Sencisis with him,shukher.”
“Who?” Victoria demands.
“My… some would call him brother. Some might call him… father.”
But that’s a more recent development.
I blame Misha.
“Your father,” she splutters. “You told me he was dead!”
“He is. I mean… Nikolai is like my father. But he’s the head of the Forgotten Boys in the US.” I don’t tell her that we named Nikolai’s position in Latgalian.
Her brow furrows. “Nikolai Veles?”
I nod.
“Nikolai Veles is outside my house?”
“Da,” Nikolai rumbles along the line.
Ilya chimes in, “I’d appreciate it if you let us in and didn’t leave us standing out here like a box of unwanted takeout.”
It’s been a long time since I spoke to Ilya, but even if I didn’t recognize Nikolai’s chalk-on-a-blackboard voice, I’d know his.
“One second, Victoria.” I carefully deposit the spitting kitten on her couch then stride over to the front door.
I brace myself for impact but it still isn’t enough.
Nikolai’s scarred face, expression ever dour, is what I see first. Throat tight, grateful that we sign thanks to his nonverbal nature, I greet, “Sencis.”
