I then call Mikhail Sokolov. He’s a part of a different Russian branch, but he sure as hell would know more about Konstantin than I do.
He answers on the fourth ring. “It’s four in the morning. This better be good,” he says with his thick Russian accent. I don’t bite back at his intentional antagonizing. He sleeps just as little as I do.
“Konstantin Lomonov, what do you know about him?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Yes, we’re the heads of two different crews, but he’s the closest thing I have to a friend, and I can sense he’s quickly putting together a few pieces since it was only a few days ago he gave me the information on Leonore’s fake identity, not pressing for any questions. Just accepting cash. This might be different, however.
“Konstantin is someone you don’t want to get on the bad side of. I don’t have much to do with him, but his reputation is there for a reason. Why?” It’s the way he says why that suggests he knows I’m about to do something that he would consider stupid. “Does this have something to do with the Grim Reaper?”
I think back to her tormented face even when she sleeps. She’s not just a fierce woman respected in Boston among the crews. There’s also a gentle vulnerability inside her that’s allowing me to help.
“It has to do with my woman, and that’s all you need to know. I want all the information you can get on him and his whereabouts.” He’s the only outsider I would ever advise on such a personal matter.
He’s quiet for a moment again. “If Konstantin sets his eyes on you, I’m not going to lecture you on the implications. He’s established, cunning, and brutal. I hope you know what you’re doing. I’ll also be charging double for sticking my neck out for you on this one and will think of this as a favor I can receive whenever I please.”
“Done.” I end the call.
Konstantin Lomonov doesn’t know me, but he’s going to learn the hard way not to fuck with what I consider as mine.
40
LEONORE
Isleep, and it’s a deep, heavy, dreamless sleep, where my body surrenders to the exhaustion of the past six years.
When I finally open my eyes, I blink up at the ceiling, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am.Silas’s home. I look around me. The room is bathed in warm afternoon light, and everything is hazy and still. I look at the clock on the nightstand. 4:32.
Oh my God, I slept the entire day.
I stretch, and my body feels lighter because I haven’t slept like that in years. Not since Viktor.And it feels so good.Staring up at the ceiling, I let contentment wrap around me and don’t feel any rush to leave.
But something delicious drifts into the room through the open bedroom door, and my stomach growls.
The last time I ate was at the restaurant, and that feels like a lifetime ago.
I sit up and push back the covers. Silas’s bed is enormous, with the softest sheets I’ve ever felt, and with pillows that feel like sleeping on a cloud. I almost regret having to leave it.
But the aroma drifting into the bedroom is making me drool.
Still wearing the T-shirt he gave me to sleep in, I leave the bedroom and follow the aroma through the house and down to the kitchen.
Silas stands at the kitchen island with his back to me, and the moment I see him, every coherent thought in my head short-circuits.
Shirtless, with his impressive torso on display, he’s standing at the stove sautéing something in the fry pan. He’s barefoot in his black dress pants and a belt, and the sight is so sexy I indulge in a moment to watch him.God, this man is so fucking hot. His body is a stunning landscape of muscle and ink and golden skin gleaming the warm light of the kitchen.
He turns slightly to reach for a wooden spoon, and I see the broad chest and the rigid grooves of his six-pack.
My mouth goes dry, and a slow throb takes up inside me.
There is something so fucking mesmerizing about a man like Silas doing something so domesticated as cooking. His staff are in a different wing of the house, so it’s just us.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me, or are you going to sit down?” he asks without turning around.
Of course he knew I was there. He probably knew the moment I left the bed.
I cross the kitchen, but instead of taking the suggested stool, I lean around him to take a look at what he’s making. The moment I’m close, he hooks an arm around my waist and doesn’t hesitate to kiss me. Dominating and possessively, as if it’s his every right.
I rise onto my tiptoes, crushing my mouth to his, tasting the power of this man who is far from gentle today. This is the Silas I’ve come to know.
