God. I wanted to vanish.
I face-planted into my pillow and pummeled the bed.
But sitting around waiting for doom was never Vivienne Cole's style. After half an hour of freaking out in my room, I decided to go on the offensive and scope out the damage.
I crept out to the back garden on shaky legs. Old Andrew, the gardener, was trimming bushes with massive shears.
I grabbed the watering can and mindlessly drowned a pot of expensive orchids while my brain played a loop of Nikolai's cold face flipping through my R-rated chapters.
"Oh! Damn it! What are you doing?" Andrew roared in furious Russian and snatched the can from me.
The poor orchid had turned into a swamp.
The old man glared at me like I was insane, waving his shears and booting me out of his greenhouse.
Round one: total failure.
I bit my lip and slunk back to the second-floor library in the main building. Sophia was in her signature black apron, methodically dusting thick leather spines.
"Hey, Sophia," I sidled up, leaning stiffly against a shelf, trying to sound casual. "Nice weather today, huh... By the way, when Nikolai's really pissed, does he usually just pull his gun, or does he have someone prep the cement first?"
Sophia stopped. Those sharp eyes that saw everything scraped across my face and landed on my fingers, practically shredding my hem.
She sighed and tapped my wrist with her cloth. "Out, child. There are pastries in the kitchen. Go eat. Stop circling here."
Kicked out again.
I deflated completely and slumped onto an iron bench in the courtyard, sighing dramatically.
On my tenth sigh, steady footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway.
Sasha.
The former special ops soldier carried a black file folder, heading straight across the courtyard to his car.
Perfect!
"Sasha! Wait!" I sprang off the bench and blocked his path.
Sasha stopped. His expressionless stone face tilted down, cold gray eyes locking onto me.
"What?"
"Be honest with me, Sasha." I swallowed, fingers going cold. "How's Nikolai's mood been lately? Has he had that look like he wants to chop someone up and dump them in the Potomac?"
Sasha's eyelid twitched ever so slightly.
He studied me with the strangest expression.
I swear to God, a flicker of wicked amusement passed through that cold bastard's eyes.
"Mr. Volkov spent two hours in his study yesterday, Ms. Cole." Sasha's voice was flat, no inflection. "Didn't say a word. Usually, when the Pakhan gets that quiet, the New Jersey docks sprout a few more bodies in cement shoes. If you did something bad... I suggest you butter him up. He likes honey cakes."
Screw your cement shoes.
Sasha's icy threat sent my scalp tingling. I couldn't think straight.
I bolted to the kitchen and used every ounce of charm and triple-salary leverage to force the head chef to whip up authentic Russian honey cakes inhalf an hour.
