"It's plenty, sweet Violet. This is the one thing you don't have to worry about."
"Thank you," I say fervently. "I could get myself out of anything, I'm pretty sure, but Rose and Iris… My mother intentionally kept them helpless, and a little naïve. That's why they've honed these flirtation games, trying to grow up. I would kill to save them. Or rather, I guess you'll kill to save them but this is so much bigger than I could've imagined."
"Bastards like these enjoy making a mess." He stands up, stretching. I can hear his powerful muscles creak from here. "It's always a pain in the ass to clean up." A vulpine grin stretchesacross his face. "Fortunately, I have just the sort of employees who are uniquely capable of handling the aftermath."
Roman's sleeves are rolled up on his white shirt, and I can see the scars littering his skin, and a black scaled dragon tattoo along his forearm, its tail wrapped around his wrist. His hands are large and capable. I know he's taken lives with them. Maybe dozens of men's lives. But he's managed kindness and almost a curious gentleness for us, this from a man whose history has to be filled with violence and brutality. Maybe Roman Morozov has a soft spot, a tender underbelly.
Rising abruptly, I hug him. A proper hug, putting my whole body into it, my arms wrapped around his back and my cheek against his chest. His hands lift, cautiously for a moment, then wrap around me, too, nice and tight.
We stand like that for a moment, swaying slightly in the sunlight. Then I catch something out of the corner of my eye, a metallic object on the floor behind the couch by the window.
"Is that a flamethrower?"
Roman doesn't look at it, his eyes steady on me. "Yes." "
"Is there a reason you have a flamethrower in your living room?" I ask, still staring at it. It's an enormous thing, black and at least 4 feet long, with all kinds of tubes and a gigantic nozzle that looks like it could set fire to an entire city block in thirty seconds.
"Oh," he says dismissively, his arms still wrapped around me, "Alexsey brought it back this morning and I didn't have time to put it away before you girls came down. So, I put it behind the sofa so it wouldn't alarm your sisters."
"I see…" I say faintly. "That's so thoughtful of you."
We hug for a few more minutes until we hear the gym door open upstairs and the twins chase Alexsey down the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
In which a Bratva Vor’s work is never done.
Roman…
The night before…
"What did you get from him?"
I'm pacing my bedroom, itching to be in the basement of Gordi's sandwich shop, beating the fuck out of the guy who shot at me tonight.
But I can't.
Even though I have guards I could leave here to watch over Violet and her sisters, my pull to her is like gravity, inexorable, and relentless. Is she tackling paperwork for the shelter? She gets a little frown every time she opens her excel spreadsheets. Or asleep, sprawled across her mattress? She could be wearing those adorable pink cotton undies that I'm sure are left over from her parochial school days.
Fuck. I'm in no state to question a captive.
I hear running water and then an irritated yelp from Alexsey. "Goddamnit! He got blood all over my Prada loafers. These aresuede,you asshole." There's the wet sound of a fist meeting meat, and I hold my phone away from my ear as Alexsey roarscurses in Russian at the man who can only answer with a ragged groan.
"So back to our friend, here." Alexsey is all business. "We know he's a made man from all the tattoos. They've been lasered off, but it's clear they were there. There's no identifying physical characteristics other than he's one swarthy-looking fuck, but that could be any number of mafia outfits and crime families. He's well trained, because it took a lot of effort to get something out of him. All he's saying is that he and his partner told to follow Jack and make sure, and I quote, 'Jack doesn't do anything stupid'."
Alexsey laughs and I join in. "Essentially," I say, "everything that Jack has done for the last six months?"
"Yeah, it sounds like it," Alexsey agrees. "But aside from being a twatwaffle finance bro, Jack's valuable enough - or he has something valuable enough - that powerful people are prepared to look after him."
Tapping my fingers on the windowsill, I look out onto the quiet street. "After Kolya pulled their records, Yevgeny ran his numerical genius through some of the startups his venture capital firm has funded. Vague business plans and insufficient tax information. Huge operating costs that are out of the norm for new companies. These fuckers are laundering money. I'm jealous that we didn't think of it first."
"Another discussion to be tabled until we can meet with Dmitri," Alexsey says, "but you're right."
"So we know this firm is dirty," I continue. "We know they want to keep little Jackie boy safe. It's clear they have contacts with made men loyal enough that they're not giving any intel up easily."
"Exactly," agrees Alexsey. "If this asshole was freelance, you know he'd give them up in a heartbeat. Muscle for hire is not exactly known for their loyalty."
"Keep working on him," I say. "I know you've got a wide array of options, because I noticed you were pawing through my stash in the basement. What the fuck did you need a flamethrower for?"
