Page 91 of Lord of the Underworld

"So, I guess you're not dating yet, then?" I ask.

"I hate men," she says decisively.

"Even Russian ones?" I pursue it a little bit, because I'm still wondering about that odd exchange between her and Kirill at my wedding. After a couple of discreet inquiries with the cousins, no one seems to know anything about it.

"Most especially Russian men," she answers sharply.

"No pressure," I say. "If you're not feeling it, no one should be annoying you, including me."

"Thank you," she groans. "That would be nice."

I'm walking along the penthouse terrace as we talk. It's a (slightly) warmer day than usual and the fresh air this high up feels crisp and free of car exhaust. We talk about babies and kids. There's a couple of questions about possible vacation plans together, and an invitation from me to have everyone come out and join us in Chicago when it gets warmer.

"I found out that Vadim is a very accomplished sailor," I say. "He has a beautiful sailboat that he keeps on Lake Michigan in the summer. It would be fun to take it out together."

"Oh, I love that idea!" Dasha says. "I would really like us all to get together more. With everyone getting married off and having babies, sometimes, I feel a little lonely."

"Well, then we can't let this go," I say. "I grew up avoiding my family because trying to be around them under the malign influence of our father was too stressful. We should always feel like we have each other."

"Absolutely," Caroline says decisively. She's the list-planner in the group and I know she's already making notes on her phone.

We all agree to talk next week, and I hang up, going in search of my husband. He's getting dressed, so I settle in a chair in our dressing room and watch him, admiring his gorgeous body. He's just as beautifully sculpted and nearly as strong as ever, thanks to his exhausted physical therapists. Several more scars are scattered across his skin though, and the sight of the burn scar on his leg digs knuckles into my heart every time I see it. But he is recovering faster than any man who endured what he had, should, at least according to his doctor.

He sees me in the reflection of the mirror, watching him. Giving me a sly smile, he pulls on his shirt, noting my disappointment as he buttons it up, hiding his tattoos from me.

"How was your conversation with the Morozovs?" he asks.

"It's nice to check in with everybody. They were eager to hear more from our conversation with Andrey about the tribunal."

"Ah," he says, "he seems very enthusiastic about it. But this is Andrey, it's hard to know what he's actually thinking. I believe getting anyone to accept a tribunal's word as law will be difficult. But if there's enough powerful families involved, nearly everyone will have to bend the knee."

"It may not work," I admit. "But it's the start of something, right?"

"Without question," he says, "And I will support anything you want to do." Knotting his tie, he walks over so I can finish the job.

"So, you're heading out to meet the rest of the Six Heirs?" I ask, straightening his tie and running a finger along the tattoo there, a hawk, with talons extended and half-hidden by his shirt collar.

"Gratitude must be shown for them coming to our aid that day," he says with a kind of grim resignation. "We may not have needed all those men, but the show of force put the fear of God into anyone thinking about fucking with us again."

"Oh, I think you were scary enough for that all on your own, honey." I go up on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. "You look very handsome. When you come home tonight, we will sit in total silence. We'll have a nice dinner, maybe watch a movie, but I'm pretty sure your social battery will be completely drained by having to deal with those five."

He sighs, though it comes out as more of a groan. "You know me too well, moya lyubov'."

"No, I just love you," I smile up at him, my thumb stroking his sharp jawline. "So much."

"And I you," he says, with the tenderness no one would expect from the Angel of Death. Giving me another kiss before his expression settles into its usual impassive lines, he says, "Walk me to the door?"

"Which one is it today?" I say, "I'd hate to get shocked." I'm joking, of course. My biometric signature is on every panel on every penthouse door, and he has abandoned his rotating codes. So, I'm free to come and go as I like.

"Hmm…" Vadim pretends to consider his choices. The man loves his games. And I love the look of bleak futility his guards get as they struggle to keep up with him.

My smile wavers slightly. After the attack in Red Square, Lavr, Marlen and Anka's guard Oleg all survived, though my former bodyguards won't be returning to duty any time soon. The Turgenev Bratva will support them for as long as needed.

I went with Vadim and Konstantin to meet the families of the guards who were murdered by the hunters. I was so worried they'd blame me, because to be honest, I would agree with them. Knowing those poor men died because of me isn't something I can let go of. Shockingly, they were all kind, or at least polite.

"I think the security elevator in the pantry," he says.

"Oh good," I say. "I think I spotted some cookies in there that I had hidden from myself."