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"Of course. It wouldn't be for long. It'd take maybe a day of your time."
I heaved a sigh. "You'll have to tell me when. I don't know what's going on with my schedule yet."
Paris nodded eagerly. "That's so awesome."
"What is?"
I blinked at Aspen who'd sneaked back and was peering into a mirror and touching up her lipstick.
Glancing around the bakery, I saw the guy who'd followed her to the bathroom and frowned when he went into the backroom.
As the door closed, I finally saw who my husband was sitting with—Maxim Lyanov.
My mouth rounded, and I turned on Aspen. "Misha's Russian?"
She put down her lip pencil to demand, "What are you talking about?"
"Misha's Russian," Paris confirmed.
"Shut up, Paris."
I turned on Aspen once more. "Do you know who he is?"
She hitched a shoulder. "He runs Silk in Tribeca."
That had to mean Silk was a Bratva front.
I gaped at her, unable to get my brain around what was happening here.
My sister was fucking someone in the Bratva.
And she'd come for lunch because she'd sneakily found out where he was and she'd wanted to check up on him?
She wanted to check up on a Bratva brother!
I snagged her wrist in my hand. "Aspen, he's a dangerous man."
Paris frowned. "Don't be silly, Savvie. He owns one of the hottest clubs in Tribeca."
"So do most factions of the mafia in the city. It's a front," I hissed.
"A front?" Aspen queried.
"Yes. For the Bratva. You can't be following him around town, Aspen. If you do, God only knows what'll happen."
She smirked at me. "I bet it ends with me getting off."
"Either that or getting shot."
Paris gasped. "You can't be serious, Savvie?"
"I am, deadly."
"You can't say anything," Aspen sneered. "Not when Aidan does what he does."
Curious, I inquired, "What exactly does Aidan do?"
"You and the family treat us like we're still fourteen. Everyone knows who the O'Donnellys are. They're the city's worst kept secret."
