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Uncle Kristian gives a low chuckle, and the warm feeling in my belly glows brighter. “I doubt that very much.”
I finish pinning the bandages in place and testing to make sure they’re secure, puzzling over Uncle Kristian’s words. I’m always asking him and Dad to teach me more about what it means to be a Belyaev. To let me quit school and join them full time. Both of them say I have to get my high school diploma, but maybe Uncle Kristian is hinting that he’s willing to let me in on a few more of their secrets.
If anything happens to Dad—please don’t let anything happen to Dad, but that thirty percent chance is haunting me, and I can’t help but think that if anythingdoes—Uncle Kristian will step up and take over the family, and he’ll need a second-in-command, just as he was second to Dad. Kristian is close with another man who works for us called Mikhail, but Mikhail isn’t a Belyaev. If anyone should take their place by his side it should be me.
Uncle Kristian has always told me that it doesn’t matter if I’m a girl. It’s what’s in my heart that matters. My strength and determination to protect this family and help us prosper.
When I’m finished, I wrap my arms around Uncle Kristian’s neck and move closer to him, carefully embracing where he’s not injured, and rest my forehead against his temple.
With my eyes closed, I whisper in Russian, “You’re not allowed to be reckless from now on, and I don’t want to hear about how you might not be my uncle one day. That’s not allowed.”
“But if I’m not reckless, I won’t be me anymore, whether I’m your Uncle Kristian or not.”
I draw away a little so I can look into his bright, hard eyes. We’re mere inches from each other. “You can’t be a little more careful, even for me?”
His eyes run over my face. My eyes. The tip of my nose. My lips. “Not even for you. But you don’t want me to stop, do you, princess?”
Stop being Uncle Kristian? “Well, when you put it like that…”
Dad is my home, but my heart beats faster for Uncle Kristian.
So, no.
I don’t want him to change.
I never want him to stop being exactly who he is.
“I didn’t think so.” Uncle Kristian draws me closer, stroking the nape of my neck and embracing me tighter in his strong arms.
“I said bed, Zenya,” Chessa calls from the next room, and I realize she’s been calling out to me for several minutes.
Uncle Kristian and I smile as we disentangle ourselves from each other and he scoops all the bloody bits of gravel into the trash while I pack up the first aid kit. I fetch him one of Dad’s shirts to wear home and he orders a car for himself.
At the front door, he turns to me and touches my hair. “Tomorrow, I’m going to meet with our men and tell them what Troian and I saw when we went to take care of that gang. How many men. The exits. Their weapons. Everything they need to know to finish the job for us. Want to come with me?”
I gasp in delight and grab his arm. Dimly I’m aware that an offer to hear the kill orders for half a dozen men isn’t what’s supposed to excite a teenage girl, but after seeing Dad lying in that hospital bed and picking gravel out of my uncle’s shoulder, I’m burning for some Belyaev justice. “Yes, please. I’d love that.”
Uncle Kristian smiles and kisses my cheek. “Goodnight, beautiful. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow night,” he whispers in my ear, before heading out the door into the darkness.
I watch him go with a broad smile and then close the door and head upstairs to bed.
I’ve showered and changed into my pajamas, and I’m sitting up in bed brushing my hair when Chessa enters the room. She looks tired and worried, but she smiles at me.
“I’ll be going to see Troian at seven-thirty in the morning before picking up the kids from Eleanor’s. I can take you, Lana, and Arron with me and drop you at school afterward if you like.”
“Yes, please. I’d love to see Dad again before he has his operation.”
We discuss the scheduling and details of his surgery for several minutes. I expect Chessa to say goodnight after that, but she hesitates and then sits down on the bed.
Placing her hand on my leg over the blankets, she says, “Zenya, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
I wait, terrified of what she’s going to say, the wordcancerlooming in my mind. Please don’t let the doctors have found tumors in Dad’s leg.
“Why does Kristian switch to Russian whenever I enter the room?” Chessa asks.
I sigh in relief. Oh, is that all? Still, it’s a little annoying that she’s bringing up the Russian again. That’s my thing with Uncle Kristian, and it has nothing to do with her.
“He doesn’t always switch to Russian,” I say, evading the question.
