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“I was hoping you might teach me a thing or two as well.” She shoots me a sideways glance with a smile on her lips.
“Me, princess?” I return her smile, knowing she means the criminal activities her dad thinks she’s too young to know about.
“Who better than my dangerous uncle?”
Absolutely fucking no one. “Sure, you and I can talk about it as soon as things settle down here.” I glance back at the house. “Who’s organizing the funeral?”
“Eleanor is going to figure things out with Dad. Will you come back tomorrow?”
I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Of course I will. Until then, take care of yourself and get some sleep tonight. Don’t let everyone exhaust you.”
Zenya suddenly throws her arms around my neck and holds me close. “Thank you, Uncle Kristian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I take advantage of the way she’s pressed close against me to swiftly plant a kiss on her slender throat. My teeth want to follow my lips, but I make sure the impulse stays just an impulse. “Of course. Where else would I be?”
She pulls away slowly, letting her fingers run down my forearms and across my palms, before heading back toward the front door. I feel a pang as she goes, wishing I could take her away from the suffocating grief in that house. But they all need her too much.
Zenya’s strong, I remind myself. She’ll be okay until tomorrow.
I lean against my car watching Zenya until she gets safely back inside the house and closes the front door. There’s a light feeling in my heart. Things are going to be better now. No more Chessa picking up on my over-interest in Zenya. No more Chessa trying to push other men at my girl.
I’ll take Zenya out soon, just the two of us. Give her some fun for a change. Let her breathe. Make her smile. And keep other men far away from her because they’re unworthy clods who have no business breathing near Zenya, let alone looking at her.
We’ll be working together more as well. Who knows what might happen in some dark warehouse at midnight with the scent of blood in the air…
I groan and pull my phone from my pocket and place a call. Don’t even think about it, Kristian.
Mikhail answers. “What’s up? How’s the family?”
“Not great. Get some of the boys together. We’re going out.”
“We are? Why?”
I get into my car and start the engine, and a grin spreads over my face. “Why do you think? The bitch is dead. We’re celebrating.”
* * *
I wakeup at ten in the morning with a pounding headache, still wearing my clothes from the night before. Out of habit, I check my phone, then wish I hadn’t. There are half a dozen messages from Troian telling me to get around to the house immediately.
I groan and roll out of bed.
Duty fucking calls.
Maybe I shouldn’t have celebrated quite so hard last night. I seem to remember leaving the strip club with the boys around three. We went to one of their apartments and ordered food, but then someone opened a bottle of vodka and I don’t think I ate anything.
I blast the shower at full heat, and then freezing cold, hoping it will sober me up. Today is going to be painful.
I still feel a little drunk from last night, so I grab a coffee from the shop on the corner, swallow some painkillers, and order a car to take me to Troian’s house instead of driving.
By the time I arrive, the painkillers and caffeine have kicked in, and I’m starting to feel human again. The plan for today is to support Troian, make sure that Zenya is all right, and try not to keel over.
I knock on the front door, and a moment later, it opens. It’s Zenya on the other side, and I smile at her. “Hey, princess. How are you…”
My smile dies as I see how red raw her eyes are.
Tears spill down her cheeks and she asks in a choked whisper, “How could you, Uncle Kristian?”
I gaze at her in astonishment.
