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A dozen more messages follow, and I shake my head as I scroll down and read them. If someone leaves for two years without any sign that they’re coming back, they don’t get to be mad about what goes on in their absence.
Zenya:Could you chill for half a second? You’re going to burst a heart valve.
Instantly, the three dots appear.
Uncle Kristian:WHO WAS IT ZENYA?
Zenya:Take a deep breath. You are a drop of rainwater falling into a calm sea.
Uncle Kristian:Do I have to kill every man in this city?
Uncle Kristian:BECAUSE I WILL IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME A NAME.
I throw my phone into my bag with a shake of my head and go downstairs. My stomach’s rumbling, and I need to eat before I can deal with him.
After a sandwich of turkey on light rye with mayonnaise, cucumber, and lots of salt and pepper, I’m feeling better equipped to cope with my uncle’s jealous meltdown. I expect that he’s sent me another dozen texts, but there’s only one from two minutes ago, and it’s highly ominous.
Uncle Kristian:You’ve left me no choice.
Zenya:What do you mean? Where are you?
Zenya:Uncle Kristian?
Uncle Kristian:I’m busy, princess. Talk to you later.
Zenya:Busy doing what?
Uncle Kristian:Can’t type. Too much blood.
Zenya:Please tell me you’re joking.
Zenya:Oh my God, I hope you’re joking.
Zenya:UNCLE KRISTIAN PLEASE DON’T KILL ANYONE WHEN I HAVEN’T EVEN GIVEN YOU A NAME.
I wait for a reply, but none comes. Is he serious, or is he messing with me? What’s he planning on doing, driving to every underground club and to the houses of our associates and slaying every man he sees?
Or is he after one man in particular?
My stomach drops as I realize who that man might be. The only man I’ve been on a date with and the first one to push his jealousy into overdrive.
Grigor Kalchik, the man who tried to kiss me at Bohdan Adamovich’s club.
He wouldn’t…would he? It wasone date. Uncle Kristian can’t seriously believe that I went to bed with that irritating, sleazy man after one date?
No rational man could think that.
I put my dirty plate in the dishwasher, my mind racing. Uncle Kristian isn’t thinking rationally. He’s thinking like a jealous lover.
I search through my phone contacts and hit dial.
A moment later, Grigor answers. “Well, hello, babe. Good to hear from you.”
My skin crawls at the sound of his smug, oily voice. From the sounds of it, he’s not in deadly peril. Yet. “Hi, Grigor, I wanted to ask where—”
“I know,” he interrupts me, and I can hear his smirk. “You’re dying for that second date. Saturday night just freed up, but only because it’s you. You’re a lucky woman, Zenya.”
I grip my phone hard, silently wishing for strength. Uncle Kristian carries on as if he’s God’s gift to women, but at least he has the right considering his looks, charm, dress sense, and intoxicating aura. What has Grigor got? Average looks and a below-average personality.
