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Closing my eyes, I fight for control of my temper. Thepakhanin me wants to rage he can’t kill our ally at the risk of turning the whole of the Outfit against us. The man in me is aware it doesn’t matter if he wanted to kill her only a week ago. And if until the moment she showed up broken on his door, she didn’t belong to him. She was now his woman; anyone who touched her had to die.
“Why is it always smooth seas or a fucking hurricane with this family?” I wonder aloud. “Aside from the MC, we’ve had more than two years of peace and quiet. Now I have you risking our relationship with the entire Outfit. Ivan shooting at Nikita, and our brothers in Philadelphia are acting as if me telling them to get married is the same as ordering them to pour gasoline over themselves and light a fucking match.”
The fucker chuckles. “That’s what happens when Bratva marry.”
I shake my head.
“They die tonight.” It’s a statement of fact.
Sighing, I nod. “Tonight.”
Chapter21
Celia
Over the nextweek there are only a few texts from Milos, usually in the morning to tell me about the appointments he made for me.
On day three, two lawyers arrive at my house too early one day with a stack of paperwork to sign. I’m told most of it is for the rescue so it can be formed with the whole tax liability lessened thing. I try reading through it, except it all blurs together, so I sign at the tabs and trust Milos knows what he’s doing. I’m expecting a prenup, but the other lawyer says he discussed it with Milos, and against the lawyer’s advice Milos didn’t want one as there would never be a divorce. I blushed as both lawyers eyed me—no doubt wondering why Milos would even pick me let alone tell them we would never divorce.
Day four, the contractor, who works with the Sabatinis on fixing up properties and keeps an almost comical distance from me, guarantees me it will be ready within two weeks. His ideas for the outside catio—cat patio for outside fun, are so amazing I almost hug him. He stumbles back with a terrified expression.
Day five I get a haircut, chopping off more than six inches, bringing my hair to just below my shoulders. I gave in and got my nails done, along with the full works of beauty treatments they had on the menu at a spa with Carina. I’m preparing for the upcoming engagement party being held in his home where I’ll meet almost all of his family. That night I get an angry text from Milos for cutting my hair. I hate it, but I miss him so much I’ll take the angry text because at least it’s something from him.
Two of his brothers are coming in from Philadelphia as well as his uncle, both cousins and his youngest brother who went out to New York to meet and spend time with his fiancée, before they marry in another month.
When day seven arrives without any text from him since the angry one about my hair cut, I break down and call him.
He answers by the second ring. “Yes,kotyonok, are you all right?”
“I was wondering what dress you wanted me to wear for the engagement party. And Mother had said something about me coming for dinner to meet your brothers when they arrive tomorrow, but I don’t have her number or anything to call and ask her.” I exhale in a rush.
It feels like he’s quiet forever. I swear I can feel him becoming annoyed. “Whatever dress you feel comfortable in. I told you while we were shopping they were the dresses for events such as this. As for dinner, I’ll send a car for you at six tomorrow. Anything else?”
Heisannoyed. “No,” I mutter and hang up.
I am not going to cry. Damn him.
Normally I would talk to Carina but she’s in New York for work, so I don’t want to bother her. Needing to get out of the house with the walls closing in, I dress quickly in black leggings and go to grab a black blouse only to find it’s sheer. How the hell did this get past Milos? Angry at him, I decide to wear it anyway. But I’m also not an idiot and grab a black camisole beneath it.
Once I’m dressed I use the flat iron I hate because half the time I fry my hair then wonder where the hell I’m going to go. I’m hungry but…all at once I know where I want to go, Dominic Sabatini’s club.
Dominic Sabatini has a private club that is for all appearances nothing more than a very fancy restaurant; however, in the basement is gambling and not just a few tables—it could rival a casino there are even a few slot machines. The Italian food there is the best in the city. I don’t like gnocchi anywhere but from there. I’m also hoping Regina or Christy are there for dinner.
When I slip on velvet ballet flats, it’s one of the few times I wish I could do heels. I shrug it off, though, as I grab my purse. I’m praying they let me in, I usually only went with Carlo at Christmas for the party Dominic held forla familia.
Peter is out of the front seat before I get to the SUV. “What are you doing?”
Ugh, he’s still sick. He started looking crappy, coughing and clearing his throat every thirty seconds yesterday. Today he’s even worse. “I want to go to Dominic Sabatini’s club for dinner. I’m not cooking tonight. But I’m not getting into the car with you. You’re sick and I’m not going to catch it.”
Gleb nods, speaking in Russian. “I told you. Now my throat is hurting. You’re getting everyone sick.”
Stubborn, Peter shakes his head then almost loses his balance.
Eyes wide, I look to Gleb. “How is he going to protect me if he can’t stand?”
Sighing, he pulls out his phone. It’s clear he’s talking to Milos. When he hangs up, he eyes me. “More security is coming. When they get here, I take Peter home, then I go home.”
I nod. “Fine, I’ll be waiting inside. Have them text me when they get here.”
