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Sergei is offended again. “Of those seven, five had already date raped their way through campus, so don't blame Milos. You didn't see them for what they were. Even when you didn't see them, they were there.”
“That's exactly what I was just thinking of you. I was dumb enough that I didn't see you for the killer you are. Four years you were my friend. For more than three years we lived together. I thought you were my bestie. But no, you were a hired gun, there to kill if you thought I needed it. I am so angry right now. I can't see straight.” Running a hand over my forehead, I fight against the headache threatening to form.
“I was your friend. I'm still your friend, Celia. Yeah, at first I was happier about being able to be out than babysitting you. I thought I was going to babysit a vapid girl Milos wanted kept pure. He picked me because he knew I was gay and didn't have to worry about me making a move on you. But that wasn't it. You were pure but it didn't have a thing to do with sex. You were sweet, funny and you had so much more fire than I expected. While you saw the bad in the world, you didn't see it in people. You wanted to believe so badly there was good in people without realizing the world was shit because the people in it were shit.”
I shake my head. I hate the way it sounds like I'm some sort of wide-eyed sweet idiot, but I can't argue with him. Because he was right. It's what I was just thinking of myself.
“If you don't want me to be your security, I understand.” He's up, moving toward the door.
“Wait. No, I do want you. I just…” I sigh heavily. “This is a lot to take in. I feel like I woke up and my whole life is a lie constructed by Milos and I don’t know how to feel about it.”
Sergei is back. “He only did it to protect you. There is nothing Milos wouldn't do for you—wouldn't let you do. Hell, even me because of you. I could set fire to his favorite restaurant, Kotyonok, and he might slug me. But that would be it. He knows if he hurt me, you'd roast his ass. Milos would do anything to keep you happy.”
“Back up, he has a restaurant called Kotyonok?” Why hadn't Milos said anything?
It’s clear he’s wondering why I’m asking. “Yeah, he started it a few years ago. It's his favorite restaurant now. He does most of his business from there. It used to be the restaurant his father created and named after his mom. Ah, okay. Now I get it. I wondered about the name of the place. I never heard him call you that until today.”
“But you're saying you could set it on fire and he wouldn't care because of me?” Now I think I'm ready to ask the real question.
Tilting his head, he studies me. “Yeah, because if he so much as bruised me you'd be upset. I mean, I'm not going to take advantage or anything. Because if he thought I did, he'd still kill me then just fill the house with kittens until you were happy again. It's why he ordered Aleksander that I'm untouchable if something happened to him.”
Iknewit. “What if something happened to him? What's going on? Is someone trying to kill him?”
He freezes, realizing what he said. “No, of course not. I mean, no more than usual.” Another freeze. His shrug isn’t as nonchalant as he was going for. “He's the head of the Bratva in Chicago, for fuck’s sake. He doesn't get and maintain his place without becoming a target. The usual asshole motorcycle club and a few Chechens and Serbians. They don't really want to kill him anyway, because there's still Aleksander and Nikita. As well our army here, who would hunt them down until their mothers and children were dead. That doesn't even take into consideration his brothers in Philadelphia—”
I put a hand over his mouth. “I know what you're doing. Stop it. I know Milos. He's tense in a way he's never been. Peter being my guard instead of his. I'm not an idiot. With Peter at his side since he was a kid, that means he trusts Peter above all others to protect what he values most, which is apparently me. All this talk of protecting me. Tell me what is going on or I swear to God, I will do something so massively insane. Milos will be pissed at the both of us.”
“Then do it, because there is nothing to tell.” Sergei is cold. It's back, the Bratva mask of indifference—of try it and he'll kill you.
Sighing, I shake my head. “Fine. Whatever. I want to go see this restaurant.”
I'm up and headed for the door.
Sergei opens the door. “What? Why?”
“Hello, it's my namesake. I want to go see it.” I don't bother waiting for the door of the SUV to be opened and climb inside. Keeping my thoughts off my face isn't easy. I'm not an idiot and I'm not going to be treated like one.
During the drive to the restaurant Sergei is quiet. His eyes meeting Peter’s in Peter’s mirror. Peter pulls his phone from his pocket and tells someone we’re coming, to prepare a table for me. Interesting. They seem to hold back on telling Milos. Good.
The place we stop in front of screams money. If I hadn't come with Sergei and Peter, there is no way I would have tried walking through the door. My namesake or not. I can't keep my mouth open as I take everything in. Holy freaking crap. The place is amazing. There is a wall of water with the mosaic tile of a saint holding a cat. Below that is a fire feature where the long flames of the fire are a bright yellow.
The staff jumps if my eyes so much as land on them. Peter and Sergei sandwich me and freak when I lose them as I spot the stairs and go up.
“Calm down, I want to check out the office to see where Milos spends most of his time. Sergei, can you please get me some water with lemon?”
Sergei looks to Peter, Peter nods.
The upstairs is even nicer. It's clear this is the VIP area as there are fewer tables. I gasp, my tattoo. On a feature wall of white marble is a large black cat silhouette in obsidian with yellow eyes. I would swear the eyes are yellow diamonds the size of a quarter, but that would be crazy…right? There’s no way those are diamonds. I don’t want to know if they are or not.
“Are the stairs the only way up here?” I ask.
Peter shakes his head. “Nyet, there are elevators there.” He points them out.
This place is exactly what I thought it would be. Not the refined atmosphere, but the setup. Since the building was built in the early ’20s, it would have exactly the kind of false panels and hiding places the twenties required.
“Where's my water?” I wonder as I start back toward the steps.
Peter stops me. “This is a better place for you to eat, safer up here. Stay, I'll check on your water.”
