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“Does she feel the same?”
“I don’t know. Bianca is hard to read.”
“Women are hard to read in general, Mikhail. Sometimes, I feel they came from another fucking planet.”
“I think she likes spending time with me.” I shrug. “We went to the mall last week.”
“I knew it.” Roman hits the chair with his palm. “She dragged you to watch some teen movie. Admit it!”
“Not exactly. We had sex in the restroom.”
“Mikhail Orlov. Had sex in the restroom.” He raises his eyebrows. “In a mall.”
“Yes,” I say, and he bursts out laughing.
I ignore him and continue, “She also said she wanted me to take her dancing.”
“You? Dancing? What’s next, pigs flying?” Roman sighs. “Did you tell your wife what you do for the Bratva?”
“She knows I’m in charge of distribution.”
“So, you haven’t told her.”
I look down at my glass. “Nope.”
“She’ll find out, sooner or later, you know that.”
“She won’t. I’ll make sure she never finds out.”
“Mikhail...”
“She doesn’t care about my eye. Or the scars. I don’t know how, but she doesn’t. She never asked what happened, even though I know she must wonder. But I can’t tell her what I do for the Bratva ... I don’t think she would be able to get past that.”
“Well, shit.” He squeezes his temples. “Okay, I’ll talk with Maxim, maybe he can take over ...”
“No. Information extraction is my job. And anyway, who could be a better interrogator than someone who experienced most of the torture techniques himself?”
“Oh my God, this is amazing.” Nina moans and reaches with her fork toward the pot again.
The big cook, who is standing on the other side of the table, grabs the pot by the handle and slides it toward himself, speaking something in Russian and pointing behind his back.
“Baby wants it.” Nina grabs the other handle of the pot and starts pulling it back to her.
The cook lets go of the pot, throws his hands in the air, and walks away.
“Baby card works every time. Igor doesn’t understand much, but he knows that word.” Nina grins, takes another forkful of the pasta, and stuffs it in her mouth.
I can’t help but laugh, grab another fork and join her.
A throat clears behind me, and I turn and find Mikhail pulling a chair and sitting next to me.
“Is that our dinner?” He quirks a brow. “The one the four of us should be eating together? In the dining room?”
I put down the fork.“Nina started it. I had to join. It would be rude to let the pakhan’s wife eat alone.”
“I see...” He cocks his head a little and leans toward me. “Can I have a taste?”
I smile, take a little bit of the pasta on the fork, and lift it to his mouth. Nina is watching the whole ordeal from the other side of the table with wide eyes, her mouth gaping open.
