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Noel is pacing the floor. He droops with relief when he sees me. “He’s in the formal sitting room, sir. With the lady of the house.”
I brush past him and straight to the sitting room to find Klim reclining in my favorite chair, a glass of wine in one hand and his full attention fixated on my wife.
Paige is sitting prim and proper on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap. While the floral dress she’s wearing can hide her burgeoning stomach, nothing can hide the swell of her breasts.
Klim may be pushing seventy, but he isn’t blind. His eyes flit down to her chest every few seconds. When he sees me, he raises his wine. “Misha, there you are.”
“You should have told me you were dropping by.” I step behind Paige and put my hand on her shoulder.
“It was a last-minute whim. And a good one, too. I got to have some one-on-one time with your lovely wife. She’s delightful, Misha. Your father would have loved her.”
“My father wouldn’t have cared who I married as long as she was fertile.” My voice comes out desert-dry.
Klim smiles, all boundless joy and charm. It’s a great cover. The man is anything but joyful.
Paige reads the room well and stands up. “I’ll give you two some privacy. It was lovely getting to know you, Mr. Kulikov.”
She walks around the sofa and lays a hand on my arm. I pull her in for a quick kiss on the cheek before I let her go. When she’s gone, I take her spot on the couch.
“She really is lovely, Misha,” Klim says, sounding surprised. “Where did you find her?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
He laughs without making a sound and takes another drink of wine. I wait for him to bring up the reason he’s decided to drop in on me unannounced.
If he was anyone else, I would have brought it up myself. But Klim has established himself as more than just a senior Vor and a council member over the decades. I once called him “Uncle.” Until I was old enough to realize he was more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
He’s on my side—for now. But men in my position know that even your own dogs can rip your throat out at a moment’s notice.
Lips pursed, Klim places his glass on the side table and turns to me. “I remember every phase of your life, Misha. I remember when you were running around in diapers. I remember when you were your brother’s shadow. You kept that up until he died. Where Maksim went, there went Misha.”
I try not to flinch.
“Now, look at you. Don in your own right, a beautiful wife on your arm, and a child on the way.”
Children, actually.But I don’t bother correcting him.
The only thing I’m concerned with is discovering why he came in the first place. Klim has been notoriously reclusive the last few years. Looking at him now, I can see why.
Cancer has aged him. He looks ten years older, at least. His skin is sallow and wrinkled, his eyes bulging out of his shrinking head. All his old charisma is still there, but it comes with the sensation of fading batteries. A toy doing the same old song and dance as the movements slow and the recording degrades.
“Your father would be proud,” he concludes.
“My father is dead. Pride is the least of his concerns now.”
Klim is unmoved by my little outburst. “He was proud of you, too.”
“He was proud of himself and little else. Enough games, Klim. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
He gives me a cold smile. “Straight to business. Very well. There is displeasure in the ranks. Much of the council feels you are handling the Ivanov insurrection all wrong.”
“Ah. And they sent you as their spokesperson?”
His smile tightens. “You are the don, but we are the power that sits behind you, Misha. We have the right to question your decisions when they fly in the face of reason.”
“No,” I say curtly. “You have the right to ask for clarification. Anything more than that amounts to treason. And you know as well as I do how we handle traitors in the Bratva.”
Klim sits up a little straighter, his eyes floating over to the half-full wine glass for a moment before they land back on me.
