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I shrug. “It’s hard to miss someone you never knew.”
“And it was you and your father ever since?”
Him mentioning my father stops my chatter. My throat squeezes tight, and my palms are suddenly clammy. “Yes,” I mumble. I need to get out of here and fast. “Well, um… Maybe Icoulduse a brief nap.”
“We’ll be down here,” he assures. “Take your time. Thank you for all your hard work.”
Dimitri has a great way with words. Everything he says sounds earnest and genuine. He looks like such a saint, holding his child while checking on his father.
As I climb up the stairs to head to my room, a little seed of doubt plants itself in my mind. I’m almost entirely positive this man deserves to suffer for what he’s done. But…
What if I’m wrong?
Chapter 9
Dimitri
3:23 a.m.
I can’t sleep. There’s just too much on my mind.
We still haven’t gotten to the bottom of who planted the damn car bomb. I’ve got a few of my most trusted men collecting information, but nobody seems to want to own up to the attack. Why would they? Going to war with the Antonov Bratva is, in a word, a death sentence. Mikhail has a policy about violence. It’s never necessary…until it is.
I roll over in bed. Both sides of my pillow are warm. The longer I stay awake, the more my mind wanders. I think about Father and his condition. I think about Tatiana showing up out of nowhere with Simon. I think about Natalya and those pretty blue eyes of hers and full lips I can’t stop staring at.
To say I have a lot on my plate right now is an understatement. I’d ask my brothers for help, but there’s really nothing they can do. Pyotr and Luka are in New York. Mikhail has the entire Bratvaandhis family to take care of. Catherina is… Well, she’s Catherina. I doubt I could ask her for assistance without getting an earful.
My problems are my problems. I’m going to have to deal with them on my own.
At 3:25 a.m., I finally decide to roll out of bed and head downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe a glass of water and a sleep aid will help me slip under.
Imagine my surprise when I see her standing before the sink shrouded in darkness. The only reason I can tell it’s Natalya and not Dahlia is because her soft blonde hair stands out in stark contrast beneath the silver glow of the moonlight through the curtains. I observe her for a few moments, unsure what she’s doing. She seems to be staring at the knife block for some reason. Could she be sleepwalking?
She’s dressed in a modest pair of grey sweatpants, the waistband of which sits just below her hip bones. Her shirt captures my attention. It’s a crop top, exposing the smooth skin of her belly and back. I shouldn’t be so mesmerized, yet there’s no denying the heat that licks up my spine. Though I remain where I stand, my fingers itch to touch.
I want to get close. I think about the morning of the explosion and how Natalya felt in my arms. The press of her body, the warmth of her skin, the way I was so tantalizingly close to those lovely red lips.
Would it be so bad if I reached out, just this once? Probably. Having her live under the same roof is distracting enough as it is. Besides, she doesn’t seem particularly fond of me. It’s a shame, but I’m not going to do anything to make her more uncomfortable than she already seems—no matter how my body reacts to her.
“Nat?”
She gasps, spinning around like a little rabbit caught off guard by a hungry fox. “O-oh! Sorry, I… What are you doing?”
“I live here.”
Nat sighs. “I meant… Never mind.”
“I’m teasing you.”
“Oh.”
“Are you a fellow insomniac?”
Nat nods, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Yeah, kind of.”
I gesture to the kitchen island. “Care for some warm milk and honey?”
She laughs softly. “What, am I five?”
