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Doubt.
***
Paige’s face lights up when I suggest dinner at a five-star restaurant in the city. Instead of objecting to going out, she quickly heads upstairs to change. Her curves gracefully climb the stairs as I watch her from below. I know a romantic evening won’t instantly mend the damage, but I’m hopeful it might be a start. Paige has promised to stay until Gerald’s money is recovered, but after that, I have to give her a good reason to stay.
When I enter our bedroom, I hear the water running in our ensuite and see several dresses lying across our bed. I pick the emerald silk for her to wear tonight. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the night ahead.
The gold and hunter-green interior inHenri Chow’sis immaculate, with gold bamboo chairs and circular tables covered with pristine white tablecloths. The well-stocked bar is made of blown art glass, and the walls are decorated with framed calligraphy. A large fish tank runs the length of the room, and the tropical fish swim back and forth, their bright colors shimmering in the light.
“Another gift?” Paige frowns slightly at the box I place on the table.
“It’s very valuable and rare,” I tell her, pushing it toward her.
“I hope it was obtained legally.” She snaps open the box, and the emerald bracelet matches her silk dress perfectly.
Paige looks up at me with wide eyes. “Oh, Andrei.” She giggles. “Thank you.”
Her giggle sends a wave of guilt coursing through me. I’m romancing her the way that other men romance their mistresses.
I grasp her hand and place the bracelet on it, staring into her eyes as I kiss her wrist gently. “You are special to me, Paige. You mean more to me than anything.”
“Andrei Vasilyevich?”
I turn to look for the booming voice. Anatoli Popov stands behind me, his huge, smiling face looking like Dedya Morozh with dyed auburn hair. A guard hovers by him while a young woman stands a discreet distance away. She’s very blonde and elegant in a cream gown—Popov has a type. He’s also a widower and keeps his private life protected. It’s hard to hold a mistress hostage if an enemy doesn’t know who she is.
I stand and shake his hand. “Dobrei vecher, Popov. It is nice to see you away from work.”
He laughs at my polite joke and then glances over at the woman behind him. She obediently walks to their reserved table without him.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he continues to smile. “Next time, we’ll make plans. May I join you for a moment, Andrei Vasilyevich?”
He doesn’t wait for an invite and motions to the waiter to add a chair to our table. He sits down heavily but waves away the menu the waiter hands him. He pulls half a cigar out of his inner pocket, and the waiter lights the burnt end instead. He puffs on it until the edges flame bright red and then takes a deep breath of satisfaction.
Popov looks at Paige, his eyes slowly assessing her for a reaction. “Your wife doesn’t mind if we talk a little business?” he asks.
Paige begins to push back her seat, but I place my hand over hers. “I keep no secrets from my wife. Though I’d prefer you don’t smoke in front of her.”
“Of course.” Popov nods and stubs the cigar out. He appraises the situation before him, eyeing the empty velvet box and the wide emerald bracelet on Paige’s wrist.
“I used to be in love too.” He looks at me.
Paige smiles and nods, but wisely remains quiet. Both of us know that Popov isn’t stopping at our table to socialize.
He launches right into it. “Andrei Vasilyevich, many families have shown you support during a threatening time.”
I nod. “I am grateful for the vote of confidence, Popov.”
His voice lowers as he leans his forearm on the table. “And you must work tokeepour confidence.”
I swallow hard and force myself not to lean away. “Is there something that I have missed?” I stare into Popov’s eyes, challenging him to go farther. He’s not intimidated easily. Or swayed.
He leans back. His fingers twitch for the cigar but do not touch it. “You must do something before we back you further.”
A chill drips down my spine, not fear but dread. “Which is?”
“Your sister cannot be allowed to run the Karamazov Bratva.” His tone carries authority. “You killed Igor. You have claimed it by right of conquest. It should be you who sits at its head, not her.”
Popov is careful not to spell it out in grim terms. Kill my own baby sister, and I will have the backing of all the allies I need to put down my enemies. Then I will have the peace I seek.
