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The nightmares don’t help either.
Picking up the phone I ring Natallia. “Sir?” she answers.
“I need Ivan to pick up my suit for Friday. Have him drop it off with Ilena.” If I need to go to this smoke show, I’ll make sure I have my favorite Armani suit.
“Anything else?” she asks, scratching a note on a pad.
My personal assistant is mainly for my front company, and she handles most things not associated with the Bratva. Occasionally I need her for sensitive matters.
Natallia is Igor’s sister, and has grown up in the family, but she has resigned herself not to be married off. Upon my rise to pakhan, I made a deal with her, for Igor’s sake. She wouldn’t be married off for alliance purposes if she was working full time for me. So far, it’s serving me, but I’ll use her as soon as I need to.
“Nyet.”
I hang up and close my computer, placing a few files in my safe. Grabbing my suit jacket, I exit my office, nodding to both guards on each side of the double doors, and stride toward the elevator. They flank each side of me, and let my other guards in the building know that I’m on the move.
Nik handles my security, and it’s obvious he overdoes it. But after the attack six months ago, I won’t be blindsided again. Protection is a defensive chess piece.
It’s time we went offensive.
* * *
A pissing contestfor the city’s most powerful. That is what I’m subject to tonight. I arrived twenty minutes ago, and I’ve already reached my limit. I’m standing listening to Senator Hope kiss ass with every businessman here and I’m bored, feigning interest and nursing my drink.
Three of my guards are standing along the wall, but they aren’t the only security here. With all the important politicians and moneymen here, we blend right in with the armed guards. But I know my men are best trained.
An annoying laugh I’ve come to associate with Nik reaches my ears. I turn to see him sliding a hand up the thigh of a young brunette seated on his lap. Several other men and women are around him—the life of the damn party.
I’m bored. And annoyed. Another ten minutes, and I’ll write a check and be going.
Swirling the last of my liquor I turn to a young woman with a tray of empty glasses walking by, and I move to deposit my drink—
It’s her.
A roar whooshes in my ears as my thundering heart tries to grapple with her presence. I would never forget that face. It has to be her. But why is she here? Whoever attacked me that night would’ve killed her—especially if it was the Cosa Nostra. They don’t leave witnesses.
I don’t remember a lot from the night of the attack. I’ve watched grainy gas station security footage, but I can’t relive it without a haze permeating my blood or going cold.
But I remember her.
Those wide blue eyes, blonde hair stretched up into a messy bun, and a sweater that mimicked what a homeless person might wear. Her voice—why can’t I remember her voice? My chest rises and falls several beats too long and I decide I must hear her.
“Would you like another, sir?” I close my eyes, committing her sweet, slightly raspy voice to memory, and it fits into the memory of that night—a missing puzzle piece.
“Sir, the paramedics are on the—”
A tingling sensation that I can’t quite place prickles deep in my abdomen, and I grind my teeth.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Chapter6
Kate
What the hell is wrong with this man?
The color has drained from his face, and his fists are bunched at his sides. He is staring at the empty glasses on my tray ignoring my inquiry entirely.
“Sir?” I attempt again.
