“What are they saying?”
“That marriage has made you soft. That you’re thinking with your dick instead of your brain.”
I feel the familiar cold rage building in my chest. “Are they?”
“Some are. Others think you’re finally becoming human again.” Tony shrugs. “Personally, I’m hoping for human. The ice king routine was getting old.”
Ice king. Is that how they see me? A man so detached from emotion that basic human connection becomes noteworthy?
Maybe they’re not wrong.
“The Torrino shipment,” I say, changing the subject.
“Right. Fifty cases of premium vodka, clean papers, ready for distribution through our restaurant network.” He slides a folder across my desk. “But there’s a complication.”
“What kind of complication?”
“The Russians want to renegotiate terms. They’re claiming increased overhead costs due to recent…personnel changes.”
Personnel changes. That’s one way to describe the deaths of Viktor Petrov and his associates.
“How much more do they want?”
“Thirty percent increase. Plus they want guaranteed distribution in Miami.”
“Miami’s still being restructured after the Petrov situation.”
“They know. That’s why they want guarantees.”
I flip through the paperwork, but my mind keeps drifting to Kasimira. She handled those Russian negotiations like she was born to it, reading the room and adjusting her approach in real time. She’d have insights into how to manage this situation.
When did I start thinking of her as a partner instead of a burden?
“I’ll need to discuss this with my wife,” I say without thinking.
Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your wife? Since when do you discuss business with?—”
“Since she speaks fluent Russian and understands their cultural dynamics better than anyone else on my payroll.”
“Huh.” He studies my face with new interest. “She really is changing you.”
“She’s a valuable asset.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
The knowing look in his eyes makes me want to throw him out the window. Instead, I close the folder and stand. “I’ll have an answer for the Russians by tomorrow.”
“Alaric.” Tony’s voice stops me at the door. “For what it’s worth, I like her. She’s got steel in her spine and brains in her head. Could be good for you if you don’t fuck it up.”
“I’m not going to fuck it up.”
After he leaves, I stand at my office window staring out at the gardens where Kasimira walks every morning. She’s out there now, moving between the rose bushes with that fluid grace that makes my chest tighten.
Marco appears beside her, saying something that makes her laugh. The sound drifts up through the glass, and I find myself smiling despite the turmoil in my head.
Tony’s right. I am falling hard. Have fallen, past tense. The woman who was supposed to be a temporary inconvenience has become the center of my world, and I have no idea how to handle that reality.
My phone buzzes with a text from her:Lunch in the garden? I have ideas about the Russian situation.
