Tossing the lights back on the pile, he runs his thumb over my cheekbone. “Does this please you?”
“Yes!” I nod enthusiastically enough to make myself dizzy.
“Then of course.”
The clamor of the men dragging in all my purchases fades as I smile up at my husband-to-be dreamily.
He may not love me, but this is one step closer.
Chapter Nineteen
In which the holiday spirit is coming for Alexi whether he wants it or not.
Lucya…
Walking through my festive holiday rubble, Alexi frowns, which I’m beginning to think is his factory default setting.
“Didn’t you get anything for yourself?”
“Are you forgetting that gigantic closet of clothes and slutty lingerie occupying the guest room?” I ask, “I’m set for the next decade at least.”
Now he’s amused. “Slutty lingerie? If it’s not to your taste, order something else. I told the personal shopper to find you some pretty things.”
“You didn’t pick those out yourself?” I ask, unaccountably pleased.
He shrugs, “I just told her what colors look best on you. But you did need clothing. I’ve seen the sad little collection the men packed for you when they cleared out your apartment.”
Ignoring the existential horror of Pytor packing my underwear drawer, I stick to my standard cocktail of outrage and defiance. “I had plenty of clothes, you don’t get to judge my fashion taste.” I pointedly look at his black t-shirt, jeans, and boots. Though he looks edible in anything.
Alexi looks like what male modelsshouldlook like without all the airbrushing. He’s peeling an apple with one of his razor-sharp knives that he seems to always keep on his person. I watch his long, capable fingers create a perfect spiral of the peel and I have to swipe the back of my hand across my mouth to make sure I’m not drooling. There’s an elegant sense of competence to everything he does. No flash or fanfare, just quick, precise movements.
His phone chimes, interrupting my lust-filled perusal of my husband-to-be.
“Da?”I hear the agitated babble from the speaker but not the meaning. A shadow falls over his face, making it look sculpted in stone. “I’ll be right there. Do not engage.” He slides the phone back into his pocket and heads for the elevator.
“Is everything okay?” I’m trotting alongside him like an agitated golden retriever, but the frozen expression on his face is scaring me.
“I have to go out,” he says as the elevator door slides open. “Do not leave the apartment, Pytor will be here to stay with you.”
“Please, just…” What can I say? He’s Bratva. “Will you please be careful?” Then I take the plunge, even if he’ll think I’m pathetic and needy. “Come home to me.”
For a moment, his ice-cold eyes thaw. “Why don’t you decorate the trees while I’m out? You can show them off to me when I come back.” He kisses my forehead, and then he’s gone.
Alexi…
The idiots had targeted the wrong shipment.
“Fucking amateurs,” Samuil spat on one of the men kneeling in front of us.
“I’m disappointed,” I say. “You stupid fucks pulled me away from dinner forthis?”Gesturing irritably at the shipping containers, I try to control my temper. “You tried to steal a shipment of high-grade lumber from Canada. Well-played. I believe you were looking for the cargo that holds hundreds of modified SVD Dragunov rifles?”
The fifteen men left alive were kneeling in a line on the rough planks of the dock, blubbering like children, pleading for their lives. Walking along the line, I spot two, bloodied but silent. Pulling my Glock, I shoot the man kneeling next to them. The two jump but stay quiet.
“You, gentlemen, might survive the night.” I crouch in front of them. “No identifying tattoos, different nationalities… you’re either mercenaries or, as I’ve said, fucking idiots.” One of them glares at me, his eye rapidly swelling shut. “These men?” I gesture with my gun, “They’re already dead. You might have a chance to walk out of here. You’re independent contractors, I can tell.” The glaring one shifts slightly. “I can respect that. I will give you double your fee. I’m guessing it was somewhere around a million? A million five? Standard contract these days. Tell me who hired you, and you walk.”
“Fuck you,” the quieter man spat, “you’re going to kill us anyway.”
“Well,” I allow, “Iamgoing to kill you.”
