“Oh, yeah.” He stroked his jaw. “Saw it on E!News, TMZ, TikTok. Lachlan tried to save you from a purse snatcher.”
“What do you mean try?—”
The doors sprang open.
Whatever. I started out. Enzo grabbed my hand and pulled me to him.
“You should be a good girl.” His other hand, clutching the stuffed unicorn, tapped the tip of my nose.
“Do that again. I’ll bite your finger off.”
Enzo grabbed my wrists in his large hand, pulling me flush against him. “Make your dad happy. Get rid of Lach.”
In that moment, I recalled the heat—not the July weather—that erupted when we kissed. Lachlan and I weren’t official, but guilt made me come clean about the after-rom-com kiss.
Lorenzo didn’t let go.
Someone placed a hand between the elevator doors, stopping it from closing.
My unwanted bodyguard.
Enzo released me. He backed out, offering a wicked wink.
“Maybe next time I’ll get to say hello to your cousin.”Yeah, right. I don’t need that type of trouble.
“I just don’t understandher anymore?—”
“Vassili, stop,” Momma said. “So your daughter is in love with?—”
“If you say the L word, I volunteer as tribute to sleep on the couch.”
In the hallway, I laughed a little. Then I mouthed the words coming out of Pop’s mouth. “When you went into labor, do you remember what the doctor said?” He proceeded in a terrible Caucasian voice, without waiting for Momma’s response, in contrast to his Russian accent. “You must be the reason she won’t open her legs and push.”
My momma snorted. “Last time you exaggerated this story, it was the nurse.”
“Doctor, nurse. Doesn’t matter. I had a police detail from a winning title match to get to you, Zariah. To you and my new baby.”
At this point, I heaved a sigh and strolled into the open living room and kitchen area. Because the house was so large, they didn’t notice my arrival. Sunlight streamed in from the massive accordion sliders. Too cold. Sixty-four degrees in winter in California, but cold enough for me to approach the door and press a button. The retractable glass wall slid into place.
Arms folded, I matched my father’s glare.
“Who’s the Italian?”
“What?” My head dropped, and I pinched my nose. “Oh, my Shadow told you?—”
“Not only are you entertaining that base?—”
“Your favorite Dodger.” I chuckled.
“Ex-favoriteDoyer,” he retorted, so angry he almost sounded Hispanic. “Now, you have elevator hookups. What about Edik?”
“Edik?” I gasped the name.
Momma cut me off. “My daughter’s not marrying a virtual stranger!”
“Did I say that, Zar? We are acquainted with Edik and his father, Lev Mikhailov. We are friends.”Vassiligrowled the lie. Yes, I mentally called him by his first name. My pop wouldpopme for that if he had the guts to hit a girl. “At the rate you’re going, Natasha, bags snatched because you’re hiding from yourShadow?—”
“C’mon,” Momma said. “What’s her bodyguard’s name? We’re not those people who just randomly give folks’ names. Nor do we lie about our association—so nota friendship—with the Mikhailov Bratva!” When Vassili didn’t respond, Momma stared at me.
