Lew sneers. “You first, motherfucker, but what sane woman would even get close to you.”
Alexei shakes his head at them. He’s the silent one. And the one that keeps these two under control for me. Of the three of them, I appreciate him and his genius brain the most.
“Business going all right?” I ask, and when all three of them nod, I add, “Good, because I have better things to do than listento you boring me to death with your kindergarten bullshit,” I grumble, losing my patience with them.
“Yeah, not stressed at all, Pakhan,” Lew grins.
Demyan sighs as if hating Lew was right, while Alexei eyes me with obvious curiosity.
I hang up.
The first is a psychopath who, for fun, lets himself into Russian prisons to discover ways to escape.
The second is semi-suicidal, living for the next thrill.
The last one is the only levelheaded one, leading from the shadows, playing the master puppeteer.
I need to get them married off, but these assholes run from marriage worse than death.
Getting back to work, I check in with all the top-level managers of the various companies under our holdings. The task demands my full attention, sucking up my time.
What’s my woman doing?
I text while the manager drones on about the win-loss projection. Enzo and I know only one way—forward, staying on track with innovation. We constantly invest, and not everyone welcomes that risky business endeavor.
“Get the merger done,” I say, ending the call, knowing I must hop on another meeting in the next few minutes.
Dahlia sends me a short video of her playing the piano. The melody sounds different. While it preserves the melancholy and intense emotions she is known for, this one has more pep, appearing more hopeful with traces of joy.
You’re so talented, baby girl.
She sends me another pic of her gorgeous face, pouting with a text.
I miss you.
I’ll finish as fast as I can.
You better.
With no more pauses, I push through the meetings.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s past nine p.m. and I type.
I’m on my way.
This day has moved torturously slow with thoughts of her invading my brain and threatening my concentration, pumping me up to return to her.
Snatching my jacket, I slip out of the office and call Adrian, Debauchery’s manager.
“Make sure everything goes smoothly. I’m heading to the compound.”
“You won’t be at the club tonight either?” he asks, sounding incredulous.
“Did I fucking stutter?” I don’t give him the chance to reply as I hang up and drive to pick her up.
I don’t know exactly where my self-preservation went. Maybe I discarded it when she bargained to give her what she wants until Enzo returns. Maybe it got obliterated when I was so jealous I wanted to kill that asshole, Tristan, and start a war. Maybe it got buried when I kissed her for the first time and knew that was it.
It’s irrelevant because as Dahlia sprints from the house and straight into my arms, I could never resurrect it. My survival instinct is dead and buried for good.
