“He doesn’t need to make anything for me.”
“He does and you’ll drink it,” I reply. Quiet, but final. “Tea won’t kill you, but dehydration will.”
She mutters something under her breath before turning back to the view of the city.
I ask Renat in Russian, “All clear?”
“All clear,” he agrees while he works. “Petrov just got a call from Matvey asking for a report on tonight’s mission. He told him she was snatched off the street without causing a scene.”
“Good,” I reply. Gavriil’s already had one of his men check up on what happened tonight. I’m annoyed but not surprised. At least Petrov gave him the simple version and not the full truth. And if satisfied his order has been fulfilled, then thePakhanmay not make a trip into the city tonight after all.
When the kettle clicks off, Renat pours the steaming black tea into several glass mugs and places them on the kitchen island along with a tray of sugar cubes and a pitcher of milk. Alina side-eyes it like its poison.
“If I wanted to drug you, you would’ve been knocked out in the car when you were screaming like a banshee.” Her head snaps up in surprise that I knew what she was thinking. “Drink the tea,dikaya koshka.”
Before she caves, the elevator chimes just outside the apartment. The three short, deliberate tones make Viktor and Renat freeze in place and my jaw lock.
Of course he came tonight, right after I was so certain he wouldn’t. And in a matter of seconds, he’ll have entered the code for the apartment.
While keeping an eye on the door, I tell Alina under my breath, “Don’t speak unless necessary and don’t ask questions.”
She blinks, listening to me carefully but refusing to acknowledge my advice.
The penthouse door swings open. Gavriil stalks into the room, flanked by two of his guards. Even this late at nighthis black three-piece suit is pristine. The tie underneath is a threatening dark red. Every wavy black hair on his head is tamed, his beard neatly trimmed like usual. He’s barely five years older than me, but the difference always looks like decades on him.
Petrov reappears from the back as if he was worried that I might need him. His presence gives us a number advantage if nothing else.
Gavriil’s frigid blue gaze flicks over my three men briefly, measuring their perceived loyalty. Does he silently wonder the same question I sometimes do, if the men I work with on a daily basis would choose me over him if they had to pick sides? I hope it never comes to that.
Finally, Gavriil addresses me without giving me his full attention. “Bratishka.” His voice is warm, his accent heavier than my own. I’ve been required to speak English to the people outside our family on a regular basis in New York. He uses his thick, Russian accent to disarm people who are unaware that he’s fluent in three other languages and then cuts them while they’re still underestimating him. “You have something of mine that you failed to deliver to me tonight.”
My best course of action is to take full responsibility rather than jump straight into being defensive. It is my mistake after all for trusting Archer, and maybe it will soften the blow of refusing to let him take her. “This whole ordeal is my fault. Therefore, it’s my responsibilityto resolve it.”
His eyes continue to move, taking in the rest of the room, and landing on Alina who remains standing near the window in her torn shirt and wrinkled pants.
Gavriil doesn’t leer at her. He assesses, like he’s at one of his private art auctions and already knows he’ll bid last because he always gets what he wants.
Alina evaluates him as well. She doesn’t appear to be impressed or intimidated. Her spine is straight; her small hands folded in front of her bare stomach. She’s trying to make herself look less delicate. If her attempt works, it’ll only make her more interesting to him.
“She’s very pretty,” Gavriil says in Russian while watching her. He wants her to know damn well that we’re talking about her, but not what is said. He wants to see her squirm. She doesn’t give him an inch. Alina just looks tired, and I don’t think that’s an act. “You failed to mention that detail in your texts. Is that why she’s not bound? I was expecting to see ropes or duct tape…”
“Her looks are irrelevant. And she’s not a flight risk, so she doesn’t need to be restrained,” I respond as I shove my hands into my pockets before he can see the scratches on them.
One of Gavriil’s eyebrows lift. “Her looks are relevant if they’re the reason why she ended up here in your apartment instead of at my estate.”
He strolls over to the window as if he has all night to waste my time, as if I haven’t spent the past week searching every single block of the city for Archer and have hours of more work to get done tonight. I hate that I couldn’t find him, find the money and guns, and handle the situation before Gavriil learned about his betrayal.
My brother walks a full, slow circle around Alina now, letting his jacket sleeve intentionally brush against her back to try and get a reaction out of her. “She doesn’t startle easy,” he remarks.
When he finally comes to a stop, he angles his body just enough that he can see me and still keep her face in his line of sight. He continues to use Russian to ask me, “What happened to her shirt?”
Fuck.
“It was torn when she tried to escape my men,” I lie rather than give him the truth. The less he knows about her fighting back the better.
“I was referring to the blood,” he replies. He moves a step closer to see the stains on the top of her shirt. “Did she injure herself putting up a fight?”
His chest begins to rise and fall faster as he faces her down, clearly aroused by the thought.
