Then I freeze as Anika opens her mouth and perfect Italian flows out. “Non si preoccupi, Signor Lombardi. Anche mio padre mi ha insegnato a essere un vero italiano.”
I nearly spray my drink across the Italian couple at Anika’s flawless accent as she tells him her father taught her to be proper in Italian as well.
Matteo’s face goes white, and a deep satisfaction ripples through me as he stutters an apology and quickly excuses himself.
I had no clue Anika could speak Italian before now.
That means she’s understood everything my brothers have discussed in front of her this past week, and she hasn’t said a word.
But she waited to reveal that little secret at the perfect moment.
And the memory of Matteo Lombardi choking on his own tongue is going to live rent free in my brain from now on.
“Your Italian is flawless,” I observe, my lips curving into a smile as I turn toward my new bride.
Anika flushes, the blood pooling in her cheeks dark enough to seep through the layers of her makeup.
She glances up at me almost shyly, her brazen confidence from a moment ago vanishing, and I would do anything to draw it back out of her.
But before I can say another word, a commotion breaks out to our right.
It would appear the Russians have reached their boiling point, and two Bratva members come face to face as they snarl obscenities in their native tongue.
Anika steps forward, an objection on her lips as she tries to diffuse the conflict.
That’s when the knives come out.
I’m moving before I’ve even had time to think, but I’m not quite fast enough as one of the Russians slashes out, opening a deep gash on the other man’s arm.
Crimson blood sprays onto Anika’s pristine white dress, across her chest, and up her neck.
The instinct to protect her roars to life inside me, and I’m instantly ready to murder anyone who comes close to her.
Chiaroscuro men surge in from the perimeter of the room, ready to contain the situation, but I’m not waiting for them to arrive.
Wrapping one arm protectively around Anika’s waist, I pull her back so I can step between her and the brawling Russians.
Then I draw my gun from inside my suit jacket and press the muzzle to the temple of the man who stained her dress. “Go ahead, make one more move.”
12
ANIKA
Icy terror floods my veins as soon as the knives come out. Memories of the fight between Pyotr and Miko flash through my mind, and I freeze, unable to react, even though I know I’m too close to the violence.
I’m in harm’s way, but I can’t seem to make my limbs move.
All I can think about is the hot crimson liquid that feels like acid splattered across my throat and chest.
Then a firm, powerful arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back. Miko’s distinct, masculine scent floods my nose as he draws me close before turning to tuck me safely behind him.
Even then, he keeps one hand on my hip, as if to track my exact location at all times.
I can’t even see the conflict past his towering wall of muscles, and a wave of gratitude washes through me as my deer-in-the-headlights terror eases.
Miko stepped in to protect me without a second thought, using his own body to shield mine.
Pyotr never would have shown that kind of concern for my well-being.
