Maybe Lilia was rubbing off on me, but I wanted a bit of unreality at the moment so I could fully enjoy my wife while we were on the same page.
Perhaps stabbing my guard and making a run for it wasn’t on the same page, but we’d been in perfect sync in the orange grove. And, once again, thoughts of her smooth skin, her silky hair, and lithe limbs were distracting me.
I had to figure out where to take her. A place that would be safe, but also fun. Moscow was out. Too many people would recognize her there and get word to her family, plus the weather was shit this time of year. Too many people would recognize me in Milan or Rome. Then I realized she certainly didn’t have her passport on her when she was dragged off to Luigi’s auction, and there was no time to get a fake one made for her.
I could possibly smuggle her into Mexico with my contacts, but then I wasn’t sure I could trust them not to get word back to people I couldn’t trust.
“It’s impossible,” I groaned, surprising Varvara, who had wandered into the kitchen from her quarters on the other side of the house.
“You left dinner to get cold,” she said. “Now, what’s impossible for you? I don’t think there’s anything.”
I apologized for missing dinner, but couldn’t explain what I’d been doing that was so important I’d let her lamb go cold. She hadn’t yet warmed up to Lilia, but it was probably because Lilia tried so hard. It wasn’t a good idea to suck up to my cook; she saw through bullshit too easily. And Lilia refused to tell her she just didn’t like tomatoes, so Varvara saw her make a face when she tried to choke a big, chunky one down. You don’t make faces when you’re eating Varvara’s masterpieces.
“Go,” I said, not needing another distraction in the form of my diva cook. “I’m trying to think of a place to take Lilia on a honeymoon. The lamb is just as delicious cold, and you know it.”
She smirked a little and rattled off a list of places I couldn’t take Lilia because of the passport situation. Then she had the best idea of her life. “How about Miami?”
I’d spent several months there a few years ago, long enough for my stubborn chef to feel she needed to tag along to keep me supplied with hearty, Russian meals, and she had loved the bright and vibrant culture there.
“When do we leave?” she asked, after I hugged her for the brilliant suggestion.
I barely made it out of the kitchen unscathed after I told her it was just Lilia and me this time. Hopefully, I could weed out who was leaking information, and we wouldn’t have to be gone long.
Before heading upstairs to throw some things into a bag, I contacted my pilot, who promised he’d file a flight plan that would lead anyone who tried to follow me on a merry chase and be ready to go within the next couple of hours.
Without bothering to figure out the time difference, I called one of my guys in Russia, who was trying to get a group together to come over. He answered on the first ring, the familiar sound of a café we used to frequent in the background.
“Good timing,” he said. “I’ve got three of the guys here with me now.”
“What’s taking so long?” I demanded. I thought when I said now, that usually meantnow.
“We’re ready,” he said. “But there’s a little problem with the Egorovs.”
“How are those pissants affecting anything?” I asked about a tiny gang who usually kept to themselves, happy with the few corners of the city I allowed them.
“They made an alignment with a group from St. Petersburg.”
After five frustrating minutes, I understood that my Russian operation, which normally ran like a finely tuned timepiece, was under siege. I was assured we were winning, but it might be a few more days until everything was settled enough to send a large number of men away and leave the area ripe for a new attack.
“Maybe a week, tops,” he said when I made a noise of dissent.
“Call our men in Milan back home if you have to,” I said, then ended the call.
The warm mood that thoughts of a sun-kissed, sandy honeymoon in Miami had evoked only a few minutes ago was gone. It seemed to be one thing after another, but my men were optimistic, and a week on the beach with Lilia wasn’t the worst way to while away the time.
Then, when they finally arrived, I could lay down the law with the upstarts in the Collective. It would be swift and hard, eradicating them in a single blow they’d never see coming. Once I was surrounded by men I could trust, and the bad apples were squashed, we could move on to the Petrovs in a way that wouldn’t make Lilia hate me.
If such a way even existed. I doubted it, but I shoved those doubts aside as I hurried upstairs to pack. Reality could screw itself. Right now, I just wanted to have a good time. A honeymoon with my bride.
Chapter 29 - Lilia
When Gavril came upstairs to pack, he seemed in a better mood. Was I wrong to assume everything was going to hell just because he wanted to whisk me away somewhere romantic?
He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but pulled out all the heavier sweaters from my open suitcase, then rummaged in one of my drawers to pull out the handful of bikinis that came with the original clothing haul. I had never worn any of them despite how enticing the heated pool outside was, but now it seemed like I’d get the chance.
And I was starting to look forward to it. He clapped me lightly on the behind and told me to hurry up, even though he was the one dawdling with my things. Then he swept me into his arms and kissed me until I had no more thoughts at all.
Okay, I didn’t hate that. Why not keep it that way as long as possible? If I couldn’t do anything to either escape on my own or reach out for help, I might as well go along to get along. That’s what I told myself anyway.
