As much as I want to say yes, I don’t. “Not today,” I tell him.
“Duty calls?” he asks with a hint of a smirk, and it’s a good thing he’s on the other side of the car or I’d knock it off his face.
“Always,” I say dryly.
“Well, if you do decide to come out, I’ll be at Oliver’s.”
He’s referring to a whiskey bar downtown on the line that separates Rozanov and Chadovich territory. Honestly, it’s ours. Most of the city is now. But I’m not stupid enough to think they’re gone completely. Their residual presence will forever have me sleeping with one eye open, especially with Tristan being completely M.I.A.
“I won’t. But while you’re there?—”
“I know. Keep an ear to the ground. Always, boss.”
“He’ll strike eventually,” I remind him.
“And we’ll cut him off at the knees when he does.” He smirks again. “Can’t wait.”
Snarky or not, Baron is a good man. More than that, he’s family. And I never take a good man—or family—for granted.
Especially when they can be taken so quickly.
I park my car in the front of the estate under the awning. I have a garage with enough space for it as well as my other two vehicles, but I like to keep this one in the drive, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
I hate living in the estate, if I’m being honest. This is the main house, my father’s house. He has since purchased another estate on the other side of the city where he and my mother attend parties at all hours of the day and night, ignoring the current affairs and simply living off their profits. Typical behavior for a retiredpakhan.
The penthouse has been sold. I got rid of it as soon as I got rid ofher.And my personal estate, the one I was living in, is empty. As much as I’d rather be there than my father’s house, sometimes you have certain compromises to keep the peace, as well as face. Unfortunately, this is one of them.
I make my way inside and head towards the scent of stroganoff wafting from the kitchen. I’m not used to homecooked meals, not like this anyways. I’ve always ordered precooked dinners that I heat up as needed or eat at meetings. Gourmet food cooked in the kitchen of the home I live in has been another oneof those compromises, an adjustment that feels forced. Even if my stomach does like it.
“Just in time.” Our family cook Julia smiles over at me, her accent thick. “It will be ready in five minutes. Don’t be late or it won’t be hot.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. She’s a likable old lady, though she is a bit ridged around the edges. Maybe that’s why I like her. She’s no nonsense and to the point. She’s also phenomenal at the stove.
“Good. Now wash up. You smell likekokain.”
I almost smile at that. I also ignore it and walk into my office.
After pouring myself two fingers of imported vodka, I sit down and exhale for the first time today. The clear liquid hits my lips, crisp and clean. Typically, I’m a whiskey man. But days like today, I need something with a bite.
Just as I swallow, the familiar velvety voice snakes its way into the room, wrapping itself around me like the tail of a cat wanting to be pet.
“Hello, Mr. Rozanov.” Jenica stands in the doorway, dressed as if she’s going somewhere that calls for satin and heels, though I know she isn’t.
My eyes meet hers, a mutual understanding of the situation between us. The terms we both came to accept. The life we had to agree to live to make it where we are today.
“Hello… Mrs. Rozanov.”
3
AMARA
“I swear to God, that drilling is making me go insane. I can feel it in my skull.”
Kira, one of the dental hygienists at Aspen Street Dental, is standing at my desk, her eyes squeezed shut and her finger tips pressed to her temples. Not that I can blame her. The drilling is, in fact, loud.
“I mean. Thisisa dentist’s office,” Renee, the other hygienist working today, points out as she approaches with a patient chart. “The drilling kind of comes with the territory.”
I take the chart and start typing it into the system. “Don’t forget the screaming.”
