“Are you taking care of your son alone? Without his father?” she asks, her voice sugary sweet, like she’s offering condolences at a funeral she planned herself.
I manage a small nod. “Yes.”
Galina’s lips part into an exaggerated “aaah,” her expression shifting to something almost…pleased.She shifts her attention to Leonid, her mouth curving like she’s holding back a laugh, before turning back to me.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, though it sounds anything but sincere. “It must be tough, raising him alone.”
I glance at Leonid, but he’s staring down, his thumb tracing the edge of his glass like it’s the only thing tethering him.
I square my shoulders, refusing to let the awkwardness settle on me. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I reply, my voice steady. “Elijah’s a great kid. Smart, funny, and full of energy. Honestly, he makes it easier than you’d think.”
Galina’s smile widens, and there’s something triumphant in the way she tilts her head, as if my answer was exactly what she wanted to hear.
“How lucky for you.” Her eyes dart toward Leonid, almost daring him to respond.
“Sorry for the wait.”
The interruption pulls me out of the silent tug-of-war.
I glance up at the tall figure beside our table. Ivan. A bowl of what looks like pickled vegetables in one hand, a bottle of Beluga Gold Line in the other. His smile is pleasant enough, but his eyes stay cold.
He places the bottle and bowl down. Those hands catch my attention. Rough, scarred across the knuckles.
Ivan catches me staring. I meet his eyes and give a slow nod. He returns it with that same pleasant smile that doesn’t quite fit his face.
“Thank you, love.” Galina reaches for his hand.
Ivan bends to kiss Galina’s cheek, and I almost buy it—just a sweet old man in an apron.
“Just like the old days,” he says softly to Galina. I cock my head, studying their shared look. Whatever those “old days” were, they definitely involved more than servingborscht.
I track his eyes. Never still. Door. Windows. The guys in the corner who’ve been here too long. I cross my arms, recognizing that stance.
But I’m too hungry by now, leaning forward, trying to identify the colorful array of pickled things.
Are those mushrooms? Maybe carrots?
Whatever that purple one is, it’s calling my name. My stomach makes its opinion known loudly.
Ivan’s eyebrows shoot up, and Leonid’s lips twitch.
Great.
“When’s the last time you fed her,Lyonya?” Suddenly, Galina slaps Leonid’s shoulder—hard.
The crack echoes across the room.
26
Leonid
Idi na khuy, Leonid. Two mistakes in less than twenty-four hours. A fucking record.
First, I kissed her. Stupid. Reckless.
Now, all I can think about is getting those sweet, supple lips wrapped around my cock, sucking and licking like she was born to please me.
Second, I brought her here. Even dumber. Bringing her into my territory, where everyone—and everything—wants to take a bite out of her. Myself included.
