“I’m doing this for you,” I whisper. “For all of us.”
“But at what cost?”Devil-Conscience asks.
And that’s when I notice the movement outside. I freeze, watching through Lila’s window as one of the men from the SUV stretches, then casually walks up our driveway, eyes scanning the perimeter of the house.
“Oh God, oh God,” I mutter, ducking away from the window. “They’re coming for me. They changed their minds. I’m going to be whacked. Or whatever the Russian word for whacked is. Probably something with lots of consonants.”
I scramble for my phone, nearly dropping it twice before managing to dial Elena.
It rings four times—each one a small eternity of panic—before she picks up.
“Babe?” Her voice is distant, like she’s got me on speaker. In the background, I can hear the clatter of keyboards, voices speaking rapid Japanese, the hustle of her Tokyo office.
“They’re watching me,” I whisper urgently, crouching behind Lila’s bed like I’m in some terrible spy movie.
“Who’s watching you?” Elena sounds distracted. I can hear her typing, probably working on some important presentation while I’m having a complete meltdown.
“Konstantin’s men. In a black SUV. Like, directly across from my house.”
“Well,duh,” Elena says, maddeningly calm. “You’re marrying him tomorrow. Of course he has people watching you.”
“I slapped him, Elena!” I hiss. “I slapped him across the face in the middle of a crowded restaurant!”
The typing pauses.
“You did what now?”
“I. Slapped. Him.” I feel my stomach drop with each word. “The head of the Russian mafia. My boss. My future husband. I slapped him, and now his goons are outside my house, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up in a cement overcoat at the bottom of the river.”
Elena goes silent for so long I check if the call dropped. I hear papers shuffling.
Then the typing resumes. “Ah, huh.”
“Elena!” I am shouting into the phone now. “Elena! Did you not hear me? The head of the Russian mafia! My boss! My future husband!”
“Babe, chill. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.”
“That’s not comforting!”
“It should be,” she counters. “Look, you slapped him, he didn’t kill you on the spot, and now he’s just making sure you don’t run. It’s weirdly respectful, if you think about it.”
I hear Mrs. Gutierrez from next door call out to the man in my driveway. Her high, cheerful voice drifts through the window: “Are you a friend of Bella’s? She’s such a nice girl, always helping with my groceries.”
The man says something I can’t hear, but Mrs. Gutierrez laughs like he’s told the funniest joke in the world.
“And now they’re making friends with my neighbors,” I groan. “Great. Fantastic. The entire neighborhood is going to be infiltrated by the Bratva.”
I hear Elena sigh. “Bella, listen to me. Take a deep breath.”
“I can’t breathe! I’m too busy panicking!” But I try anyway, sucking in air that doesn’t quite reach my lungs.
A stern male voice breaks through on Elena’s end, speaking Japanese.
“Hai, chotto matte kudasai,” (Please wait for a moment) she answers, before returning to our call. “Look, I’ve got to go in a minute. Important meeting. But you need to calm down.”
“Calm down?I’M MARRYING THE MOB TOMORROW!” My voice rises to a shriek that probably alerts the entire block, including Konstantin’s men.
I hear Elena take a deep breath, the kind she uses when she’s trying not to laugh at me.
