Every inch of me prickles with the danger in those three icy words. “What? What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering me, Matvei throws open the door and addresses Evgeny in Russian. He points to the bouquet. “Where did these flowers come from?”
“You didn’t send them?” Evgeny sounds genuinely surprised. “I brought them in because I thought they were from you.”
“Why would I send them?” Matvei hisses.
I try to ignore that his anger is in reply to the fact that his second-in-command thought he would send me flowers.
Tension fills the room, and I realize both men are looking at me, waiting for an explanation I can’t give. I look at the flowers again, their petals soft and innocent, belying the friction they’ve created. My heart thumps heavily in my chest as I reach for the card among the bright blooms. Evgeny snatches it up before my fingers can close on the white paper.
The big Russian’s lips move as he silently reads the writing on the card before handing it to Matvei. Matvei takes a second to read the words before balling the card up in a white-knuckled fist.
“What?”
“Samson.”
Matvei says the name with a vicious snarl, his eyes burning with anger so intense I back away several steps, adrenaline pulsing through my limbs in case I need to run. A string of angry words explodes from him. As he paces my apartment, I reach down for the crumpled card and read the cramped, messy writing that looks uncomfortably familiar:
Think of this as just the start of my apology for what you went through. —Samson
“Oh no.”
I whip my head around to find Matvei standing at the window looking down at the street. He doesn’t move, but every inch of him radiates tension, from his shoulders to the white-knuckled fists at his sides. Glancing at Evgeny gives me no encouragement, and I approach with caution. I have no idea how to deal with a dangerous mob boss when he’s in killer mode.
“Look, we both know he’s an asshole. Isn’t this what you wanted? You wanted him to be jealous that I chose you over him. I can see exactly who he is now, and there’s no way I would ever find him attractive again, much less go back to him. You don’t have to do anything, not on my account.”
After the words leave my mouth, I realize that’s what I was afraid of—that Matvei might pursue Samson on my behalf. I don’t want that kind of blood on my hands. Samson is a grandiose jerk, but I don’t want him to die because of me.
It takes Matvei another minute before he replies, and I can hear the strain in his voice as he does his best to control himself. The venom dripping from his words, the anger I know is there, is frightening.
“I’m not going to go after him now. I’m saving my energy for something far more complex. Something he won’t see coming.”
I’m unsure what to make of the enigmatic statement, but I know it’s taking a lot of restraint for Matvei not to take action immediately. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure why. Is he really that angry about the way Samson treated me, unceremoniously dumping me for someone else? I don’t buy it.
Matvei turns without warning and grasps my shoulders so hard, I wince. “Watch out for him, Sonya. I want you to promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.”
I’m not sure why I’m promising. What can Samson do to me now? He’s already turned me out and married someone else.
I suddenly wonder what the hell I’m still doing keeping company with one of the most powerful mob bosses in the city. Sure, he promised he would protect me and he’s keeping his word. But that doesn’t need to involve seeing him every day and having bouts of wild sex.
Needing some space, I excuse myself, grab my things, and head out of my apartment. Evgeny follows, but I ignore him. I’m at my favorite coffee shop working when someone sits down at my table.
“I’m sorry, I’m not looking for—" I stop mid-sentence when I realize Samson is sitting across from me.
My eyes dart outside the window to where Evgeny is leaning back against the car. I can’t see his face, but it looks like his eyes are closed as he tilts his head back to take in the autumn sunshine.
“If you’re wondering, he can’t see me from this line of sight.” Samson grins.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hiss. I wish Evgeny could hear me through the window.
“Did you like the flowers?” Samson ignores my question, as always. Why did I ever write that off as harmless?
“Yeah, I got your flowers,” I say coldly. “They’re in the trash. I don’t want flowers from you, Samson. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
The smallest flash of anger lights in his eyes, but it’s replaced with his charming smile as quickly as it arrived. “Come on, Sonya. What you did worked. I noticed you. I noticed you big time. Where the hell were you hiding that dress?”
