De Lucci scowled.
His irritation was almost worth getting shot at.
Almost.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Lucy
“What’s in the Catskills?”
I insisted on driving so Kirill could rest his shoulder. Well, technically, it was his trapezius muscle that was injured. Stubborn man didn’t want any painkillers or antibiotics, and I was sure they had a stash of these in a warehouse somewhere, but I was driving, and therefore, pretended to be running this show even when I knew Kirill was just humoring me. Sloane sent in a prescription in my name, though. Kirill didn’t have any information in the medical system at all. Why wasn’t I surprised? He did mention the bratva had its own medical facility.
After we picked up his meds at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy, he entered the address on his phone and let the GPS guide us.
“There’s family property there,” he said. “Ivan and Irina went last spring, so the air inside the cabin shouldn’t be too stale.”
“Hmm…” I wasn’t sure I was up for cabin living. I was more of a hotel type and room-service kind of girl.
“You don’t sound excited.” His tone was amused rather than questioning. “Do you prefer a yacht and sunshine?”
“Well, you do have an injury. I'd prefer it if we remained close to civilization.”
He laughed and then groaned. “Moya zhena, don’t make me laugh.”
I knew what that endearment meant. My wife. It was the first time Kirill had called me that in Russian and, in my delusional mind and auditory interpretation—a fond tone. And for some reason, my cheeks tingled with warmth, and my heart took extra beats to swoon. The development of our relationship had been painstakingly slow. Two steps forward one step back. In my case, it was a huge step back after I thought he wanted to kill me, but after hearing Kolya more than absolve Kirill of what I’d overheard, it was a giant leap forward. But that I’d shot my husband left a huge question mark because Kirill didn’t seem the least bit put out that I almost killed him. The series of events only underscored how much I didn’t trust my husband, and Kirill knew this. I would also hasten to say he brought it on himself because of his mind games. That was the indignant hill I was dying on. But I’d caught the glitter of carnal heat in his eyes. It made me anxious about what kind of retribution awaited me.
“There’s nothing amusing about what I said. You can still get an infection.”
“And we have antibiotics. Besides, we’re not in the Alaskan tundra; there are hospitals within a thirty-minute drive.”
“There’s a blizzard coming.”
“Eight inches is nothing in New York. You know that.”
Thank God we were using Kirill’s Escalade. There were several routes to the Catskills, but he had me go through Scranton.
After an hour on the road, Kirill asked, “Are you getting sleepy?”
“No. You? You haven’t slept at all.” I cast a brief glance at him. He’d been busy on another phone with God knew what.
“I’m arranging the supplies for us to pick up.”
“Supplies? How long are we staying?”
“Depends on how much we enjoy each other’s company, and I have no plans of chopping wood for the fire.”
“No, that wouldn’t be good…but, there’s central heating, right?”
Kirill didn’t respond immediately, but I pressed. “Right?”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
“Ugh, I hate feeling cold. Kirill?—”
“There is, but according to Irina, it’s been temperamental and the unit is old.”
