“She’s a woman, malyshka. And she’s very strong and fierce, so she’s Pakhan.”
Thatcher looks too pleased with himself from the other side of the cake, and even if he doesn’t know the Russian words for daddy or baby girl, he picked up on the gist of the exchange. Sensing a restless crowd ready for cake and frivolity, I keep things short and sweet, even as Misha moves some of the frowners out of the room with a small group of men.
“Thank you all for your loyalty during this transition. The best is yet to come. Za nas!”
“Za nas!” The room echoes my toast, “to us,” and the saber slices through the cake like butter. Quickly handing the task of cutting and plating the rest to Kirill and our chef, I move to a mostly quiet corner where Thatcher’s waiting.
“Who were the—”
“A few guys I’ve had my eye on already. Misha has them all. He and Timofey will dig a little deeper and see if it’s anything to worry about.”
He notices my scrutiny immediately. “What? Do I have frosting on my face?”
“No…You’ve just taken to the Bratva business suspiciously well, is all.”
“Suspiciously?”
“Mm-hmm. I might have to redo your background check.Dig a little deeper, as you put it.”
His chuckle doesn’t meet his eyes as he plucks two glasses of punch off a server’s tray. “Nah, this isn’t Bratva business.”
He doesn’t want to discuss this, but the sadness the topic has caused is so unexpected that I can’t help but push. Finding an alcove tucked away near the door we entered, I pry gently.
“What kind of business is it?”
Swirling the punch around his glass, he takes a deep breath before answering. “It’s the ‘people’ business. Specifically the ‘try to make people like you’ business. Which goes hand in hand with ‘try to figure out if they really like you or if they’re using you’ business. Useful if you grow up craving affection and only receive it from people who want something from you. With a few exceptions, your brother chief among them. Also useful as a professional athlete or a wealthy individual. I was burned quite a few times before I got good at it.”
Thatcher cracks his neck twice before shaking his head like a dog who’s just jumped out of a pool, as if to reset himself. His eyes are brighter when he meets mine again.
“So you’re not a secret Bratva heir, used to all this scheming and plotting behind the scenes?”
“Nope, that was your brother, if you’ll recall. Although I think he’s been mostly useless in all the intrigue, at least the way Ellie tells it. He’s taken to all the guns and violence much better than I ever will, though. Don’t try to put a gun in my hand. Just let me work on getting people to like you.”
“And wheedling out the ones who don’t?”
“Always wheedling out the ones who don’t.” We clink our punch glasses together just as Misha pokes his head into our alcove.
“Moya tsaritsa, you won’t want to miss this.”
Thatcher’s groan as his ball rolls uselessly across the felt of the pool table is pathetic and adorable, and he drops his head to the edge of the table in frustration. “I swear I’ve played before. I was notthisbad. Are you sure the punch wasn’t doctored?”
“One-hundred percent virgin punch, Sunshine,” Misha jokes, goosing Thatcher as he heads for the exit. “Too many kids around tonight. No alcohol at all. Your lack of prowess with a stick and balls is all your own.”
“Hey, you can ask Mila about my—”
“Absolutely not. None of that.” No matter how many times I tell myself not to encourage him, I can’t help but laugh. “Are you heading out, moya sila?”
“Well, as you can see, we’ve closed it down tonight.” He gestures widely to the empty ballroom, and it’s clear we wereplaying in our own little bubble and missed everyone else leaving. “I’ll see you two kids in the morning. Daddy’s tired.”
Thatcher chuckles, but I don’t dignify Misha with a response. Now that he’s gone, the quiet of the room is magnified, and I can appreciate the man across from me who isso fucking badat pool.
“Your hand-eye coordination is too good for you to be so bad at this,” I tease, joining him at the far end of the table. He has a few options for his next move, but it’s obvious his attention lies elsewhere.
“So youdothink I have good hand-eye coordination?”
If I continue to roll my eyes at my current rate, they’re going to get stuck. “Don’t fish for compliments. I told you just the other day on the mat that you were improving.”
“I can’t help it. Nothing is as intoxicating as your praise. Every morsel I get, I savor.”
