“It’s Mrs. Sidorov,” I began, but of course, she chose this moment to speak.
“It isnotMrs. Sidorov,” she protested.
“And it could still happen,” I warned him, ignoring Theory’s outburst. He threw up both hands like he was surrendering. “Don’t open her fucking door, either. I got it. Let this shit back up and get out.”
No way was I leaving her in the car with them. I watched as they climbed out, then I dialed Maxim.
“Privet, brat,” he greeted.
“You rang?” I skipped the greeting.
“Yes.”
That one-word answer was just like his imperial ass. Maxim was used to being the boss, answering to no one. I hated that shit, even as I respected it.
“And you couldn’t have called back to let me know?”
“I thought that you would be in the middle of a more important conversation.”
He had me there. I blew out an exasperated breath as I got out. “Here we come. I’m sure she’s tired. Make this shit quick.”
“I will not,” he said, then hung up.
Yeah, soon as I got this nigga by himself, I was laying that ass out. The need for a united front and the reverence for Bratva hierarchy meant I couldn’t do it with all these men around, but his un-faded days were numbered. Walking around, I opened Theory’s door. She surprised me by getting out without a word, her eyes circling my brother’s impressive landscaping. I grabbed her hand, but she immediately pulled it out of my grip. I let her have that, gesturing for her to walk toward the front door. She jumped when it opened before we could ring the bell.
“Zdravstvuyte, Gospodin Sidorov,” the butler greeted me with a slight bow. “Hello, Mrs. Sidorov.”
“That has got to stop immediately,” Theory said.
I shrugged. “Get used to it.”
I spoke to the butler, Andrei, appreciating his switch to English. I didn’t want her uncomfortable, although she was bound to pick up some basic Russian here, with everyone speaking it like they were parlaying in the old country.
“I am Andrei, Miss. Mr. Sidorov, your brother is waiting for you in his office. I will show your wife to your rooms,” he explained.
“I am not his?—”
I waved my hand, cutting Theory off. I’d entertain her complaints later.
“Hold up. We ain’t staying here. I just stopped to see what he wanted,” I protested.
He nodded. “Yes, I understand. I would never be so presumptuous as to pretend that I know what is on Mr. Maxim’s mind. However, I am aware that there was some issue with your new home. He will want to discuss it with you further. In the meantime, he has had us make rooms available for you for a short stay here.”
“We’ll see,” I groused.
“Please, follow me,” Andrei directed.
We had barely stepped out of the foyer into the massive living room when my father appeared. Walking up to me, he wrapped his arms around me so tightly, I figured that he thought I was about to disappear again. This was only my second time seeing him in the weeks that I’d been back.
“Moy malysh mal'chik,” he murmured, patting both my cheeks.
This man calling my six-seven, formerly-two-hundred-fifty-pound ass his “baby boy” was beyond ridiculous, but I let him have it.
“’Sup, Serge?” I popped off.
“Targen,” he growled.
“Chill, old man.” I grinned. “I like fucking with you.”
