“I couldn’t stop them,” she explains.
Lennie hugs me. “We want to know what’s going on.”
“Sorry about the wedding dress shopping.”
She waves my concern away. “Don’t worry about it. Wait, I’m sorry, who are you?” she asks Ian
Tristan claps an arm around his shoulders, his voice lethally low. “Do not do anything stupid.”
Ian places a hand over his heart. “When have I ever done anything stupid?”
Tristan shoots him a look.
“I’ve never gotten drunk and whipped my cock out so I could get a Jacob’s ladder.” Ian looks around dramatically. “Anyone here ever been so stupid.”
Tyler snorts, shaking his head and pulling his childhood friend Russet in for a hug.
“Wait who has a Jacob’s ladder?” Lennie asks, mouth hanging open. She glances at me. Then at Tristan. Then at me again.
“Go.” Tristan shoves Ian forward, the tall, lanky man striding along in his trusty leather jacket.
“Jacob’s ladder?” Lennie whispers to me. Ren’s eyes have gone very wide as she stares at me.
Lev clears his throat. “We have a few questions.”
I don’t spend time around the head of the New York Bratva. I make a point not to. I’m not sure of his opinion on having so many random people in his living room, but he smiles at me. Like this is a completely normal situation.
Except there’s a cold glint in the back of his eye. He glances at his wife.
Behind him, all three of his sons come up a set of stairs that I think might lead to the kitchen below. That’s where Abe and Sailor will be snacking away.
“What’s going on?” Max stands beside his father, also blinking at his mother. He’s not as unhinged as his older brother, but all the rumors allude to a ruthless cold fury inside the middle Zimin child.
He grabs Russ’s hand, tugging her back to him.
She rolls her eyes. “Isolde wants to speak to your mom.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Why would she want to speak to my mother?”
Elijah plucks lint off his shirt. “There’s quite a lotgoing on with spidery psychopath murderers, don’t you think? A bit odd, you’ve stopped to take the time to meet with her.”
For once, it’s easy to read between the lines. Shit is hitting the fan, and I’m sitting down for a chat with their mother. They want to know what’s going on.
Yelena says something to her husband in Russian.
He is too in control to look angry, but there’s a tiny frown on his face. I think more and more, he’s starting to realize he’s underestimated his wife of thirty years.
Yelena speaks to me. “Shall we go into the study?”
She takes two steps. Lev and Dimitri do as well.
With a giant sigh, she drops into a chair, deciding the living room will suit all the group’s needs.
“I am sorry,” she says, again only speaking to me. She motions for me to take a seat on the sofa. Then she waves toward the men and my friends. It’s not quite an apology. More of awhat can we do?
I shrug, understanding.
“Thank you.” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
