Page 87 of The Lazarov Bratva

At least, according to Mara.

There’s only one thing I can think of that would take the attention of the majority of the Family and pause the property searching.

Chewing aggressively on some chicken, I send a message to Seamus. A series of letters and numbers that, at a glance, just look like garbage. To us, though, it’s code for the location of one of my highest-earning clubs along with permission for Seamus to attack and not hold back.

Taking out that club will make Seamus look powerful to his own Family because it’s a bold move, and the attack should be shocking enough to distract Aleksander for at least a day or two. I was precious over those clubs, but it's worth it to gain a few extra days to keep Alena safe and with me.

Seamus replies with the fire emoji, and I roll my eyes.

How that man became Captain, I will never know.

Phone down, my attention is back on Alena who is eating slower now since I snapped at her.

“Don’t look so glum.”

She shoots me a sharp look. “You’re impossible.”

“Of course I am.”

“One minute, I think I know you, that you’re opening up to me, and then the next, you treat me like I’m nothing.”

I set my fork down. “Alena, you are not nothing. You are mine.”

“But you won’t talk to me.”

“I talk to you all the time.”

“You talk at me. You don’t tell me what’s going on in your head. What makes you stressed and grumpy. But when you first laid out the rules, you said I had to be honest about how I feel and that I couldn’t lie. How is that fair?” Her eyes are accusatory, and she pushes her meal away.

She’s right. Annoyingly.

“How many times have you been stabbed, Alena?”

“What?” Her eyes widen. “Never!”

“I’ve been stabbed in the back more times than I care to recall, so if I tell you my day was fine, then that’s all you need to know.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“And yet you’re closer to me than anyone has ever been.” I smirk slightly, and Alena rolls her eyes, conceding the argument.

I gather the dishes and set them in the sink, running water over them.

“Can I get a cat?”

The question is so sudden and unexpected that I almost don’t respond. Turning to her, Alena’s arms are crossed over her chest and her mouth is set in a firm line.

“A cat?”

“Yes. I get lonely, and since the most conversation I get out of you is the day was fine, then I need someone to talk to. So, can I get a cat?”

For a moment, I’m at a loss. Then I smile softly.

“A cat is a lot of work, a lot of responsibility.”

“I know. But I’ve always wanted a pet, and putting your inability to open up aside, I do get lonely when you’re not here. I love the books and my room and everything, but when it’s just me in this big house, I get lonely.”

She makes an excellent point. I was perhaps foolish to think Alena would be happy and comforted with just books for company and nothing else.

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