Page 81 of Sweet Animosity

Pizdets. Since I had no intention of letting her leave my bed and return to her own apartment, finding out more about the break-in hadn’t been a huge priority.

Now it definitely fucking was.

I rubbed my eyes. “Tell me everything you know.”

I struggled to control my anger as she related all the details of the break-in.

“Are you telling me—you still went inside and searched the place—alone? You didn’t call me, or at least the police?”

It was entirely possible I would die from a burst blood vessel in my brain if I got any more pissed off.

Instead of it being her, I was the one who picked up a precious antique Russian enameled box and threw it against the wall. The moment it smashed and scattered to the floor in pieces brought only a modicum of relief to the pressure building in my head.

Vivian ducked behind the blanket as she raised it over her face. “What the hell, Var?”

“What the hell, Vivian! I’m losing track of all the ways you could have fucking died since I’ve met you.”

I ticked off on my fingers. “Tortured, shot, or worse by the Southside gang gunning for Abakar. Tortured, shot, or worse by this other Russian searching for the paintings. Again tortured, shot, or worse by the asshole who broke into your apartment. Attacked by the man at the club last night while you were incapacitated. Four fucking times in as many days. Goddammit, woman, you are a pain in my ass!”

She scooted her hips off the bed. “Fine! You’ve made your point.”

With a dramatic flair only she could pull off, she marched stark naked with her bottom still bearing the marks from my belt into my closet as if she were the queen in full regalia.

Whatever point she thought I’d been making, I would bet money she was wrong.

She emerged seconds later with a pair of my basketball shorts on as she buttoned one of my dress shirts that was infinitely too large for her much smaller frame. “You can just forget we ever met. Goodbye forever, Mr. Varlaam I-am-the-mafia Romanovich Rubashkin.”

Before she could even cross the bedroom threshold, I snatched her around the waist and pulled her back against my chest. I then growled into her ear, “Not a chance, Miss Vivian stubborn-as-hell-brat Grace Peyton.”

Her back stiffened. “It’s over, Var. There is no point in us being in each other’s presence any longer. I’ll talk with the Russian. His boss wanted the best for a reason. And a good forgery takes time. I know I can make him understand.”

“That will be difficult.”

“Why?”

“Because I have no intention of allowing you to return to forging art.”

She twisted in my embrace until she was facing me. “I’m going to ignore the allowing me part and just say that art forgery is how I make my living. And for your information, I actually help a lot of people. It’s not all gangsters and dictators.”

The corner of my mouth rose. “It’s also how you feed that incomprehensible designer purse and shoe addiction of yours.”

“Precisely. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it,” she stated primly as she attempted to break our embrace by pushing against my chest.

“Oh, but I do mind,” I countered as I tightened my arms around her. “Since I will be taking care of you from now on, there is no need for you to work. I assure you, I have enough money to keep you in plenty of Gucci purses and Jimmy Choo high heels for the rest of your life.”

“Which would be a girl’s dream, if I didn’t hate your guts and had no intention of ever laying eyes on you again,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

My phone vibrated.

Keeping a tight grip on my unwilling captive, I reached into my back pocket and pulled it out. “Yeah?”

Mac said, “The helicopter is ready.”

“I’ll be down in five,” I answered, then disconnected the call.

We were taking the helicopter to our private plane hangar at Midway Airport for the New York meeting today. I needed to leave soon if I was going to make it in time.

After shoving my phone back in my pocket, I turned my attention back to Vivian. Leaning forward, I kissed her forehead. “Just pick up the kitchen phone to get the Four Monks’ concierge. Order whatever food you want from the restaurant. Oona, our concierge, can also arrange for personal shoppers from Bloomingdale’s to swing by with some outfits for you. Buy whatever you want on my account. I will be back later tonight.”

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