Page 42 of Emerald Malice

He doesn’t offer up an explanation. That only leaves my mind to filter through all the possible reasons he’d want to play the Silent Game with regards to the little bean in my belly, none of which are very flattering.

He’s embarrassed to admit he knocked up some nobody loser from Queens.

He’s trying to figure out how to get me out of the picture after the baby’s born.

He’s got a girlfriend or a wife he’s trying to hide the baby news from.

Instead of asking, I decide to let it go. Who am I gonna tell anyway? I don’t want to worry Aunt Annie just yet. Katya is She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named these days. And aside from that, I have no one.

Whether I like it or not… this secret is staying with me.

15

NATALIA

“There are some dumplings in there. And a little something extra for later,” Yelena explains as she hands me a glass container stuffed to the brim with food.

“Bless you, Yelena.” I turn to Andrey, who’s waiting, all broody and unfairly good-looking, by the door. “Why don’t you keep one guard and give me Yelena instead?”

I assumed everyone in Andrey’s employ was a lost cause, but Yelena is an exception. The woman might very well be a saint.

He snorts. “This house can’t run by itself.”

I put an arm around Yelena. “You’re a rich man. You can get yourself another housekeeper.”

“Or you could just move in here. Save us the trouble.”

I have no idea if he’s joking or not. There’s a glimmer in his eyes that makes me think it’s a serious suggestion. But I laugh it off.

“Okay, okay, greedy guts, let’s go.” I turn back to Yelena. “Thanks for the amazing meal. And the knitting tips. I’ll definitely try that loop you suggested.”

I clamber into the back of the sleek, silver car parked out front and Andrey slides in after me. As we drive through the wrought iron gates, I peer out the window for a better view of the property.

Like its owner, it's all ridiculously pretty.

Wonder what it’s like to live in a place like this.

I shake off the thought immediately. I’m happy with my apartment. What some would call “small,”’ I call “cozy.” What some would call “white-trash,” I call “character.” At the end of the day, call it what you like—it’s mine.

“So, who’re the lucky boys who get to guard me?”

Andrey inclines his head towards the young blond in the passenger seat. “That’s Leonty.”

Leonty twists around to give me a boyish smile and a wave.

“And Shura,” Andrey adds. “He’s in charge.”

I unofficially met Shura earlier in the day. Unlike Leonty, he has “no nonsense” stamped all over his face.

“Okay, so how does this work?” I ask. “You guys camp out in your vehicle outside my apartment, watching for signs of trouble? Sort of a ‘seen but not heard’ type of situation?”

Leonty chuckles, but neither Shura nor Andrey crack a smile.

“You have a couch, yes?” Shura asks brusquely.

“Um… yeah?”

“Then that’s where I’ll be. Leonty will man the vehicle.”

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