Page 40 of Cashmere Cruelty

Luckily, I don’t have a heart at all. That’s what I tell myself, even as images of April on the run start crowding my head.

April, with a bundle in her arms.

April, running for her life.

April, staring down the barrel of a gun…

No, I tell myself resolutely.That won’t happen.If the child’s mine, then they will have the full force of the Groza Bratva to protect them.

And if it isn’t…

“If it’s not mine,” I say out loud, “whoever’s after her will soon realize their mistake, too. So don’t worry, Yura:no one’s going to get hurt here. Do you understand?”

No one that doesn’t deserve it, I add with a rush of bloodlust, picturing April’s kidnappers with a missing row of teeth.

Yuri nods. “I understand, Motya.”

“In the meantime,” I say, “put a rush on that paternity test. The sooner we know, the better.”

“Yes,moy pakhan.”

I ruffle his hair. “What’s with the formalities now? You’re so weird tonight. Anyway, go. I’ll catch up.”

“Where will you go?”

I glance up at the hotel. At the balcony above all balconies, up on the penthouse floor. The one I know is mine.

The one that’s now April’s, too.

“I think,” I answer, feeling an uncharacteristic grin pulling at my lips for the second time in as many days, “I’ll go have dinner.”

12

APRIL

I’m almost done hanging my clothes when the doorbell rings.

I rush to the door, trying to fix the mess on my head in the process. After hours spent ducked between bookshelves and riffling through a closet bigger than my entire apartment, it’s safe to say I don’t look my best.

Or so I assume. I haven’t had a chance to look in the mirror yet.

It’s so weird—answering the door here. Like this place belongs to me. Even if this temporary arrangement gives me full run of the joint, I can’t help feeling like a guest. An intruder.

I crack open the chained door, once again expecting Grisha…

And it’s not.

Instead, it’shim.

“Oh,” I blurt out stupidly. “Hi.”

Matvey inclines his head. “April,” he greets back flatly.

Every time I see this man, he’s looking his best self. Composed, put-together, all smooth fabrics and artful scruff and expensive cologne. By contrast, I feel like I just crawled out of a hole.

Anasshole, to be specific.

“Gonna let me in at some point?” Matvey asks, that pinprick of impatience clear in his voice.

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