Page 72 of Cashmere Cruelty

I’m not one for apologies. I don’t owe anyone shit. If people are displeased with me, so be it. It’s none of my concern, and I certainly won’t lose sleep over it. If I had to send flowers to every person I’ve ever offended, every garden on the planet would be a wasteland by now.

And yet. And yet, part of me wants to dosomething.Not to grovel—God fucking forbid—but to…

Reward her, a part of me whispers.

It doesn’t make sense. Disobedience shouldn’t be rewarded; it should be punished.

But how will you punish her?that part goads.You know exactly what you want to do to her. So why don’t you?

I grit my teeth and change trajectory at the last moment. “Grisha, you test this.”

Grisha nods. “Right away.”

Yuri notices my split-second decision. “Why not me?” he asks predictably, like a child being denied candy.

I sigh and ruffle his hair. “Oh, Yura. I couldn’t possibly waste your time like that. After all, I’ve got a special mission for you today.”

Yuri stares at me. He stares for a very long time, and very, very hard. Then he shudders. “I’m not gonna like this, am I?” he mutters, too cornered to fight back.

My face splits into a grin. “That depends. How do you feel about shopping?”

22

APRIL

When the knocking comes back with a vengeance in the afternoon, I nearly choose violence. In fact, I’m this close to picking up a broom and brandishing it like a katana against whoever’s come looking for trouble.

In the end, I don’t. Not only because I can’t find it, but also because the only people who could reach me here are either Matvey’s men or his enemies, and I have a feeling they all come equipped with guns. So, no taking brooms to a gunfight.

“I swear, if someone else’s come to feel me up today?—”

The words die in my throat.

The first thing I see is toys. Amountainof toys. Plushies, rattles, building blocks—everything that would make a child’s eyes go wide and shiny while making grabby hands. My eyes aren’t any less wide, but it’s not exactly wonder.

The second thing I see is Yuri.

His head is poking from a million bags and boxes, barely visible. With his face scrunched up like that, I almost take him for aFurby. “Let me in,” he groans, going for commanding and falling way short of the mark. “Please.”

I take pity. He looks like he’s about to be crushed under the weight of impulse shopping. Yuri stumbles in, toys falling off his shoulders in an avalanche. Luckily, everything’s boxed up pretty thoroughly and made entirely of synthetic fibers and/or plastic, which means there are no victims. Other than the environment and Matvey’s wallet, that is.

“Did Matvey ask you to rob a toy store?” I ask, closing the door behind him.

Leaning against the back of the couch—and still very much wheezing like he’s on his asthmatic death bed—Yuri shakes his head. “You don’t do robberies while the sun’s up. That’s basic common sense.”

“Is it?” I blink innocently. “I’m not that familiar with the activity, so I wouldn’t know.”

I crouch to examine the boxes more closely. There really is everything in here—andyup, that’s a Furby. I discreetly push that particular box under the couch while Yuri’s busy busting a lung.

Taking pity on him, I shuffle to the kitchen and pour him a tall glass of water. “So,” I start, watching him drain it all in one go, “toys.”

“Toys,” Yuri confirms. He licks every single droplet off the glass. “Kids need ‘em.”

“They sure do,” I agree vaguely. “And I mean, who wants a baby shower? They’re a nightmare anyway. So, thanks, I guess.”

“Thank Matvey,” Yuri corrects. “They’re from him.”

“Wait.” I frown. “Is this your brother’s way of saying he’ssorry?”

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