Page 150 of Cashmere Cruelty

That’s something else entirely.

I wonder, briefly, if this was Maia’s doing, too. If April’s grandmother taught her to sew, just like she taught her how to love the world and everyone in it. Even the ones who don’t deserve it.

Right now, I suspect I can count myself among them.

It’s a shitty feeling: keeping April at arm’s length, rebuking her attempts at closeness—it’s all so wrong. The other night, every part of me was screaming against it:Don’t let her go. Don’t push her away.

Don’t you leave her alone, too.

But I don’t have a choice.

I pocket my phone and stride into the Venus Lounge. “Welcome!” Stanislav greets me with a warm handshake. “It’s an honor to have you here,moy pakhan.”

I'd rather have stayed home, I think but don’t say. “The honor’s all mine,” I reply instead. “Your numbers speak for themselves.”

The thing is, they do. After his mediocre performance last quarter, Stanislav took it upon himself to crush the competition. When I heard he was planning to open a new location in Little Italy, I thought he’d finally lost it. You don’t put a restaurant here if you can’t back it up with skill; the locals will eat you alive.

But in the end, the gamble paid off. Thanks to this location alone, Stanislav might come up on top in next quarter’s earnings meeting. Not above Araes, of course, but definitely above everybody else.

Maybe that’s why, for once, he’s smiling. A rare sight indeed. “Thank you,moy pakhan.I hope you’ll enjoy our cooking tonight.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

A waitress leads us to the VIP table. I can see the other patrons gawking at her as she walks. Is she pretty? I can’t tell. Lately, I’ve lost all interest in going on the hunt.

Once, I would’ve noticed. I would’ve followed her into the pantry and made her scream until she couldn’t breathe. Until there wasn’t one patron left who didn’t know exactly what we were doing.

Now, all I can think of is a tailor shop’s changing room.

Get it together, I snarl at myself.Especially here.

As if following my train of thought, Yuri asks, “Is it true that the food here…?”

Grisha snorts. “Puberty finally catching up with you, Yurochka?”

“How about I stick a baguette up your ass and watch it wave out of your mouth?”

“It’s not,” I cut in before Yuri can get any more graphic. “It’s all advertising.”

There’s a reason Venus Lounge is called that: every food item on the menu is, without exception, made up of aphrodisiac ingredients.

Well,allegedaphrodisiacs. If a chocolate-dipped fig’s enough to get your blood flowing, you probably didn’t need it to begin with. But the theme has made the lounges very popular with couples wanting to try something new. Young adults come here on a dare, couples book a table for their anniversary, and slimy bosses take their secretaries here to hint at what they’re really looking for in their working relationship. Mostly, they just manage to make them uncomfortable as all hell.

Either way, the Venus Lounges make a boatload of money.

At the table, thevorygreet me. It wasn’t long ago that we were meeting just like this, around good food and celebration.

That time, it didn’t end well.

Our aperitifs are laid out before us. I watch Yuri pick suspiciously at an avocado and salmon tart, probably waiting to hear the crunch of a hidden Viagra pill under his teeth. “Isn’t this nice?” Ipatiy beams from my left. “Celebrating success—now, that’s what being Bratva’s all about.”

“Vashe zdarovye!” Gora cheers. “I’ll drink to that!”

For some reason, everything about this conversation irks me. No, that’s not right—it pisses me the fuck off. Being filthy rich off restaurants and clubs?That’swhat being Bratva’s all about?

The mother of my child was almost killed twice, and they’re drinking to oursuccess?

Blyat’, my men have gone soft. Worse, they’ve gone native. Forgotten what it’s like to have to be one step ahead of frostbite at all times. Forgotten what it’s like to fight.

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