Page 27 of Cashmere Cruelty

How couldtheyknow about my baby, when evenIdidn’t?

“Actually, forget consent forms,” I backtrack. “I want this done discreetly. Under the radar. Bribe someone at this hospital, get the records, match against that. Got it?”

After a moment of consideration, Yuri nods. “Got it.”

I squeeze his shoulders harder. Not enough to hurt—but enough to make him understand.“This is important, Yuri. I can trust no one else to do it for me. Just like I can trust no one else to look after the woman in that room. Because if she really is carrying my child?—”

“Then that’s your blood, too,” Yuri completes for me. “Don’t worry; I get it.”

Good man.“Ourblood,” I correct him with a smirk. “You’d be the youngest uncle in the family.”

“I’d be the only uncle in the family, brother.”

“Still.”

If anybody else kept second-guessing me like this, my patience would’ve run out a long time ago. But Yuri’s blood. And, aside from that, all he ever wants is to help. I can’t punish him for that, can I?

“Matvey…”

“What now?”

He pauses. “Look in the kitchens. You know how Petra gets when she’s nervous. She?—”

“Stress-eats,” I finish, realization dawning on me. “Thanks,bratiška.” I grin, patting him on the back. “See? You’re plenty of help.”

Yuri doesn’t say anything to that. Whenever a compliment’s thrown his way, he ducks it like a bullet. “Just hurry. The chef might still be alive.”

I head to the elevator. The day’s still a mess, but maybe I can salvage what matters.

And what matters right now is my alliance.

To Yuri’s credit, I find Petra exactly where he said I would.

“Is there any left for me?” I ask, strolling in.

Petra’s twin bodyguards, Julia and Lena, give me the evil eye as I pass by them, but I pay them no mind. With their own facesstuffed full of tarts, they don’t look half as intimidating as their mistress.

Petra glares at me with bloodshot eyes. “Which do you prefer? Cyanide or arsenic?”

“I’m usually a fan of nightshade.”

“I’ll see what I can whip up.”

I walk around the stainless steel counter. I glance around, realizing I haven’t seen Rowan anywhere. “Did your bodyguards eat my chef?”

“You should be asking ifIate your chef.”

“Fair.” I drum my fingers on the counter. I’m not the type to grovel—that’s never really been my style. But even I’m not cruel enough to deny what I just put Petra through. “Look, I… regret how things went down.”

“That’s not a ‘sorry,’ asshole.”

“I didn’t know she was going to do that.”

My bride barks out a laugh. “Oh, I believe you. You should have seen the look on your face.” She strangles a salmon tart in her fist, nearly squeezing it back into an egg. “Like the Ghost of Christmas Future just showed up with your Nobel Peace Prize.”

“Are you saying I’ll never win a Nobel Peace Prize?”

“Maybe you will,” she sniffles. “After today, you won’t have an army anyway. Might as well think of a career change.”

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