Page 62 of Bloody Lace

Business.That’s what our marriage is, too. But I try not to let that show on my face, the odd pang in my chest that I feel when I hear that word.

It didn’t feel very businesslike last night when he had his face between my legs on the rooftop. But I try not to let that show, either.

“What is it you want, Nicci?” I ask curiously. “Is it really just to apologize?”

Her smile falters again, the tiniest bit. “I want closure,” she says. “Dimitri and I might not have been officially engaged, but we were together. He was supposed to ask me to marry him. Our fathers had a deal. And yes, I wanted to tell you that I was sorryfor how rude I was to you, but I also…I suppose I wanted to get a closer look at who swiped Dimitri out from under me.”

That’s fair. After all, I came to this lunch for the same reason. Not because I really care about an apology from her, but because I wanted to see her in a closer light. I was curious.

“Well, you’ve apologized.” Our food is all but finished now, and I take the last sip of my wine. “And you’ve seen me. So…”

Nicci bites the corner of her lip again. “Could we get coffee? There’s a cute little coffee shop next door. I’d like to hear more about your boutique. I’ll need some dresses for next year, and once you’re up and running again, I thought I’d stop by. We could have a little consultation. My way of really apologizing. Money is better than words, isn’t it?”

She would think that.It fits the kind of woman she seems to be. But she’s also not entirely wrong. Moneyisbetter than words, coming from her, because I’m not really interested in whether she’s sorry or not. But her business could be very good for the boutique. Especially if others see someone from the Armand family wearing my designs, and come my way.

Dimitri’s giving me what I need to get back in business, but it’s up to me to make the most of that. And if I can make some money off of his ex-almost-fiancee, that feels like a small victory.

Especially after she embarrassed me at that party.

“Okay.” I nod, as she tosses a black credit card down on the bill and the server scoops it up. “Coffee sounds nice. We can discuss what you’re thinking.”

She finishes the last sip of her wine, standing up smoothly, and I follow her to the door. I don’t bother looking for Gus, since I know he’s here somewhere, and he’ll follow me.

We’re two steps out onto the sidewalk when I remember looking around as my car pulled up to the curb earlier, and not seeing any coffee shop anywhere nearby.

A black SUV with tinted windows swings up to the curb, the side door flinging open. I stumble backwards, only to feel two hard hands grabbing my arms, the fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. Any thought that it might be Gus flies out of my mind then, and I twist to one side, trying to get a good look at who my attacker is.

“Gus!” I shout his name, but my voice is drowned out by the sound of two quick gunshots, one after the other.

The hands holding me abruptly drop, and I feel something wet soak through the back of the knee of my jeans. I stumble forward, thrown off balance by the sudden push and pull, nearly falling before I grab one of the streetlight posts and keep myself from going down to the concrete.

Blood is spattered over the sidewalk. I twist around and see Gus, his gun lowering as he stands over two bodies. Blood is rushing in my ears, and I dimly hear screams, someone yelling for the police, but all I can focus on is the death in front of me—and then the sight of Nicci, moving at a fast clip down the sidewalk towards another waiting car.

“Gus!” I gasp his name, and he turns, seeing Nicci jump into the second SUV. He raises his gun, firing twice, but the car pulls away, and he lowers it again. It’s easy to see why—there’s too many obstacles. Other cars, pedestrians, collateral damage that I’m grateful he seems to care about.

My leg feels wet, and when I look down, I see that it’s soaked through with blood—presumably from the man who grabbed me. Nausea wells up in my throat, and I bend over, vomiting into the cooling puddle of blood seeping out from his body as I see Gus’s boots headed in my direction.

“We have to go.” He tugs on my arm, hard enough to jolt me out of my haze. “Now, Mrs. Yashkova.”

I blink up at him, and he tugs again. “Evelyn.”

The sound of my name does it. I see the black town car that brought us here, the driver already out, opening a door for me. I follow Gus blindly, letting him lead me to the car, and I can feel my hands trembling.

“It was Nicci,” I blurt out as I slip inside. “Nicci had something to do with this.”

“I know,” he says grimly. “Dimitri will handle it.”

And then he shuts the door, blocking out the sounds of the chaos outside.

23

DIMITRI

When I’m interrupted by a call from Gus, telling me that there was an incident but that Evelyn is okay, if a bit shaken up, my vision goes red with anger.

Not with her this time, or even with him. From what I know right now, at least, Gus did his due diligence. And he said he took down two of the men who tried to grab Evelyn, which means he moved fast. He made sure she was safe, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s what really matters.

But what also matters is who thefuckthought they could make an attempt to kidnap my wife—and if it’s Barca Valenti and his Crows, how he’s become so goddamn confident that he thinks he’s a match for the Yashkov Bratva.

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