Page 122 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Desi skips over to the walled garden, with Emery and I behind him. He reaches up and demands my carnation, and I hand it to him.

He puts it at the base of his first Mami’s tree, then steps back to look at it.

“It got taller, Papa,” he says. “Just like me. Maybe it’ll grow faster with some of Phil’s special food.”

Desi loves Phil because Emery does. Her beloved houseplant is growing like a goddamn Triffid ever since he took up residence in his fifteen-thousand-dollar Jiji planter.

“I keep telling you, kid.” I ruffle his hair. “Phil is gonna eat us all one day. You and Emery are gonna bring down humanity.”

Desi gives me an exaggerated eye-roll, then looks past me. “Lookit,” he says. “Roman and Quinn.”

I follow his pointing finger to see Roman opening the garden gate.

“Time to go to the wake and tell everyone how much you love being back at the helm,” he says. “Seriously. I don’t wanna hear another word from thekomissiyaabout it.”

Quinn laughs and shakes her head. “Ignore him. He’d gotten too used to putting his feet up at home anyway. A week’s caretaking while you finally go on honeymoon is not a big ask!”

Quinn gives Emery and me a hug. It makes me happy that my best friend’s wife gets along with mine; Quinn was a civilian, too, so she’s been a good help to Emery, helping her navigate the ins and outs of the life while not getting too caught up in it.

“I bakedsomany things,” Quinn says. “Josef always liked my baklava, so I made tons of it before I remembered he’s not here to eat it. What the Hell; it’s his party, right?”

She clutches Emery’s arm. “So, South Africa! Have you been before, or will this be your first trip?”

Emery’s expression doesn’t falter.

“With my Mom and Dad, when I was a kid. But I didn’t enjoy that trip all that much, so I’m hoping it’ll be different this time. My dad is looking after Desi at his place while we’re gone.”

“Yay,dedaAlec!” Desi shouts, making everyone laugh. “Let’s find him. You should go, Mami and Papa. Get on your plane.”

“There’s plenty of time yet,” Emery says, giving him a knowing look. “My father will give you tons of sweets and let you stay up late. I can’t imagine why you’re so keen for us to leave!”

Twenty-four hours later…

Emery

The yacht is gorgeous, with sleek white furniture and blonde wood decking. Leon paid double to self-drive, so what crew we have is cooking us a seafood supper.

It’s just us up top, the salt breeze whipping our hair as we sail toward the southernmost point of the African continent.

As I know all too well, the water can be choppy here, and the waves are big enough to worry me.

Leon holds the boat steady, moving it nearer the rocky shore of the Cape, and I shudder.

“Don’t worry,val’kiriya,” he says. “It’s not so bad, and I can sail; I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“Leon, the last yacht you had under your control blew up.”

He throws me a glance. I love it when he gives me that look, the one when I’m acting out deliberately to annoy him.

“I blew it upintentionallyif you recall.”

We dock in Struisbaai’s Harbour at L’Agulhas, where a cab is waiting for us.

Then, it’s a short drive to Cape Agulhas Nature Reserve, followed by a brief but scenic stroll to the official plaque, where someone has already left us an ice bucket with champagne.

I grew up wealthy, but things you don’t know can be bought until you’re face-to-face with the evidence. We are at the very tip of Africa, ready to watch the sunset, and our refreshments are here as if by magic.

“I don’t know how you do these things, Leon, but it’s wonderful.”

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