Page 88 of Brutal Promise

“Wait. It’s early, and it’s definitely too early for all of that.”

“Right.”

“I don’t want everyone to know before the wedding, and it’s way too early to say anything,” I warn him.

“Right. Okay, I’ll let the staff know you’re fine.” He leaves and returns five minutes later.

“Let’s eat breakfast together,” he suggests. “What do you want?”

“Omelets. I’m going to get dressed,” I reply as I duck into my closet, forcing myself to move due to how lethargic I feel.

I join Dmitry minutes later, and he’s looking at his laptop at the table.

“What’s up?”

“I had Kirill find old schoolbooks the Moretti children went to.” He turns his screen to me as I sit beside him. “Do any of those girls look like your mother?”

“It’s hard to say.” I peer closer at the girls wearing plaid jumpers and wonder what their lives are like. “They all look picture perfect, don’t they?”

“Looks are deceiving.”

“Right.” I recall Alena saying how the Italian Don is an abusive man.

“What is the plan for the wedding? I mean, do we expect someone to notice me?”

“I have to confess a few things,” he starts the conversation as our filled plates slide under our noses. Orange juice and coffee are poured and placed exactly at one and ten o’clock on the table in front of my plate.

I place a napkin in my lap, and then I wonder how much longer I’ll fit into all the expensive clothes I own.

Charlotte leaves, and Dmitry clears his voice.

“First of all, I don’t want you to overreact. I know you’ll be afraid, and I’m here for you.”

“If this is your idea of a pep talk, you’re failing miserably,” I say as I rip a piece of toast off the crust and pop it into my mouth. I lift the fork and take a bite of the golden-brown omelet, and I’ll be damned if having someone serve me food doesn’t make everything taste better.

Dmitry takes a bite of the English bacon. He swallows.

“Dish,” I say.

“Dish?” he inquires as his forehead raises, showing a tiny crease in his forehead.

“Tell me,” I implore him.

“Oh, right. Okay, the actors in Vegas were found dead. So these men know we are somewhere else.”

I swallow the food in my mouth and hope I don’t choke.

“What? They were innocent. Why would someone do that?”

“It’s to send a message to not fuck with them.” His voice is lower than normal. I realize we don’t want to broadcast this to the staff and, therefore, to anyone they talk to.

“What else?” I whisper.

“I know you’ll be upset, but James has also passed.”

“What?” My voice is sharp. This news is surreal and personal. I haven’t seen him in all these years, and now, someone else, someone I knew as a child, has died. “Was it over me?”

He shrugs. “I think it would be naïve of us if we didn’t know who you are. So, now we can assume the Irish know who you are, and somehow, a few members of the bratva know. That’s my assumption.”

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