Page 135 of Silenced

“Including you,” Pavel teases his wife.

“Hey, it’s fascinating what they make up about him. You can’t blame me for watching that train wreck as it happens.”

“What do they make up about me?”

“Oh, things about your beautiful eyes. They wonder if you’ll talk to them in bed. Polina told them that you only talk to the people who matter to you. Of course,sheheard your voice. According to her, you have the rumble of a tiger.”

Pavel starts cackling, then he immediately groans and clutches at his abdomen. “Don’t make me laugh! Please, God!”

I scowl at them both. “A tiger?” Then, my scowl only darkens as I ask, “Who’s Polina?”

A gleam appears in my Obschak’s wife’s eyes. “Thank you for that ammunition, Niko. I’ll enjoy telling her that she’s so unforgettable.”

“Stop shit stirring,” Pavel sputters, still holding his torso.

“But it’s so much fun,” she mocks, drawing the cell phone with her as she pops a kiss on his cheek. “And I deserve to have fun after this past month or so.”

I grimace—she isn’t wrong. “We’re working on securing you justice, Maria.”

“I heard. Apparently, I have a new Lamborghini in my future.” She tuts. “My husband is a big kid.”

“Hey!” the big kid argues.

With a huff, I inform them, “Anyway, Pavlivshev’s dead. So Myata can—”

A flurry of movement draws my attention away from their reaction to my news to the corner where Cassiopeia appears to be seconds away from tearing Tatiana’s hair out over a dress.

I click my fingers at Dmitri, who’s watching the spat unfold from a safe distance.

“Liquid courage,” he mocks, downing his champagne before he strolls toward the catfight-in-the-making. “Tatiana, I think it’s unwise to piss off the Pakhan’s woman.”

Tatiana flashes me a look and sees that I’m watching her. Her throat bobs but she releases her hold on the gown she’s clutching.

Cassiopeia, bright red and flushed with anger, storms over to my side. Beneath the anger, however, I can see the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

“I have to go,” I sign to my old friends without waiting for a reply from them, then I shoot off a text to Igor.

Me: Set plan three into motion.

As I surge to my feet, he sends:

Igor: Got it, Pakhan.

But my interest in the situation with B4K has faded.

Swiftly cutting off Cassiopeia’s attempts to evade me, I snag a hold of her, not letting go when she struggles and tries to break free, then chuck her under the chin to gain eye contact with her.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she declares, but that she came to me for protection says everything.

I cast a glare at Tatiana, whose mouth puckers like she’s swallowed a lemon, but she stares at the floor rather than at me.

My muteness has long since ceased being an issue for me. It is what it is and I deal with it. My men deal with it, too, or lose their hands for not learning sign language. They know it’s not a weakness and it’s not something they exploit.

But right now, the way my throat freezes sends a wash of anger through me.

My woman is upset and I can’t fucking ask her what that bitch said to distress her.

Because I can’t speak, because the words won’t come, I sigh and, leaning down, press a soft kiss to her lips.

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