Page 84 of Scarlet Vows
But I recognize the pakhan’s name, Abram Simonov. I start searching my computer. There…I knew I’d seen the name recently.
Abram is someone Santo Barone’s had a few run-ins with.
I call Santo, and to my surprise, he picks up himself.
“It’s Ilya Belov,” I say.
“And how’s your fiancée?”
Rolling my eyes, I keep my voice neutral. “Wife. And she’s good. I wanted to arrange a meeting.”
“Yes?” His interest rings clear.
“I’ve got some things I’d like to talk to you about.”
“I’ll come to you. We’ll make an evening of it. Discuss this business, and I can see your home, something I’ve been wanting to do.”
“I’ll let you know when?—”
“Tomorrow night sounds good,” Santo says. “I’m a sucker for a home-cooked meal and new business talks. I’ll bring wine and vodka. Besides, it’ll be nice to catch up with Alina again.”
I grit my teeth. I bet it will. Asshole.
But I don’t say that. “How is seven?”
“I’ll see you then.”
I pace,waiting for Alina to get back from her volunteer work. I know I’m pushing it. I’ve got meetings with a supplier for Belov Bratva interests, and then Pavel and I have two meetings with two different allies this afternoon. But I think I have time.
Fuck it. I’ll make time.
I need to talk to Alina. I’m concerned for her, but not by Santo’s steamrolling of the dinner. I suspect that’s just him. I’m concerned how playing wife in ways that count, loving, devoted, a role she wanted with Max, will affect her.
The door opens, and a bark carries up the stairs, pulling at my heart and making me smile.
I hurry down to meet them, and there’s a moment where she takes me in. Really takes me in. My suit is the mostexpensive one I own. I rarely wear it. Italian, handmade, worth a fortune, but I’d spend five times what I did for the suit if it meant I could see that look on her face.
Naked appreciation. Lustful hunger.
She likes it.
She likes me in it.
Things start to get hard.
I shift my thoughts to the matter at hand and get right to the point. “Alina, we need to talk.”
Any lust vanishes. Maybe it was a figment of my needy imagination anyway.
I go to the living room, Albert pressing against me as I walk.
She follows. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
With my gaze on a wall of books, I sigh, then I face her. “Things with the Belov Bratva haven’t been going well,” I say in Russian. “So I called Santo.”
“Are you giving me to?—”
“What?Nyet.” I highly doubt her words were serious, but that’s how I take them. “Never. I thought he might be able to help me make a big move to prove my loyalty to my men.”
