Page 122 of Bad Medicine
I was still gasping like a fish outta water, searching for the right response that wasn’t gonna screw up everything, when Mia’s voice came from the doorway.
“That’s a great idea, little man.”
Looking at her, I could absolutely see why she took so long getting ready.
My woman was fuckin’ stunning.
She was in a floor-length gown, something shimmery and emerald green that showed off her neck and shoulders, making me want to drag my tongue across them, tasting her in the way I liked.
She must have seen something in my eyes, because as I stared at her, I saw a full body shiver move through her, and I smiled.
Hell yeah.
“Mom, dat’s a nice dress.”
“You think so?” she asked, running her hand down her stomach to smooth the shiny fabric.
“Oh, I know so,” I growled.
Mia pressed her lips together, that flush I loved so much painting her cheeks, just as Linny came back into the room.
“I believe your ride is here,” she said quietly. Passing Jasper back into Linny’s care, Mia and I both hugged him before heading to the door. “Have fun, you two,” Linny called with a wink in my direction.
I liked Linny a whole lot.
“Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad,” Jasper called, and my steps stuttered as I exited the room.
Mia reached for my hand, threading her fingers through mine, and I looked at her, overwhelmed with what I was feeling.
“You sure you’re okay with that?” I asked, not wanting to overstep.
“As long as you are, then, yes, absolutely.”
“Yeah, Doc. I think I am.”
I was about to kiss her, needing to seal this new step in our relationship—our family—when the doorbell rang.
Likely assuming it was the driver, Enzo opened it, stepping in front of Francesca, even as she rolled her eyes at his over protectiveness.
Turned out it was a smart move, though.
Because rather than the limo driver, a woman stood on his front doorstep, tall and thin, with sharp features and blue eyes, her white-blond hair cut short like a pixie.
There was nothing light or magical about this woman, though.
No, she had a fierce look in her eye, and she looked more like a vicious arctic fox than an adorable woodland fairy.
For a moment, none of us spoke, simply staring, sizing one another up, then Enzo barked out, “Who the fuck are you?”
“My name is Svetlana Belikova,” she said, her quiet voice full of power, but buried under a thick Russian accent. “I believe you knew my father, Anton.”
“You’re Anton’s daughter?” Francesca asked, stepping around Enzo against his vocal protests. “Yes, I knew your father. Not well, however, but I was sad to learn of his passing.”
Leave it to Francesca to turn a brutal parking lot shooting into a tender moment.
“Ya sozhaleyu o vashey utrate.”
“Bladodaryu vas,” she replied, but fuck if I knew what that meant.
