Page 31 of Santa Daddy
Acquisitions.
The word slid under my skin like a blade.
But before I could open my mouth and shove it down his throat, he reached across the table and let his fingers trail along Dani’s wrist. Supposed to look casual. Looked like a declaration of war.
Wrong fucking move.
I leaned forward, let my voice drop into the register that came right before bodies hit the floor.
“Touch her again,” I said calmly, “and you won’t be using those hands for anything.”
He laughed. A little too loud. The sound drew glances from nearby tables; they quickly looked away when they saw my face.
Still, I caught the way his eyes sharpened. Good. He should be worried.
“Still so protective,” he said lightly. “Some things never change.”
No. They didn’t.
The waiter chose that moment to materialize, probably sensing the storm front gathering. I switched to Russian and ordered for both of us without asking Dani what she wanted. Part habit. Part message.
My people understood which conversations were theirs to join and which weren’t.
Food, wine, the flow of expensive liquor—background noise. Men trickled in as the evening wore on, filling our section with familiar faces.
“Konstantin.” Baranov nodded in greeting, his gaze sliding to Dani with open curiosity. “And this must be the lovely bride-to-be.”
Krupin and Kaminsky followed. Each offered polite words to her, respect to me, and thinly veiled assessment to both of us.
“Dani,” I said evenly, “these are men you listen to when they speak. Not because they deserve it. Because I say so.”
They heard the order in that. So did she.
I watched their reactions the way other men read market reports.
Baranov approved. Always did enjoy a bit of chaos as long as he wasn’t paying for it.
Krupin was cautious, eyes flicking between my face and Dani’s, looking for signs this was a weakness or a trap.
Kaminsky was already calculating how to use her if he ever got the chance.
Dani smiled and nodded in all the right places, playing the part better than I’d expected. But I could see her taking them in too: the missing fingers, the expensive watches, the way the men at surrounding tables deferred to them.
“So,” Kaminsky said eventually, leaning back in his seat with forced nonchalance, “where did you two meet?”
Here it was. The question I should’ve prepped her for and hadn’t.
I felt Dani tense beside me. Saw the flicker of panic she tried to smother.
Her brain raced. Trying to find a way to make “I watched him kill a guy in a Christmas tree lot” sound meet-cute.
“Whole Foods,” she blurted.
For one heartbeat, there was nothing.
Silence rippled out to the nearest tables.
Fucking Whole Foods.
