“I think you look—”
She raises her finger to my lips, pressing softly.
“Nah uh, beast man,” she says. “You’re not allowed to tell me how I look until after dinner now. Because I know how last time turned out.”
I bare my teeth in a wolf’s grin and pick up a knife of my own. “Fair enough, princess.”
Side by side, my woman and I chop the peppers. I’m not much of a chef, but there’s something peaceful in the steady movements.
More than that, there’s something special about watching Anna as she goes about preparing the meal. There’s a simple joy in her eyes that fills me with warmth and hope for our future.
I watch as she handles the chicken, such a simple thing, and yet as I stare with my love-filled eyes my mind mentally fills the room with an entire staff, all at her command. I imagine her cheeks blustery and red from the heat of a busy kitchen, the sounds of the restaurant coming in through the door as waiters come and go.
I imagine my Bratva queen shouting orders.
I hear the urgency in her voice, the same urgency she’ll bring to motherhood, a she-bear ready to defend her brood by any means necessary.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, tossing me a wink. “And it better not be anything about how absolutely stupid I look in this outfit. Because I’m actually starting to like it. Ignore what I said before. It’s not ridiculous. It’s magnificent.”
“It’s actually the opposite,” I tell her, chuckling. “I think it suits you perfectly.”
Say it.
Say it, man. You’ve faced down countless men. You’ve fought. You’ve led a rebellion out of the most fucked-up cult imaginable.
“I was thinking of you running your own restaurant. I was imagining how powerful you’d look.”
“Powerful, hmm? I think I like the sound of that.”
“Powerful,” I growl. “And Anna.”
“Yes?” she whimpers.
Her eyes grow wider and I can tell she knows I’m about to say something important, maybe something foolish.
But I don’t care.
I’ve spent too many of my forty-two years denying my feelings, hardening myself so that I can handle the business that’s necessary in my line of work. In the early days, it was fists and grit and strength. Now, there are other means, but that doesn’t change the fact that with Anna, for the first time in my life, I can finally fucking feel.
“I need to tell you something and—”
Suddenly, my cell phone blares from my pocket.
I’d ignore it except it’s the ringtone I use specifically for my network of guards.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Sorry, Anna.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “Really.”
I sigh and take out my cell phone, answering it and hoping that it’s something quick.
“Yes?”
“Hello, Artem,” a male voice says, sounding extremely pleased with himself, his voice a gleeful sadist’s tenor. “You won’t guess who I’m with right now.”
It’s Emilio’s voice, Emilio’s goddamned voice. My rival. The leader of the Italian mafia. The bastard who got offended because I wouldn’t hang around at a slave auction and pretend to be his best friend.
I tighten my grip on the phone, my sigh a feral tremble.
Then I check the screen display and see that he’s calling from Gavrie’s cellphone.
“Is my second alive?” I ask, keeping my voice calm even as anxiety hammers through me.
Anna looks up, her lips suddenly pursed, her expression pensive.
“Oh, yes,” Emilio says. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t get our hands on any of your men. They’re very well insulated. Getting my hands on his phone was another matter, though, because he fucking dropped it. Imagine that? Dropping your phone in his position. It’s lucky we’re having him tailed.”
“So what’s this?” I say. “You’re calling to say hello?”
You won’t guess who I’m with right now.
But he’s right.
All of my men are too well-insulated to fall into Emilio’s grasp. There might be fighting, wars, skirmishes, blood, but there’s rarely capture.
“Let’s just say you and your lady friend are going to walk out of that restaurant into the street within the next ten minutes or something very bad is going to happen.”
“Vague threats won’t get you anywhere,” I snarl.
“No,” Emilio sighs. “But a dog named Rocky might.”
I feel my blood turn cold in my veins.
“It was easy enough,” Emilio goes on. “We found his previous owner and dragged him outside your estate. The poor bastard, Artem, you should’ve seen him. Scared out of his mind. Dogs, you see, they’re loyal. We could learn something from them. When he heard his previous owner’s voice, that terrier found a way out and came running. They’re very resourceful little fellows.”
“What’s happening?” Anna whispers.
“An enemy of mine is saying he has Rocky,” I tell her, remembering my promise never to lie, even about the evils of the world. “But he has no proof. Just bluster.”
“Proof?” Emilio laughs. “Fair enough. Wait a second.”
A moment later, my screen blips and it shows that ‘Gavrie’ is requesting a video call.