Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Lucy
What is he doing here?
I stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, shocked to see Kirill sitting at the counter drinking coffee and scrolling through his phone. It was half past ten. He was usually out of the house by eight thirty.
“This is a surprise.” I recovered enough not to sound too anxious that he was home because I had some place to be and I didn’t want him asking questions. Which was wishful thinking because when he glanced up, his gaze trailed down my checkered cream-and-black suit.
“I took the morning off.” He quirked a brow. “You’re heading out?”
“Yes.” I forced myself to walk casually into the kitchen, filled my insulated water bottle, and grabbed an energy bar from the pantry.
“You said you have unhealthy eating habits, so I conferred with Sorcha.” His eyes narrowed with disapproval. “I know we don’t share meals together, but maybe we should start.”
Hell no.
“She also told me you have zero input when it comes to running the household,” he added.
“She’s an efficient housekeeper,” I pointed out. “I didn’t see the need to involve myself.”
“You are my wife.” Kirill’s eyes flashed.
Oh, I wanted to retort, “in name only” but I was trying to get out of the house, and arguing with my husband was going to make me late.
“Okay, I’ll talk to her.” We stared at each other.
I’d become adept at discerning Kirill’s limited expressions.
He’d shown more emotion lately. Mostly irritation.
But this one on his face right now was pointing to calculation, maybe even a hint of suspicion.
It was when the crease between his brows and the narrowing of his eyes eased.
A slight hollow would appear in his cheeks as he examined the information before coming to a conclusion.
Then, a telltale smile would curve his mouth.
I braced for his question.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting Aralina for breakfast.” I might have overdone my gasp when checking the time. “And I’m running late.”
Kirill rose from his seat. “I’ll take you.”
Shit.
“It’s private.”
Now he wasn’t even disguising his amusement that he’d caught me in false capitulation. He rounded the counter and cupped my waist, tugging me to his side. “Then I’ll drop you off and pick you up later.”
“Why?” I had to ask.
“I would quit while you’re ahead, baby,” Kirill said softly. “I’m not compromising on this. Don’t argue too much or I might suspect you and my sister are stirring up some kind of trouble.”
He was already suspicious, so I took his advice and stopped arguing.
The drive to Jabbin’ Java was uneventful if not fraught with awkward conversation like talking about the weather and how it was a warm November.
Or how traffic appeared to be smooth sailing into Hell’s Kitchen.
That area was a De Lucci stronghold, which reminded me of something more unusual than seeing Kirill in the kitchen this morning.
I twisted to look behind us. “No security.”
Kirill glanced in the rearview mirror. “They’re around, just not as closely. I doubt your brother is going to whack me while in his territory.” He shot me a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. “Especially when you’re with me.”
The last time I’d seen my De Lucci family was two weeks ago at Dom and Sloane’s wedding.
Of course, Kirill, Aralina, and his parents were in attendance.
The stark difference in their ceremony and the reception compared to mine was huge.
Especially since there was dancing and laughter. So much laughter.
When I didn’t say anything, he added, “They’re on their honeymoon, right?”
“Yes.” I side-eyed him. Dom and Sloane were on a three-week European tour.
Another beat of silence passed between us.
“I didn’t give you a honeymoon,” Kirill said solemnly.
The urge to snort a mocking laugh was overwhelming.
Because a honeymoon would be a joke. He knew this.
Kirill was pushing my buttons, wanting to get a reaction.
But that would mean I cared about this damn marriage.
I remembered how I had broken down in the shower on our wedding night.
Did it mean I cared for this asshole? Because every time he did something sweet, there was an agenda.
I chose my words carefully. “A honeymoon didn’t make sense for the reasons we got married.
It’s a business arrangement. You needed a wife to cement your position. ”
“And this is all this marriage is to you? Whiling away the time until you get your freedom?” he bit out.
“And what is it to you? Just revenge, right?” I burst out.
“There you are…” He grinned triumphantly.
He parked in front of the café, but before I could hop out, he clasped my arm and chin to bring me closer.
His mouth touched mine in a brief kiss. And when he pulled away, he said, “Never give me the docile act again. That is not you, and if it weren’t my sister you were meeting today, nothing would have stopped me from sitting with you in that coffee shop. ”
“Can I go now?”
“Call me when you’re done.” Kirill let me go, and I did my best not to scamper out of the vehicle like I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
I greeted Renz and Liz. They gave me a wave and a smile before Renz tilted his head to the corner.
Aralina was already sitting in one of the booths near the kitchen.
“Hey, were you waiting long?”
She signed, “No. Was that Kirill with you?”
“Yes, and don’t ask me why.” I slid into the booth facing her.
Renz came over. “What can I get you, ladies?”
“The usual cappuccino, and do you have the bacon and egg brioche?”
My cousin smiled. “We do.”
“You should try it,” I told Aralina.
She shrugged and gave two thumbs-up.
“Duplicate my order.”
“You got it.” Renz left to get our orders.
“I’m uneasy about Kirill changing his morning routine,” I told Aralina. “Are you sure you’re the only one who knows about this? No one knows you have it?”
Aralina pushed the folder to me and I flipped it open.
It was a picture of Ivan and a young girl of about five who was definitely not Aralina.
It explained her reaction yesterday when she caught the tail end of conversation in Ivan’s office mentioning an illegitimate child.
Was this the picture he was looking for? Who was the girl?
I flipped the picture over to read the dedication again before Kirill had interrupted us last night.
Thought you’d like to have a memento of her.
Love,
Renée
So, was Ivan lying to me about Duncan King? If so, then there was no question Kirill had learned his lying skills from his father.
“You didn’t tell me where you got these,” I said.
“In the attic.” Aralina showed me her screen. “Mama redecorated a few rooms, including Papa’s study. You should have seen the stacks of boxes. Papa doesn’t get rid of anything.”
“What were you doing in the attic looking through his things?”
“I used to sketch in that room because I love the lighting there. Our things got mixed up.”
Plausible explanation.
I looked over the other handwritten notes, and an unfamiliar handwriting caught my eye.
We need to talk.
Esther knows about Renée and the pregnancy.
There was no signature, but I could only surmise it was from Duncan. But why was he sending it to Ivan?
My head was spinning. So, it was quite possible the girl in the picture wasn’t Ivan’s child, but what was his involvement? I needed dates, and the picture had no indication of when it was taken.
I saw a sketch of a young woman and raised questioning eyes at Aralina.
“My attempt at age progression.” She shrugged and dropped her eyes. In my interactions with her, she usually shrugged when she was unsure or shy. If there was one thing that warmed my heart, it was that she didn’t fear her brother who was one scary motherfucker to other people.
“This looks good, but there’s software for that.”
Her eyes lit up. “That’s what I was hoping you would say. I don’t want anyone in the bratva to know, especially Kirill and Papa.”
Renz returned with our cappuccino and brioche. “Trevor was looking for you earlier.”
“Oh shit.” I checked my phone. I had silenced the buzzing when Kirill drove me in. He’d rattled me more than I wanted to admit, and I didn’t want him questioning who was trying to reach me.
Me
I’m at Jabbin’ Java. Sorry, I double-booked.
Trevor
I’m hurt. But take your time. I did a flyby and saw you’re with Aralina.
Yes, I was going to ask for your help with something, but there’s another priority.
Text me when you’re ready. I’ll be in the Underground for most of the day.
This Grindhouse building housed this café and other businesses like a boxing gym, a private investigator, and a law office.
The Underground was the basement and ground zero for the De Lucci crime family and the Archer Syndicate—the vigilante organization headed by Matteo.
Dom was part of its leadership, and its function was policing the underworld and making sure no one organization became too powerful.
That was all I knew about it. Trevor Hayes was their intelligence officer, and he’d become my go-to guy whenever I needed deep-dive information beyond what googling could get me.
“I don’t want to pry unless I have to,” I told Aralina.
“But I need to know basic Zahkarov history. Like what’s the animosity between Ivan and Kirill?
” No one wanted to talk about it, and God knew I tried, even with the house staff.
“How does Maksim fit into this? He wasn’t even at the party yesterday. In fact, I rarely see him.”
Aralina typed on her screen. “Roman.”
I knew who he was. “Ivan’s eldest son from his first wife.” Ivan’s first wife died in childbirth. They had a son, and from what I could tell from the family pictures in his study, Roman was the treasured son. The one destined to lead the bratva.