Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Kirill
“Where is she?”
“I already texted Trevor,” Lorenzo De Lucci said.
Lucy’s cousin hadn’t been at our wedding, although I knew about him and his wife.
Married young. Didn’t go to college. He didn’t follow the path of his brothers and father into the world of high finance and real estate.
Just content to be a coffee shop owner and businessman.
“Why are my messages showing undelivered?” This young punk’s unbothered expression was a reminder of whose territory I was in—the nerve center of the De Lucci crime family. It was surrounded by those military types who didn’t look like the average mafia soldiers.
A side door opened, and Lucy appeared. She was frowning at me. “Are you harassing my cousin?”
A man sporting a crew cut, black shirt, and dark military cargo followed her in.
I had a file on him. Trevor Hayes. Sato said he was the man Lucy frequently met at the café, and she would disappear with him somewhere.
That was one reason I was here. I wanted to see the man my wife was spending a lot of time with ensconced in a secret location.
Sato suspected it was a basement. My soldier wasn’t allowed anywhere else in the building, so he couldn’t verify for sure.
“I expected you to text me when you were done with Aralina. I waited fifteen minutes thinking you wanted to catch up with your cousin.”
“I had to work.” Lucy closed the distance between us, but my eyes shot past her.
“You’re Trevor Hayes,” I said.
The man’s eyes widened briefly before crinkling at the corners in amusement.
He crossed his arms. Good. Because we weren’t doing the civilized thing called shaking hands.
“Yes. I know who you are. I know you spend a lot of time with my wife. I’m not pleased that she’s out of reach from me or my men when you’re with her. ”
“I swear to God, Kirill,” Lucy exclaimed. “It’s a secure location. You, of all people, understand that.”
I glared at her. “You said you were meeting only with Aralina. I believed you.”
Instead of answering me, she turned to Trevor, who was still eyeing me with a hint of humor. He thought this was funny?
“I apologize for my husband’s rudeness,” Lucy said.
“That wasn’t being rude. That was being protective,” I informed her.
“Ugh, let’s go,” Lucy groaned and waved at Lorenzo, who was also controlling the amusement on his face. The punk wouldn’t think I was so funny if I sent a chair crashing through the window. He was lucky I wasn’t in a destructive mood or in any mood to get arrested.
I wrapped an arm around Lucy. She stiffened at first, but I wasn’t compromising. I double-parked in front of the café and had Sato watch the car so it wouldn’t get towed. I packed Lucy into the vehicle. I could tell she was waiting to yell at me.
I wasn’t wrong. The moment I slid behind the driver’s seat, she lit into me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“When I drop you off, I expect to pick you up at the same place. I expect you to be there,” I gritted.
“I was.”
“You made a detour,” I enunciated. “A detour where I had no way of reaching you except through a third party who could choose to keep you from me.”
“Oh my God,” she expressed in complete exasperation. At least she was experiencing maybe a fifth of my aggravation when my messages to her started showing up undelivered.
“Seriously, Kirill?” she finally said when I seemed to have rendered her speechless for a few seconds. “Why the sudden concern? I’ve been going to The Grindhouse for weeks and conferring with Trevor.”
“You’ve been working closely with him?”
“Yes, he has the skillset I need.”
“Which is?”
“He gets me information.”
“We have several men in the bratva who could do the same. Why not use them?”
She didn’t respond.
I scowled at her. “Are you investigating the bratva? That would be in violation—”
“Of our prenup, yes. No, nothing that will incriminate your organization. This is more personal and requires discretion. It’s a delicate situation, and I haven’t worked with your guys, and I don’t trust where their loyalties are.”
“To me, of course.”
“Yeah, well, I need someone more neutral.”
“And you think this Trevor guy is the man for the job?”
“Look. I know you’re uncomfortable with me digging into your family history, but this is more about Ivan’s beef with Duncan King.”
My fingers clenched the steering wheel. “It’s about the illegitimate child?”
“Yes. If Duncan King has an illegitimate child with whom he created a trust and Davenport is the executor of that trust, it would explain why the King brothers are putting pressure on Anya to release all documents in relation to that trust.”
I deliberately passed the turn that would take us back to the mansion.
“Where are we going?” Lucy asked. “I thought you had meetings this afternoon.”
“I canceled them.”
“Since when?”
I cast my wife a glance. “Since I decided I’m not taking good care of my wife and she has these unhealthy eating habits.
My mouth threatened to kick up in a smile because even without looking at her I could feel her disbelief.
“Why the sudden husbandly concern?” she mocked sweetly. “Could it be that you’re uncomfortable discussing Anya?”
I didn’t know whether I was pleased or annoyed. Pleased, if for once, my wife could admit to being jealous of my childhood friend/past lover. I sighed dramatically. “I don’t want to discuss Anya because it seems your claws come out. There’s nothing to be jealous of her. I hardly see her.”
“But you do see her.”
“She’s a friend, but the last time I saw her was after that poker night where she confronted you.”
Lucy didn’t say anything, so I added, “I was pissed she approached you like that. I told her to stay away from you.”
When she remained silent, I asked her, “No response?”
“I don’t know what you’re playing at anymore.” She sighed. “I’m tired.”
“Are you hungry?” I asked unexpectedly, remembering her terrible eating habits, and it was a reminder that I was not taking care of my wife. Physically, I wanted her healthy. As for her mental and emotional state, fuck did I know anymore.
“I just ate,” she responded dryly. “If you have to meet a business associate and use me as a front, just say so.”
“I deserve that,” I muttered. There was a compulsion to spend more time with Lucy. I disliked seeing that Trevor guy with her, knowing that she went to him for help as part of her job. Knowing that I had no claim on her except—my gaze fell on her left hand.
“Where are your rings?”
“I was rushing out this morning and—”
“Is this a common occurrence? Leaving the house without your rings when you see Trevor?”
“What are you…” Lucy laughed. “Are you jealous?”
“Would it make you feel better?” I gritted. “Then yes, I am.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“What? That I’m possessive of my wife?”
I threw her a glance before making a turn for Midtown.
“What’s gotten into you?” There was an exasperated but promising tone in Lucy’s voice.
Though I identified jealousy as an emotion other people felt, I’d never identified it as one of my own.
I understood possessiveness. But if she perceived me as jealous, I wondered how I could use her reaction to my advantage.
“We’ve taken an adversarial approach to our marriage. It’s getting old.” I cleared my throat. “We agreed to a truce, remember? I thought we could start by spending more time together.”
“But to what purpose?” she asked, her tone bewildered.
“To make the remaining nine months more bearable?” I suggested. “That’s a start, right?”
“I guess…”
Distrust rolled off her in waves. I didn’t know why that made me feel better because, fuck if I would trust me.
I pulled in front of a building owned by the Zahkarovs. It was a mixed-use high-rise. High-end shops and restaurants on the ground floor. Office spaces above them.
“You might not be hungry. But I am.” I got out of the vehicle, rounding the front to help her.
Reluctance was engraved in every inch of her body.
I could see the cogs of suspicion turning in her brain.
But I congratulated myself that for once I had planned an outing free from anything nefarious other than the goal of spending time with her.
I murmured instructions to Sato as he took over the Porsche. I had an errand for him.
The concierge met us in the lobby. “Mr. Zahkarov, we weren’t expecting you.”
“Is the rooftop available?”
“Yes, it’s closed for lunch on Mondays.”
“Then open it. Make sure the heat lamps are on.” It was a beautiful day, but it was still November.
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“Rooftop?” Lucy asked, brow quirked. She was smiling—faintly—but her brown eyes sparkled with interest. It elicited a grin from me. One of satisfaction that finally, I was getting a genuine smile from her.
We cooled our heels at the bar of the adjacent restaurant that was going to be the caterer of our rooftop date.
Date. Rooftops were romantic, right? And I didn’t have to ask Sato or Aralina or my mother for a suggestion. This was all me.
Lucy was perusing the menu. “Ooh, I think I could munch on a charcuterie board.”
“Great idea.” That would give us an opportunity to talk.
As I made the wine selection with the sommelier, my eyes flitted back surreptitiously to watch Lucy’s changing expressions as she continued to study the extensive menu.
“They’ve got an apple tart with crème fra?che ice cream.”
“I thought you weren’t hungry,” I said, amused.
She smiled impishly. “It’s because the bar is beside the kitchen and I can smell everything.”
“Are you sure a charcuterie board is enough?”
“Yes. I think that would be perfect, and I can leave room for dessert.”
It seemed dessert was indeed my wife’s favorite part of a meal.
“I’m selecting the grand charcuterie board,” I told the sommelier. “I’ll trust your judgment on the wine pairing.”
He was a skinny man, and his throat bobbed comically. “Yes, sir.”