Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Kirill
“She went down. But my brother was still dead.”
The memory of that night roared back in vivid color as I retold the events to Lucy, keeping out Roman’s crying and what appeared to me now—selfishness.
Roman thought only about his own survival.
If he had freed himself from those ropes, I bet he would have left me there.
But he was still my brother. I felt compelled to protect him and his memory.
I didn’t realize I had my eyes squeezed shut until Lucy’s fingers clasped mine. I opened them to see tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying, Lusenka?” I asked gently. My forefinger caught a tear. “Have I earned your tears now?”
She dove into my chest and hugged me tight. My arms came around her, but I made out her muffled “yes.”
We embraced for long seconds. I inhaled her scent.
It was a mix of lemon shampoo, bread, and burnt cheese.
It was the smell of home. The yearning inside me to explore a future with my wife broadened.
I exhaled a sigh of contentment I had never experienced before.
In all my thirty-six years, I’d never had this feeling, and before a bitterness could set in that I had rotted in an apathetic life, I concluded it was because it was Lucy.
No other woman could make me feel this way.
Not Anya, nor the countless socialites and faceless women I’d fucked for the purpose of fucking.
Lucy leaned back, her eyes ferocious like a tigress protecting her cub. “Don’t ever think you were a coward, Kirill. You were only nine! You’d been drugged, terrorized. You’d seen men killed in front of you. They stole your childhood!”
“In the bratva, we don’t have childhoods. We start training early. It was Irina who attempted to change that. Ivan indulged her because he had Roman.”
“I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Roman bullied you into going outside the security of the mansion.”
“He was typical Roman,” I said shortly.
“It was not on you to save your brother.” My wife’s voice was soothing.
I’d never retold the details of the event to anyone.
Not to my parents, not even to Kolya. They were able to access everything that happened on the surveillance.
Ivan saw that Roman was the one crying. I didn’t want to rub it in.
“Ever since that night, Ivan couldn’t look me in the eye. ”
“Because he was the one who failed Roman, not you,” Lucy said.
I gave a brief, scornful laugh. “That’s what Irina told him.”
“Yet he sent you away.”
“All he saw was that I had a shot, and I didn’t take it.”
“Again,” Lucy gritted. “You were nine, you'd been drugged, they hit you in the head, and you had blurry vision.”
“Lack of training, according to Ivan.” I shrugged. “It’s in the past now.”
“I’m not liking Ivan very much right now,” she said. “I started questioning his sincerity after he gave me the runaround about the Kings. He must be laughing behind my back.”
“Ivan is old school. He will always consider the bratva’s interest first, but he has mellowed over the years, especially with Aralina around.”
“I wish I had known her when she could speak.”
“She loved to sing before she lost her voice.” My chest contracted painfully. That I was not there to protect my sister.
“It was a house fire, I was told.”
“One of our properties in upstate New York,” I said. “It was arson. Ivan and Irina had become obsessively neurotic about Aralina’s security after that.” I sighed. “We stifled her, but after she started college, we gave her more freedom...”
“Your sister told me she dreaded the match with Dom. I don’t know why Mamma thought it was a good match in the first place.”
I kept from voicing my opinion. If there was one thing my mother and Aralina always told me, it was to shut up when I had nothing nice to say. That didn’t mean people couldn’t read my face, as bland as it was. I think my default expression was disdain.
It did not escape my wife.
“Sloane is perfect for Dom and just what he needs. Aralina—she needs someone who is not mafia.”
“She needs to be a spinster,” I muttered. “That would save me from having to kill her husband.”
Lucy laughed. “I can believe that. I’m sure Dom has the same thoughts about you.”
I scowled at my wife, but she laughed harder.
I didn’t know if her brother and I would ever get along.
I didn’t know what he thought about our marriage, especially after Lucy shot me.
My marriage was none of his business. Not anymore.
Especially since I was determined to keep my wife—until death do us part.
“I’m grabbing some firewood,” I muttered.
Lucy continued to laugh, not chasing me to placate me.
She could read the room. She could read me.
She knew when we were just exchanging sarcasm without her walking on eggshells.
Besides, her brother had every reason for wanting to kill me.
Add her dad, Moretti, and every single male relative she had.
I didn’t care before. But I was admitting to myself that it was time to make adjustments, given that the holidays were upon us.
I didn’t want to deprive her of her family, knowing how close-knit the Italians were.
I would grit through every glare, every snide remark, and every promise to murder me just so I could see her smile.
Snow blanketed the ground. The pristine white gave me peace.
But somehow I wondered if it was because I finally told Lucy about Roman.
The sincerity in her eyes when she told me it was not my fault that I couldn’t save my brother did more than when Irina reassured me.
Of course at that time, I was riddled with survivor’s guilt.
Ivan doubling down on my cowardice made me shut down and hold my shame close to my chest. I’d known that.
So when he sent me to Russia, I accepted that as my punishment for letting my brother die.
I collected the firewood from the trailer. I couldn’t wait to start the fire and the goulash.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It’d been buzzing since early this morning. A couple of messages from Kolya and Aralina. I wish I hadn’t stopped to look at it.
My mood turned sour when I saw the rapid-fire text from a third person.
Anya
Kolya told me you’re taking the wifey on a mini-honeymoon.
Is that why you’ve been ignoring me in the past few weeks? You rarely return my texts anymore.
And I don’t see you unless it’s at an event.
Are you growing attached to your wife? Kolya indicated it is so.
I was tempted to text her back, but I didn’t want her to know we’d found Chloe Brown aka Chloe King.
How about you tell me what you know about Ivan being the second executor, hmm, Anya?
I slipped the phone in my pocket and picked up the firewood. It didn’t take a genius, really. Anya and Ivan had planned to keep the conditions of the trust a secret. I doubted they conspired with each other. They just waited for the other one to come forward.
Ivan approved of my match with Lucy. The Kings were powerful and wealthy beyond belief, but the combined influence of the De Luccis and Morettis couldn’t be denied.
Ivan was in no rush. He was waiting for Maksim to divorce Ophelia.
And if my brother never gave her a divorce?
My mood soured further. Ivan better not think of using Aralina.
And from what I gathered, Ivan had affection for Chloe and probably wouldn’t want her marrying a blackguard like me anyway.
Fucking Ivan. His life was one big fucking drama.
As for Anya, her motivations were simple. She didn’t want me even to consider Chloe as a wife. Except I blindsided her when I married Lucy.
Fuck me. My life was turning into one big soap opera too. At least none of Ivan’s wives had shot him.
But I didn’t want to deal with Anya. This weekend was about Lucy.
So when I stepped back into the cabin, I pushed the other woman out of my mind.
Lucy wasn’t around when I returned. The rug in the hallway was pulled aside, and the trapdoor to the cellar was open.
What the fuck. I’d been gone for two minutes. I dropped the firewood by the hearth and strode to the hole in the floor.
“Lucy.” She rushed back up the stairs. She had a phone to her ear and put a finger up to shush me.
Shushed me.
I crossed my arms.
“Sorry, lost signal,” she said to whoever was on the line. “The corner shelf you said? Okay. Thanks, Irina.”
“You called my mother?”
“Yes. Since we were going to get snowed in, I wanted to make sure we had provisions.”
“You do realize we’re not exactly out of pocket,” I said patiently. “The plows should come within twenty-four hours after the snow stops. If you’re impatient, I have someone who can do it.” In short, it was my job to take care of these concerns.
“I was thinking more about extra bedding.” She screwed her nose. “I don’t like that bear rug near the hearth.”
“Too barbaric?” My mouth twitched. “Again, you realize hunting is to control population and it’s a sustainable food resource.”
“Yes, but I don’t have to look at a dead animal’s fur.”
I shouldn’t even be surprised that she took that stance, but it wasn’t worth fighting over. “Fine, I’ll move it.”
“I’ve thrown the towels into the washing machine. Why don’t you get the fire started?”
“Yes, wife.” But I followed her back into the cellar to make sure there weren’t scuttling insects or rodents around.
The cabin was well maintained because it was Irina’s favorite getaway.
Several light bulbs lit the area, and I grinned when I spied Ivan’s liquor stash and strode directly to the shelf, picking out a rum and a vodka.
Lucy handed me a pile of shrink-wrapped bedding. “I’m going to lay that in front of the hearth.”
Cabin life was not new to me, but cabin life with a wife was a whole different scenario. I wasn’t annoyed; I would even say this peculiar emotion could be amusement wrapping itself around the desire to pamper my wife.