Chapter Twenty-Nine
In which we learn about the Inverse Ratio of Happiness.
Three weeks later…
Liria…
My fingers move over the piano keys, some simple tune, easy for a warmup and not requiring much thought.
Which is helpful, because all my reasoning power is focused on Alexsey.
Those checkmarks on the side of good things he's done are getting longer, and he gets extra points for rescuing my piano and bringing it here.
Also, right up there in the good things side of the list is the sex. The sentiment is cheesy, lady porn worthy, but I never imagined sex could be this amazing. Or this frequent. Those morning soaks in my luxurious tub are the only thing keeping me from wincing every time I sit down.
The night Alexsey gave me the piano, we had sex in every possible position on top of it. Around it. While I was playing it. He carried me up to the master suite and placed me in his bed, gently covering me with soft sheets and the hard angles of his body wrapped around me,
I was going to slip away in the morning to the guest room, but he grabbed me by the wrist before I could get off the bed, eyes still closed. "This is where you sleep," he said. His eyes opened, sharp despite his drowsy face and sleep-disordered hair. "This is where you belong. You're my wife."
I melted.
It felt - for the first time - like we were husband and wife, that this could possibly turn into a love match like his other brothers' marriages had.
Because the Universe apparently insists on inverse ratios, the better our relationship has gotten, the more problems rise in the Morozov Bratva.
A huge cargo theft, a mysterious fire at one of their most popular clubs.
Worst was a disastrous intelligence mistake that almost got Dmitri arrested by the FBI before local law enforcement stepped in and the evidence vanished.
Alexsey comes home late, sometimes in the early hours, exhausted. But his grim expression softens when he sees me and after he pins me against the kitchen counter and kisses me thoroughly, I can feel his body relax, little by little.
As if he knows I'm thinking about him, Alexsey comes down the stairs, looking unfeasibly delicious in a dark blue suit. His hair's swept back and his beard is trimmed. He looks more like a reputable businessman than the thug that I know he is
"You look gorgeous," I say, standing up from the piano bench. "Are you off to do some crimes?"
His lips are almost on mine before he pulls back to laugh. "Only of the white-collar variety. We're signing the paperwork today that finalizes the ownership of the Krasniqi shipping route from the Port of Durres to St. Petersburg."
"Father's estate is just outside Durres." I shudder slightly. "When you make your way through the takeover to his revolting mansion, burn it to the ground, would you?"
His big, rough hand comes up and cups my face, his thumb stroking over my cheekbone. "I'll bring you with me. You can light the match that'll send it sky high."
"Is it wrong that this might be the sexiest thing you've ever said to me?" I turn my head slightly, kissing his palm.
Pinning me against my piano, Alexsey grins rakishly, pressing his rapidly hardening cock against my stomach.
"Whole scale destruction," he murmurs, kissing the soft little spot just under my ear.
"A C4 detonation vaporizing everything standing higher than five feet?
" His warm lips trail down my jaw, detouring over to kiss the corner of my mouth.
My hands flail behind me, clutching the piano's edge to keep upright. "I don't know if it's arson as a whole that's working for me," I babble. "M- more like that specific building. Blow up his office first."
His mouth moves over mine, sharing the laugh. There's something so intimate about kissing and laughing at the same time.
Alexsey pulls away with a groan as his phone buzzes persistently. "Dmitri. He's turning into a bossy asshole."
"Go," I say, pushing him away gently because the piano edge is really digging into my back.
"I have to meet Ava and your mother at the clinic.
We're planning Violet's birthday party. We're thinking of a theme party, she loves K-Pop Demon Hunters.
You could dress up like Zoey, she's the rapper for the group and I can be Mira, the choreographer. "
"Uh…" He can't hide his horror and I laugh heartlessly.
"Are you kidding? Can you imagine your father's expression?"
"I don't want to attempt to imagine the former Pakhan's expression, no," Alexsey says. "Sadly, Roman would probably get into it."
"That's because Roman loves Violet and would do anything for her," I say loftily. "True love, baby."
There's a silence in the loft that stretches.
Neither one of us has brought up the "L" word before now and we stare at each other.
I want to open my mouth and say it. Just fucking say that I love him.
His gorgeous face is tight, blue eyes searching mine before he breaks the moment by kissing me quickly and stepping back, adjusting his cuffs.
"I'll see you tonight," he says, his smile warm but the word dangles between us, stretching as he backs away until it snaps as he shuts the door.
***
"I can't tell if your unprecedented silence is representative of deep thought or you're simply pouting." Roan eyes me in the rearview mirror.
Danyl looks appalled but keeps quiet. He's still shocked every time Roan behaves like… well, Roan.
"A bit of both, maybe," I shrug. "We have a party to plan, so I will set aside my tedious self-absorption for now."
"It's like hearing myself," he says in a misty way. "So eloquent. I am making an impression on you."
"I am your Mini Me," I smile sweetly as Danyl turns into the clinic's parking lot, trying to ignore us.
The clinic is a beautiful place, an elegant brick Georgian that you'd never guess housed the Morozov's boutique hospital and emergency care.
Crime families can't exactly stroll into the Bellevue ER riddled with bullets or looking to patch up a stab wound.
"I always expected you to find a volunteer position at one of the museums here in New York," Roan says, opening the door for me. "You can't throw a rock without hitting at least two of them."
"So did I, until Ella invited me to stop by the clinic my first week as my role as the bitter and unwilling Liria Morozova," I say quietly.
"Volunteering here has been so surprisingly satisfying.
There's nothing like playing Partita No.
2 on a borrowed violin for a bunch of bed-ridden, grizzled Made Men.
Especially when one of them bursts into tears.
The Mafia guys especially, they crumble like a cheap muffin if I play Tartini's Devil's Trill.”
"I shall leave you to your good works," Roan says dryly, "but I will be trailing you like a loyal hound."
"It sounds so noble when you say it like that," I press my hand to my heart. "I'm deeply moved."
"I live to serve," he says sourly, moving a few steps down the hall.
"You are the new Mrs. Morozova."
The voice is sharp, coming from behind me. I turn to find an older Asian gentleman, who's eyeing me with the sort of suspicion I hold for cartons of milk two days past their "best by," date.
He reeks of a freshly smoked cigarette and a grin spreads across my face. "You must be Choi, Alexsey's physical therapist."
He sniffs. "I prefer wise elder, or spiritual leader."
I think about Alexsey blurting out Choi's name that time during sex and it's a true struggle to keep from bursting into laughter. If I had been worried about some sort of 'competition' from an insanely buff physical therapist. I was disabused of that notion. "How's that going for you?"
"Considerably better in the last few weeks," he says, "which I attribute to you."
"Oh, he's doing all the hard work on his own," I say a bit sadly. It's hard to watch him stagger out of his gym, shaking and exhausted. He's relentlessly working out to strengthen his arms and improve his balance. He's bigger, his muscles harder, but it's never enough for him.
"How do you feel he's doing?" I ask. "In your professional opinion."
Choi shrugs gracefully. He's wearing a black tank top and workout pants and he's in better shape than most of the twenty-year-olds I know.
"He needs the new neural-based prosthetic," he says crossly.
"This is an excellent period to have the surgery.
The odds of success will drop rapidly the longer he waits. "
I lean back against a discarded gurney, biting my lip. "We don't talk about it. I wish he would. What reason is he giving you for why he won't do it?"
It doesn't seem possible that his perpetual expression of deep disappointment with life in general and specifically, with my husband could get worse, but he manages it.
"Alexsey calls it, 'ridiculously optimistic bullshit.
' I worked on the neural research that created this prosthetic and the initial results have been excellent with other patients.
There's strong data behind it." His head tilts as he eyes me curiously.
"You two don't talk about his recovery?"
"It's not that his missing hand is a forbidden subject," I say, "but I wouldn't be the one to bring it up. It's…" I search for the right word. "It's his right to decide what to say and what to do about it, not mine."
"Typical Russian stubbornness," Choi says, his tone radiating disapproval. "Why must the Bratva breed such mulish behavior?"
I look around nervously, hoping there's no one else in the hall to hear him, it seems unnecessarily provocative to criticize a Morozov.
Choi taps his knuckles thoughtfully on the door to the physical therapy room. "His window is closing Mrs. Morozova, that is all I'm saying."
That's when I hear it. A symphony of screeching cars, skidding to a stop by the emergency room doors, which slam open as a flood of wounded soldiers pour in. Choi moves past me with a supernatural grace, catching a soldier who is about to collapse and carrying him to a gurney.
I recognize Tolya, his pristine suit ripped and covered in ash, helping a limp, bloody soldier with a horrendous gash on his leg over to a cot.
Ava races in, giving the man a practiced eye.
"Send him into OR One, prep for surgery.
Contact Dr. Ella." She gestures to Tolya to follow her. "What happened?"
"One of the East Bank warehouses caught fire thirty minutes ago," he says.
"Not C4, they used an incendiary device meant to burn it- and the men inside.
They were shooting at anyone trying to escape when we showed up and killed most of them.
The rest ran, the cowardly fucks. We got everyone out, soldiers and warehouse workers, but the entire inventory is gone. "
Ava nods, snapping on sterile gloves. She spots me. "Liria, get the emergency call list, there's a copy at every nurse's station. I'm going to need all the nurses and orderlies here with me."
"On it," I say. "Who should I call?" The ER lobby is already filled and overflowing into the hall, and there's more to come. There are more cars and trucks piled up outside, white shirted orderlies already moving among them, directing the most injured to be brought in first.
"Call everyone," Ava says crisply, already in doctor mode. "We need them all."
I paw through the papers on the nurse's desk until I find the list, and make the first call as the shouts and groans grow louder and the coppery, rank smell of blood overpowers everything else.