Chapter Thirty-Four
In which nothing kills the mood faster than a creature of the night waiting for you in the back seat of your car.
Iris…
Violet once told me that Roman was completely different when they traveled to Russia. His speech became more formal, he carried himself differently. The lighthearted husband she knew morphed into someone else.
This was backed up immediately by all the sisters-in-law at lunch. The Morozov men went back to their essential Russian roots in some way. I'd asked Violet if it was a little scary that he had changed so quickly, and she laughed.
"Oh no, it was hot as hell." The other girls snickered. "Masterful, authoritative Roman? I could not get enough of him." I remember cringing and begging her not to tell me anything else.
I understand it now. Andrey has always had a lordly air about him.
Seeing him here, though, with some of the older Bratva families, makes me proud.
I see how they hang on to his words. What he says is important.
The power and authority he carries in this group of Bratva billionaires, these oligarchs, is surreal.
He catches me watching him, and gives me a long, speculative glance that lights me on fire almost instantly. I'm trying to subtly rub my thighs together without looking like a panting freak. Thank the lord, the dinner is over soon and we all rise, kissing cheeks, shaking hands.
Oksana Vasiliev, who’s been the sweetest of the daughters, invites me and Caroline to an event she's having at their horse stables.
I'm not sure if she means a ride, or a hunt, or eating sandwiches while looking at horses, but I'm down with anything besides shooting an animal.
Do they use handguns here? Arrows? Poison?
I was never in the rich girl horse crowd at home.
Andrey's hand is cool against my lower back, and he nods politely. "If you'll excuse me, ladies, I must take my wife home."
They all smile, some much less warmly than others, I note with some amusement. I can't blame them, I'd heard from Tania that there was some hope that Andrey, at least, would marry a nice Russian girl with excellent breeding. Much like the horses.
I quickly say goodbye to Caroline before my giant husband has me out the door and away from the group in seconds, our security forming a perimeter around us. "Did you get everything you needed?" I ask. He's walking faster, his arm looped around my waist and almost lifting me off my feet.
"Other issues came up that needed to be prioritized," he says.
"Really?" I ask. "Like what?"
Leaning down, he kisses my cheekbone. "Specifically, my cock. I need to be inside you. Now. Ripping up that tight cunt of yours, feeling you squeeze against me. Do you want my pearls pushing inside you, my filthy girl?"
Verdict: so fucking turned on.
My knees weaken. "That's so dirty," I sigh appreciatively, and he laughs. Sweeping me up in his arms, he strides towards the car. An amused Trofim pretends not to hear our discussion as he opens the back door.
This fun and blurry mood ends like a record scratch as we realize we're not alone in the back seat. I'm startled into a scream before I slap my hand over my mouth. A shadow moves in the far corner, and even Trofim looks shocked. "Boss. I didn't see him here. I didn't-"
"No one ever does," Andrey says, sounding like this is something that happens every day with a Turgenev.
Maybe it does. The man who's finally leaning forward just enough for us to see his face, is that spooky younger one, Vadim Turgenev.
"Go ahead and shut the door," Andrey orders, without taking his eyes off our visitor.
Vadim has unsettlingly pale blue eyes, they seem to glow, but the rest of him is in shadow. Like the undead creature of the night that I'm sure he is, he's wearing black. Large hands casually folded in his lap, as if breaking and entering is just like dropping in for a cup of coffee.
Trofim hesitates for a moment. "Are we heading home then?"
Andrey looks at Vadim, who nods slightly.
I guess it doesn't matter where he goes, since he can probably sprout wings like a bat and fly off.
The silence settles around him like an extra layer, dark and unsettling.
So, when he does open his mouth, I have to grit my teeth to keep from letting out a frightened little eep!
"Cousin," he says, then looks at me. "Iris Morozova. "
"Vadim Turgenev." I nod politely.
"My Dedushka and Otets were concerned about some information we'd heard during our recent surveillance activities." He crosses one leg over the other, his long fingers steepled.
I have no illusion that he's relaxed.
"Would you like a drink?" Andrey asks.
I feel like screaming, "Just tell us!" But this leisurely pace means there's some sort of social etiquette around what? Displaying bloody Bratva secrets? Maybe it's an old-world Russia thing where everything can take forever.
"Da," Vadim says, "Staritsky Levitsky, Private Cellar."
My brow wrinkles. I've heard of this one, it's like 80 Proof.
If he drank that, his breath could set the car on fire.
No way is Andrey going to have a bottle like that just hanging around in his SUV's bar.
My husband opens it, and of course, there's a bottle of it right in front.
He makes a drink and offers it to Vadim, then gently pushes a small glass of wine into my hand, probably to give me something to do.
Andrey's gone full Russian since he's come back to Moscow, so he pours himself a vodka, too. "Please, continue if you would, Vadim."
"We've been following the Naydenov Mob," he says.
"Out of Bulgaria?" Andrey asks with a frown. "The stupid bastards who had that poison gas accident that killed sixty people?"
"That would be them," Vadim nods. "They've been interfering with our mining and explosives contracts. We've bugged up Damyan Naydenov's home and his two bars. The information has been very enlightening. He took a call two days ago from Liu Lìxīn, the head of the Lìxīn Triad."
Andrey is resting his glass on his thigh, listening intently. I stare at my untouched glass of wine. How can he be so calm?
"Liu expressed his rage with Senator Carlisle Sinclair because the senator was not keeping his agreements regarding a data center construction."
"Yes," Andrey nods. "The senator's anxiety is becoming increasingly apparent."
"Darian Technologies holds the contract for the data center build. It is a shell company owned by the Triad. Sinclair's payout is an additional billion dollars. This build will give the Triad complete access to everything that runs through the data center."
"You're saying that Sinclair - even though he's a weasel and a slimebag - is willing to compromise national security if he gets a cheap billion out of it?" I blurt out. "Wow."
Vadim stares at me. I can't breathe. Why did I say anything?
"You would be correct, Iris Morozova. Lìxīn leveraged the Triad's assets heavily to buy their way into this deal.
If it falls through, it would be an enormous loss of face.
He's threatening to unleash hell on earth.
One of the main targets will be you. Sinclair heavily sold the plan with the assurance that you would get this through the court process in record time. "
I want to take Andrey's hand. I don't know if that's considered a weakness in Bratva society, so I carefully press my thigh against his instead, needing the contact. When his leg presses back, I close my eyes in relief.
"This is invaluable news, cousin. Please thank your family. Is there something that we can do for you in return?"
"Not at this time," Vadim says. "We know that you will be there when help is needed."
"Family first. Always," Andrey says. We stop for a red light, I turn for half for a second to look out the window and there's the soft clunk of the door. My head whips back.
It's been one second. I swear, just one second.
Vadim is gone. His empty glass is sitting neatly in the bar sink. I lean over Andrey to look out the window, there's no sign of him.
"Don't lie to me. He's a vampire, isn't he?" I'm searching the empty street. There's no one there.
The divider rolls down slightly and Trofim asks, "Do we continue home, sir?" Even he sounds a little shaken.
"Carry on," Andrey says.
"No, seriously. Did he just turn into a bat? He turned into a bat, didn't he? Did he fly out a crack in the window?"
Andrey puts his hand on my throat and pulls me toward him for a hard kiss. "It is entirely possible that Vadim is supernatural," he admits, his lips tracing over mine. "Remember that his grandfather is the Angel of Death."
"What are you going to do with this information, about Sinclair?" I ask.
He traces my cheek with his thumb, so beautiful, in his remote way. "I'm not sure yet," he says. The smile spreading across his face is not a nice one. "But there are so many options."
***
Dedushka - Russian for grandfather.