Chapter 4
My memory had failed me. Even on the coldest, darkest nights in Russia, when I’d needed the image of her to carry me through God’s frozen version of hell, I hadn’t quite remembered.
Theory was gorgeous, fucking breathtaking.
Even now, with that mean ass scowl, she was so damn pretty.
Her face was made up lightly, her plump lips glossed, a cute little chain bridging her button nose, her septum ring inlaid with pink stones.
Light brown eyes shot daggers at me, but I didn’t even care.
I was just glad to be in her presence. My eyes drifted down to the lush curves of her body.
She’d regained some of the weight I’d seen on her in pictures, and that shit looked good as hell.
Glistening honey-gold skin was displayed in all the areas her little black dress didn’t cover.
Too many areas, I realized as I peeked at her generous cleavage and those thick, body-buttered thighs. She’d worn this for that nigga.
Killing him was back on my mind.
Parting those creamy thighs was on it even more.
If I touched her now, though, she’d probably claw my eyes out.
I’d pushed her boundaries enough tonight, sending Mikhail in when I’d gotten Maxim's last-minute phone call. I was always aware of Theory’s past trauma, never wanting to trigger her.
I’d promised Mikhail that I would purée and flambé everything in his abdomen and his skull if he shook my baby.
Good for him that he’d taken me seriously.
“The fuck you mean, you know what I’ve been up to?” she demanded.
“Too pretty for that language, milaya. And I mean just what I said, Theory. My absence didn’t mean the total lack of my presence.”
She scoffed. “Oh, okay. So, now you on some mystical, philosophical stuff? I got one Epiphany in my life. I don’t need you.”
I smiled at the mention of her mysterious little sister. I guess I did sound like her.
“You do need me, baby. You just don’t know it yet,” I countered.
She angled her body on the soft leather so that she faced me. I knew she thought she was about to spit some significant shit. I gazed back at her, appreciating the view as I waited on her important announcement.
“I do not need, nor do I want, a mothafuckin’ thing from you, Targen Jones. Sidorov. Whoever the hell you supposed to be now. Take me home, and we never have to see each other again,” she said coolly.
I waited a minute, glanced at my phone at a text from my mother, looked through the shaded partition to see Vlad and Mikhail waiting silently at this red light.
I let her sit until she was practically squirming in her seat, wanting me to respond so she could argue, fight me verbally for the hurt I had caused her.
The hurt that I planned to more than make up for.
“Well?” she finally snapped. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, shorty, I heard you. You saying a whole lot of nothing. You forget that you already told me what you really want. The independent career, the marriage, the babies. I’m about to make all that possible,” I said, my voice as calm as hers had been a minute ago.
Her eyes narrowed on me, and her next words were venom-laced. “You think I’d have marriage and babies with you?”
The corner of my mouth lifted in a dry smile. “You will.”
This time, she was silent, and I could almost see her mind working as the city’s lights illuminated her face through the window. Still, I wasn’t expecting what she said.
“I will fight you every step of the way before I let you do what that bastard did to me.”
My control snapped at the comparison to the ex who had viciously assaulted her.
I was out of my seatbelt and across the seat before she could blink.
And still I had to proceed carefully, respect her limits, because I didn’t want her terrified of me.
Even now, her body had stilled, frozen in place as those big eyes studied me warily.
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to shake her, make her see me, the man she had given herself to.
The man she would gift herself to again.
“You think I’m like that nigga, milaya? Huh?” I demanded.
She watched me, stubborn, quiet. The only sound emitting from her was her suddenly harsh breathing. I stared as pearly white teeth sank into her bottom lip, jealous that I couldn’t do the same thing. Damn, I missed the taste of her.
“Answer me, Theory. You think I would hurt you like he did?”
She swallowed and closed her eyes. Her breath escaped on a soft sigh, her arms suddenly crossing over her midsection.
“I know you would hurt me.”
It was a simultaneous evasion and admission. Her voice sounded rusty, bruised as she said it. Guilt flooded me, and I reached toward her, stopping only when she flinched. That shit hurt me.
“Milaya moya…”
Theory shook her head. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your anything, Targen. I never was. Please move.”
I didn’t want to. Fuck, I didn’t want to.
But I had probably pushed as much as I could in this moment.
Slowly, I slid back across the seat. I watched as she pressed a button, lowering the center console, like a barrier between us.
I smirked at the petty action. She could put up all the barriers she wanted. I was knocking them all down.
A little bit south of the Houston sprawl, the Sidorov compound sat on dozens of beautiful, wooded, electronically fenced acres.
The rest of our ride there was silent except for the old school R no way my baby was comfortable, her body rigid and twisted in that seat as she faced the window, refusing to acknowledge me.
Beyond feeling bad for her discomfort, I wasn’t worried by that shit.
There was no doubt in my mind I was going to win Theory back.
We were meant to be together. That was it.
A mile off the state highway, the view of my father Sergei’s big house greeted us.
Maxim had a house here, too, and as gift for surviving Siberia, they’d built one for me.
I had yet to see it except in pictures, but my mom had helped design it, so the shit was dope.
My old man had spared no expense. It would be a good home base until we figured out where we wanted to spend most of our time.
I felt like Theory would love it, once she allowed herself to.
The security was unmatched, important for a former pakhan—Russian mafia cell leader—and the sons he hadn’t planned to have.
Vlad drove a little further before easing onto the circular, stone driveway of a three-story house with a cream stone exterior.
I frowned, recognizing that this was not my house.
I tapped the partition, impatient to get home alone with my reluctant bride.
The bulletproof glass lowered slowly, and I palmed the Desert Eagle I always kept near me, in case either of these fuck non-niggas wanted to be liberated of his brain tonight.
“Why are we stopping? Explain quick, cuz my trigger finger itching like a mothafucka,” I ordered.
“My apologies, Mr. Sidorov. The pa—” Vlad stopped as he looked at Theory in the rear view. “Your brother wants to see you,” he finished.
Mikhail turned, looking first at my gun then at Theory. “See, Miss? Borscht.”
I watched as a ghost of a smile danced around her lips. I didn’t like that shit. At all.
“It’s Mrs. Sidorov,” I began, but of course, she chose this moment to speak.
“It is not Mrs. Sidorov,” she protested.
“And it could still happen,” I warned him, ignoring Theory’s outburst. He threw up both hands like he was surrendering. “Don’t open her fucking door, either. I got it. Let this shit back up and get out.”
No way was I leaving her in the car with them. I watched as they climbed out, then I dialed Maxim.
“Privet, brat,” he greeted.
“You rang?” I skipped the greeting.
“Yes.”
That one-word answer was just like his imperial ass. Maxim was used to being the boss, answering to no one. I hated that shit, even as I respected it.
“And you couldn’t have called back to let me know?”
“I thought that you would be in the middle of a more important conversation.”
He had me there. I blew out an exasperated breath as I got out. “Here we come. I’m sure she’s tired. Make this shit quick.”
“I will not,” he said, then hung up.
Yeah, soon as I got this nigga by himself, I was laying that ass out.
The need for a united front and the reverence for Bratva hierarchy meant I couldn’t do it with all these men around, but his un-faded days were numbered.
Walking around, I opened Theory’s door. She surprised me by getting out without a word, her eyes circling my brother’s impressive landscaping.
I grabbed her hand, but she immediately pulled it out of my grip.
I let her have that, gesturing for her to walk toward the front door.
She jumped when it opened before we could ring the bell.
“Zdravstvuyte, Gospodin Sidorov,” the butler greeted me with a slight bow. “Hello, Mrs. Sidorov.”
“That has got to stop immediately,” Theory said.
I shrugged. “Get used to it.”
I spoke to the butler, Andrei, appreciating his switch to English. I didn’t want her uncomfortable, although she was bound to pick up some basic Russian here, with everyone speaking it like they were parlaying in the old country.
“I am Andrei, Miss. Mr. Sidorov, your brother is waiting for you in his office. I will show your wife to your rooms,” he explained.
“I am not his—”
I waved my hand, cutting Theory off. I’d entertain her complaints later.
“Hold up. We ain’t staying here. I just stopped to see what he wanted,” I protested.
He nodded. “Yes, I understand. I would never be so presumptuous as to pretend that I know what is on Mr. Maxim’s mind.
However, I am aware that there was some issue with your new home.
He will want to discuss it with you further.
In the meantime, he has had us make rooms available for you for a short stay here. ”
“We’ll see,” I groused.
“Please, follow me,” Andrei directed.
We had barely stepped out of the foyer into the massive living room when my father appeared. Walking up to me, he wrapped his arms around me so tightly, I figured that he thought I was about to disappear again. This was only my second time seeing him in the weeks that I’d been back.
“Moy malysh mal'chik,” he murmured, patting both my cheeks.
This man calling my six-seven, formerly-two-hundred-fifty-pound ass his “baby boy” was beyond ridiculous, but I let him have it.
“’Sup, Serge?” I popped off.
“Targen,” he growled.
“Chill, old man.” I grinned. “I like fucking with you.”
He turned his silvery eyes to Theory, studying her for a moment before he nodded approvingly.
“You secured your woman. Good. I will call the priest for later this week—”
“Excuse me. Unless your priest does last rites, which your son will no doubt need by the end of the week, ain’t no use in you calling him,” Theory interrupted.
The men around us went stiller than they had been.
Shocked, I knew. No one talked to their former boss like that, especially about one of his sons.
But hell, she was mine, and I was gon’ stick beside her.
This time, I didn’t let her pull away as I grabbed her hand and damn near yanked her against my side, even though my father had a full-fledged smile.
“Umm… yeah. Pops, this is Theory. Theory, this is my father, Sergei Alexeyevich Sidorov,” I introduced.
“She is a beauty like your mother, with a very similar mouth,” he said, extending his hand and kissing the back of hers when she reluctantly grasped his. “I will pray for you… with the priest I will still call.”
He winked at Theory before beckoning Andrei closer.
“Show my daughter-in-law to her room. Bring her anything she desires,” he directed.
“Ay, Dre. I’m trusting you with my golden one, moya zolotse. Don’t make me come looking for you like a thief in the night,” I threatened.
Andrei nodded once. “Of course, Mr. Sidorov.”
“Targen,” Theory whispered.
I interrupted her, unwilling to hear the protests I knew were coming. “I promise I’ll hear you out later. Right now, I need you to just go.”
“But I—”
“Please, milaya. I’ll explain everything in a little while.”
And then because I couldn’t help it anymore, I kissed her right on the delicate little nose chain.
She wrinkled her nose and stared up at me for a moment before finally nodding.
I watched as she hesitantly followed Andrei.
See, that little act of faith, of trust, was why I knew I was going to get my girl back. I glanced at my pops.
“What his ass want?”
He shrugged. “A few things.”
We walked to Maxim’s office at the back of the house, a half-story lower than the hill-mounted ground floor.
He stood when we came in, flanked by his closest advisor, Artyom, and his personal guard, Lev.
“The beautiful Theory did not kick your sorry ass?”
Even being funny, my brother kept a straight face. My shoulders hunched.
“Yeah, well, I ain’t been alone with her yet. She promised to do it.”
“Once you explain that you are only trying to keep her safe, the best way we know—” he started.
“Shiii, she gon’ still be mad. Obviously, you know nothing about black women,” I chuckled.
“Obviously, you know nothing about me,” he shot back.
Blank gray eyes met mine. We shared Sergei’s eye color, but where mine were shaped like our pops’, Maxim’s had almost an East Asian tilt. His mother had died long before I was born, and I’d never seen a picture of her.
“Why am I here?” I changed the subject.
“Gas leak at your home and an issue with the safe room. It should all be fixed within a week,” he abruptly informed me.
But I knew there was something else. I could feel it. I waited, refusing to push. He’d summoned me, hell.
“We will also make a trip to the warehouse. There is business to handle.”
My head snapped back. “Tonight? I—”
“Not the Mississippi business. I told you to take some time after your return. This is other business. You will see how we deal with traitors,” Maxim explained. “We will leave shortly.”
After more than ten months training in Siberia, I felt like I could deal with anything, shit. But I wanted to watch the Sidorov Bratva in action, figure out my place as the main enforcer and brother to the king.
Thinking of the woman upstairs, though, I hoped the way we dealt with traitors was quick. I missed her already.