10. Elijah
Elijah
“ I t’s fucking cold out here,” Roma complains, sinking further into the wire chair.
This is my favorite spot, my apartment’s large flat terrace that overlooks the street. It’s nicer in the summer when the raised flower beds bloom.
“Nobody forced you out here,” I remind him, pacing the length of the patio.
His hands dig into his coat pockets, clearly annoyed I won’t go inside.
The youngest Zimin brother showed up not too long ago. He has this annoying habit of popping in like the nosy busybody he is.
I’m not sure why he came over the morning after Leonora appeared. I love my brother but this is not the time for moping. Important things are happening.
“It’s ten in the morning—”his collar muffles the words—“and you’re smoking a cigar.”
“So?” I release a puff.
“So, why are you plotting world domination?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” I tilt my head up, relishing the cold air. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Because Russ wants to see Albert.”
“Russ?” He’s the only other human out here.
“We’re going to brunch at that new place around the corner,” he explains. “We decided to meet here so she could pet the dog.”
“Maybe I wanted to go to brunch.”
“Do you want to go to brunch?”
Fuck. Roma’s even more morose than normal.
I lower the cigar, pacing to and fro. “No. Like you said. World domination must occur.”
His thick brows furrow. They’re the only feature visible, he’s so bundled up. “What’s happened in the twenty-four hours since I’ve seen you last?”
I inhale. “Leopold Stuart.”
“Who?”
“Leopold Stuart,” I enunciate again. I’ve said the bastard’s name over and over again, rolling the name around. “He’s my mortal enemy.”
“I thought your mortal enemy was currently in Oxford?”
“My newest mortal enemy,” I correct.
“You mean your latest.”
It’s the way of the world. If you don’t have a new enemy then you’re not worthy of your station.
“What’s this one done?” Roma asks.
What’s he not done? The moment Leonora left, I got down to business. First I called Uncle Dima and informed him the Stuarts were no longer playing nice.
“The Stuarts?” he sighed. “The posh pricks?”
“The one and only.”
I didn’t have to see him to know his disbelief. He’s never not followed up on a threat, though. It’s why he’s so damn good at his job. “Where’s this intel from?”
“A credible source.”
“Elijah.”
“Uncle.” He cursed under his breath and hung up, allowing me to move forward in my research.
Leopold Stuart is a prime example of a British twat. Though, technically he’s like me, a dual citizen of the UK and US. Born and raised here, he appears to travel back to his family’s stronghold every chance he gets.
Digging into his social media, there’s nothing indicating he likes scaring young women. But I know all about looks being deceiving.
Let’s see how he likes being on the receiving end.
“Did you hear Nat’s pregnant?”
The question pulls me from my reverie. “What?”
I dig my phone out of my pocket.
Elijah: Why didn’t you tell me you’re going to be an aunt?
She leaves me on read, something she’s annoyingly apt to do.
A year ago she texted me, taking me by surprise. In response I began to text her every so often, enjoying the game of will she or won’t she text back. It’s one of the best, and most aggravating, games I’ve ever played.
“Nat’s pregnant,” Roma repeats.
“She’s a lesbian.”
“Lesbians can in fact get pregnant.”
I set the cigar on an ashtray and head for the door. Albert and Roma rush to follow. I don’t care if my brother gets frostbite, though. There’s an alert that someone’s at the door.
“Hi.” Russet pushes past me, wrapping her arms around the dog.
“Where’s Sailor?” I ask.
“It’s cold out,” Roma says with a glare.
“So?” Since when do people get so fussy about the weather?
“Max is taking care of her.” Russet smushes her face against Albert.
“You two only came for the dog and didn’t bother to bring my niece along.”
“You know you’re welcome to come to brunch.” Russet’s smile brightens her face. Despite the tired, blue bruises under her eyes, she’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her.
I don’t doubt she has her moments. This is the same woman that put a bullet in the people who pimped her best friend out. But she’s a Zimin now. Her chaos is ours.
“Come on, let’s go.” Roma heads for the door.
“Do you want to?” she asks.
“He doesn’t care about pancakes,” Roma calls over his shoulder. “He’s plotting.”
Hazel eyes narrow on me. “Plotting?”
I press a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t worry. I think you’ll be rather proud of me.”
She’s wise enough to stay silent but shoots me a mocking look.
She certainly fits in with the Zimin’s.
“I’m helping a damsel in distress.”
She laughs as she heads to the door. “I think that’s what you told yourself when you used to show up with pizza on my doorstep.”
“The pizza you inhaled every week?”
Russet shakes her head as she shuts the door. “Let us know when you need help from the damsel.”
Leopold Stuart, like the pompous ass he is, is currently staying in some swanky hotel.
I’m at the bar next to a man named Ivan. I don’t believe in friendships, but Ivan is my most loyal guard and the man I’ll be posting on Leonora. Therefore, he is the closest thing to a friend I have.
He’s a similar age and a man of few words. I gave him the name Leopold Stuart and he conducted his own intel.
We’re now in this insufferably stuffy bar, seemingly unconcerned with those around us. This is one of my favorite parts of the game. There’s no need to track Leopold down. Chance and coincidence will bring him into my sphere and he won’t realize it’s because I want him here.
I’ve thought out all the different plays and settled on this one:
Leonora is just the type to go out to dinner with an old friend thinking nothing of it.
I’ll ignore the fact that she wore a dress and did her hair for this tosser and stick to the belief she wanted to catch up with a college friend.
Despite being frightened, she wouldn’t want to worry me.
Men who go after the things that are mine tend to disappear and worse, Leonora tends to internalize her pain and feelings.
So I’m sitting at this bar, pretending not to know this Leopold, just like I’m pretending not to know that he tried to hurt my Leonora last night.
Ivan nods at the large mirror spanning the wall behind the bar. Leopold sits in a chair, near the fireplace, reading the news. He fits in with the furniture and the staff remain polite but swerve around him. They’d rather deal with anyone else and I don’t blame them.
Since the paper blocks his face he didn’t see us come in. We patiently wait.
He lowers the paper, his face blank, and casts an eye around the place. This is not a mask of boredom like the one I often put on. This is his real face. It’s unfeeling, uncaring. Not a muscle on his face ticks. He’d come across as dull, if not for the sharp eyes scanning across the room.
He spots me.
Or rather the back of my head. Ivan and I sit at the bar, facing away from him.
“This is the guy?” Ivan asks. He’s soft-spoken and his polite, clipped tone cover the killer instincts I require in all my close acquaintances.
“This is the guy,” I confirm.
He frowns and runs a hand through his blonde hair. “This is the guy she went out with last night?”
I smile, but my teeth grind together.
Ivan flashes a smirk. The irritating bastard. “She clearly has no taste.”
“That’s my woman,” I warn.
“She clearly has no taste,” he says into his drink.
Before he can say anything else, Leopold stands from his wingback chair, folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm. During my time at Oxford, I saw less stuffy men.
He ambles over to the bar and I prepare myself. I vowed to myself, I wouldn’t go to him, but he’s welcome to pick up a conversation all he wants. And I know he wants to speak to a Zimin. We’re irresistible.
“Another whiskey, thanks.” Leopold nods to the bartender. “This place is going downhill, if they let you in here.”
Ivan pauses, mid-drink, his eyes slicing over to Leopold.
I lean forward, cocking my head at the man.
Leopold leans into the bar, glancing at the sports replay on the TV screen. “Elijah Zimin, correct?”
“The very one.” I smile politely. “I’m sorry, you are?”
Leopold’s lips twitch. He doesn’t allow a frown, catching himself in time. “Leopold Stuart. We met actually, at a lecture at Oxford.”
I remain polite but uncaring. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. What did you say you’re name was again?”
He blinks. “Leopold Stuart.”
I nod slowly. “Oh, I think I have heard the name.”
This pleases Leopold but I don’t let the satisfaction linger.
“You went out with my girlfriend last night. Leonora.” I hate the term girlfriend.
It sounds too juvenile. It’s not permanent enough.
But if Leonora was my wife, every bastard in the city would already know it.
So with a patience I’m not feeling, I smile wider, pretending to be the doting boyfriend of the most beautiful woman in the city.
“Leonora,” Leopold echoes. He glances at Ivan who openly stares back while eating trail mix. “I’d heard the Akatovs were friendly with the Zimins. I remained unaware any were dating, though. Lennie certainly didn’t mention it last night.
I shrug. “She’s private. She told me you two caught up before she met up with Ren. I assume she told you about her friend Ren. I’m sorry if she ran off. Girl’s night often takes precedence.”
A smug grin spreads across his face. “Girl’s night.”
There’s a twinkle in the bastard’s eye.
I cock my head. “You didn’t think she wore that dress for you last night, did you?”
Would she ever dare wear something like that for another man if we were together? No. But I’ll put up with the idea to play this little game.
Leopold is checked by my reaction. A bored, blank mask wipes away the smirk.
He might’ve stepped over here, trying to worm his way into an introduction but he’s found something else.
An obstacle in his path. He can turn around and walk away but something tells me he’ll continue to fight for Leonora.
I already understand the man. He wants to catch and own Leonora Akatov. He thinks having her by his side will help him own this city.
I struggle to remain calm. Neutral. I do not appreciate it when Leonora arrives at my door shaking and upset. I’d rather stuff this wanker in the back of a car and call it a day, but Leonora’s morals stop me.
Ivan clears his throat, checking his watch. He mutters a few things in Russian, Leopold’s eyes flicking to the man.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell him. “But I’m being reminded I have dinner plans.”
Ivan stands up, smiling ruefully. “Ms. Akatov does not like it when I don’t get him home on time.”
The glazed expression hardens. I smirk goodbye, all the while knowing I should’ve gone with Plan A. Because Leopold Stuart doesn’t find me frightening like most level-headed people do. He sees a challenge and I’ll be damned if he comes out of this on the other side living.