20. Harper #4
“It’s okay,” Yel says, coming to stand next to me.
“This is Pavel. My husband insists I have a bodyguard. I’m used to it because before I married him, my dad was the same way.
” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You get used to it, and if it helps them to not worry, then why not agree to such a small thing?”
She’s right, and it would be dangerous for her to go out alone, so instead of arguing, I watch as Watson throws caution to the wind and hops in without a care in the world.
I make a mental note to talk with him later about the very real dangers of dognapping before I follow him into the backseat.
Yel climbs in after us, sitting next to me while the bodyguard shuts the door and gets in the passenger seat.
The windows are tinted, and the interior is nice and cool.
I sink into the leather seat, more and more convinced that I could get used to this life, especially since our lives would look different.
Ev lives on the outskirts of all this. No one knows he’s a part of this family, so if we were together, it wouldn’t look like bulletproof SUVs and bodyguards following us everywhere.
The irony is that the future I’m already building in my mind would’ve been obliterated had I opened my mouth in Arthur’s office.
The life I want with him hinges on me keeping quiet about who he really is.
Even if by some miracle he still wanted me after I outed him, the secret would be out and our lives would be forever changed by it.
If we wanted to be together, it would have to be while on the run or with new identities in some far-off country I’ve probably never heard of.
We’d both have to give up everything. I can’t believe I almost let that happen.
I spend the rest of the drive mentally berating myself for not realizing all this a week ago.
We could’ve had this all hashed out, and instead I walked out and left a giant mess that I hope I can clean up.
I’m terrified I’m going to walk in there and see irritation in his eyes instead of relief at seeing me.
When our driver pulls into an underground garage, I start to have serious doubts about this plan.
“What if this is a mistake?” I whisper to Yel.
“The only mistake would be not doing it,” she says, and I latch onto her confidence, because I desperately need it.
After we’ve parked, Watson and I follow Yel and Pavel into the private elevator. I try not to look like a fish out of water at the wealth I’m surrounded by as we make our ascent to the penthouse floor.
“Sasha was just released,” Yel says, explaining things to me. “Everyone decided to meet at his parents’ so we could see him. His wife went with Ev so they could pick him up.”
“Ev isn’t here?” I ask, turning to give her a panicked look.
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “He’ll be here any second.”
The elevator stops before I can say anything else, opening straight into the penthouse suite.
I follow the others out with Watson at my side, and the first thing I notice is a hall filled with family photos.
They aren’t the stuffy kind either where it looks like everyone was forced at gunpoint to stand next to each other and smile.
These are candid shots of their lives, real moments caught on camera, and there’s so much love in them that it’s impossible to deny the truth that’s literally staring me in the face.
Ev was telling me the truth. Maybe not every detail, but it was still the truth.
I study the closest photo. It’s a man with tattoos and facial piercings standing with a much smaller woman, and he’s looking at her like she’s the most important thing in his life.
“That’s my Uncle Lev and Aunt Jolene,” Yel says. “They’re Sasha’s parents.”
She leads me down the hall, pointing out all the family members, and when she gets to several photos at the end, she grins and points at them. “This is all the cousins. That’s me and Val.”
I grin when I see the two of them, part of the group but also a little bit separate.
I’m guessing they’ve been in love since birth.
She names off the others before stopping on a face that’s painfully familiar.
It’s the man I love but much younger, before he decided to cut himself off and try to save them from all potential legal problems that might arise as they got older.
I wouldn’t say he looks carefree, he’s naturally too intense for that, but he looks happy.
He’s surrounded by his cousins with an easygoing smile on his face, and it makes me miss him even more, because I’ve seen that smile before.
He gets the same one on his face anytime I make him laugh or when Watson comes up and nudges his hand for affection.
I’ve seen glimpses of this side of him all month, the real parts of himself slowly shining through as we spent our days and nights together.
“Come on,” Yel says, gently nudging my arm. “It’s time you meet the rest of us.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting when I turn the corner, but the roomful of happy, normal-looking people isn’t it.
I pictured suits and dominating men who cut you down with a single look and women who live in constant fear of angering those men, but instead there are kids running around all over the place, women smiling and laughing, and men who, yeah, may have a lot of tattoos, but instead of acting like something out of a movie, they’re laughing right along with the kids, some of them even giving chase so the kids will give a happy squeal as they try to evade capture.
Even after the wall of sweet family photos, it’s impossible to immediately shed all my fears and worries.
When nothing bad happens, I let out a relieved breath, realizing in that moment how stupid I was to get in the SUV with Yel and allow myself to be brought here.
If they’d wanted to take me out and ensure I could never be a threat to them, well, I just made myself one hell of an easy target.
Assuming my instinct was right and that Yel was telling the truth and she really is as sweet as she seems, I still take comfort in the fact that they probably don’t plan to kill me if there are kids around.
When everyone realizes I’m here, the adults come to a halt. The kids keep running, oblivious to what’s going on, and it’s a thousand times more awkward because of it.
“Please tell me you didn’t promise her an exclusive interview,” a man near the kitchen says. His voice is deep, Russian accent thick, but the glint in his eyes is more mischievous than dangerous.
“Of course not, Uncle Vitaly,” Yel says from beside me.
“Good,” he says. “Unless you want to write a piece about my ice cream shop. Then I’ll give you a quote, but you have to change my name.”
“What ice cream shop?” I ask, unable to completely quiet my inner journalist.
“Get the Scoop,” he says with a laugh. He turns to look at the men around him. “Kind of funny how that came full circle, isn’t it? Very serendipitous.”
The man I recognize as Lev laughs and looks over at an older blonde woman who’s just wrapped her arms around two twin boys so she can kiss their heads. “Katya? Did you just teach him a new word?”
“Very funny,” Vitaly says. “And yes, she did. I’m kind of impressed with myself that I was able to throw it into conversation so quickly.”
I can’t help but laugh at their joking, and I also can’t believe that one of the best ice cream places in the city is owned by the fucking Bratva. It’s brilliant, actually. What an easy way to make a shit ton of money legally.
Yel’s husband walks over, giving her a kiss before turning his attention to me. “Nice to meet you, Harper. I’m Val.”