Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
ANDREI
The Italian restaurant buzzed with lunchtime chatter, but I barely registered the sounds around me. Every muscle in my body remained coiled tight as I scanned faces, tracked movements, catalogued exits.
Old habits.
The ones that had kept me alive in Russia.
Lottie sat to my right, her hand resting on my thigh beneath the table—grounding me, even as my attention divided between her and the surrounding environment. Kaleb sat across from her, Colby beside him, both engaged in animated discussion about the menu.
But I couldn't relax. Not completely.
Not when Patrice was free.
My gaze swept the restaurant again. A couple near the kitchen door. Business lunch, judging by their tablet and scattered papers. An older man at the bar, nursing what looked like scotch. Alone.
Then I spotted them.
Two men. Mid-thirties. Suits that didn't quite fit properly—off the rack, trying to look professional but failing. They sat three tables away, too focused on our group. One kept glancing at his phone, typing rapidly.
The other watched Lottie.
My hand tightened on my water glass.
"Andrei?" Lottie's voice pulled at me, soft and concerned. "You okay?"
I forced my attention back to her, painting on a smile that felt wrong. "Fine, kroshka."
But I wasn't fine. Every instinct I'd honed over years of surviving in the Bratva screamed danger.
The waiter approached—young, nervous, too eager. He set our drinks down with shaking hands, stumbling over his words as he explained the specials.
Something was wrong.
I watched as he moved away from our table, heading straight for the two men I'd been tracking. They spoke in low voices. The waiter nodded, glancing back at us before disappearing into the kitchen.
When he returned, he carried fresh drinks for our table.
Drinks we hadn't ordered.
"Compliments of the house," he stammered, setting down four glasses of wine. "Our manager wanted to apologize for the wait."
What wait? We'd been seated immediately.
"We didn't order these," Kaleb said, his tone pleasant but firm.
"I know, sir, but—"
I stood abruptly, my chair scraping back. Lottie's hand shot out to grab my wrist.
"Andrei, what's wrong?" Her eyes were wide, confused.
"Don't drink that," I said quietly, my gaze locked on the two men who'd suddenly become very interested in their phones. "Any of it."
"What?" Colby looked between me and the glasses. "Why not?"
Before I could explain, the waiter reappeared—but this time his hands were empty and his expression had shifted. Gone was the nervous eagerness. Now he looked calculating.
He moved toward our table with purpose.
I stepped between him and Lottie in one fluid movement.
"Stay back," I growled, my accent thickening.
The entire restaurant seemed to still. The waiter froze, his eyes widening as he registered the threat in my posture.
"I was just—the manager wanted—"
"The manager didn't send those drinks," I said flatly. "They did." I jerked my head toward the two men, who were now rising from their table.
Kaleb was on his feet instantly, understanding flooding his features. "Lottie, come here."
But our girl stayed rooted in place, her eyes darting between me and the approaching men. "Andrei?"
"Kroshka, I need you to move. Now." I kept my voice low, controlled, even as adrenaline flooded my system. Years of training kicked in—assess threats, protect assets, prepare for engagement.
Lottie was my most precious asset.
The two men were almost at our table when a figure materialized from the shadows near the kitchen entrance.
Mikhail.
Fucking perfect timing.
My cousin's best friend moved with deadly precision, intercepting the first man with a grip on his shoulder that made the threat stumble. The second man's hand went to his jacket—reaching for a weapon.
Before he could draw it, Mikhail had him spun around, arm wrenched behind his back in a hold I recognized from our training days.
"I wouldn't," Mikhail said quietly in Russian, his voice a low rumble that carried threat despite its volume.
The restaurant erupted into chaos—screams, chairs toppling as patrons scrambled for exits.
"Get her out," I barked at Colby, who was already moving.
He grabbed Lottie, lifting her from her chair despite her protests.
"No! Andrei—what's happening—you could get hurt—"
Tears streamed down her face as Colby half-carried her toward the exit. Kaleb moved to follow, but I grabbed his arm.
"Make sure she's safe. Take her home. Now."
"Andrei—"
"Now, Kaleb." I met his eyes, letting him see the absolute resolve there. "I'll handle this."
He hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding and turning to sprint after Colby and Lottie.
The waiter had backed against the wall, hands raised. "I didn't know—they paid me—"
"Shut up," I snapped, advancing on him. "Who sent the drinks?"
"I don't—"
My hand slammed against the wall beside his head, making him flinch. "Wrong answer. Try again."
"A woman! Some blonde woman came in earlier, said to wait for four people matching your description, said she'd pay me a thousand dollars to spike your drinks with the stuff she left—"
"Where?" I demanded.
"Behind the bar—please, I didn't know it was anything serious, I thought it was just a prank—"
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Someone had called the police.
Mikhail appeared at my shoulder, the two men now secured with zip ties and sitting on the floor. "We need to leave before authorities arrive," he said in Russian. "You can't be connected to this."
He was right. Questions about my past, about my connections—none of that could surface. Not now.
"The woman who approached the waiter," I said, switching to Russian. "Blonde. Middle-aged. Expensive clothes."
"Patrice," Mikhail confirmed. What he'd been told to watch for.
My hands clenched into fists. She'd tried to poison us. Actually poison us.
"Go," Mikhail urged. "I'll handle cleanup. Tell Sergei I'll report in later."
I didn't need to be told twice. I turned and strode toward the exit, my mind already racing ahead to home. To Lottie. To making sure she was safe and unharmed and—
My phone buzzed. Kaleb.
Kaleb: She's crying. Won't stop. Asking about you. Please tell me you're okay.
My throat tightened as I climbed into the waiting car Oscar had circling the block.
Me: On my way. Five minutes.
I stared out the window as Portland streets blurred past, my reflection ghosting in the glass. Lottie's face swam in my mind—those stormy eyes wide with fear, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as Colby carried her away.
She'd begged me not to get hurt.
Begged.
Our brave girl who'd faced down David's knife and Viktor's threats—she'd been terrified for me.
The car couldn't move fast enough.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, I was out before Oscar fully stopped, taking the front steps two at a time. The door flew open under my hand.
"Kroshka!" I called out.
"Andrei!" Her voice came from upstairs, choked with tears.
I found her in our bedroom, wrapped in Kaleb's arms as Colby sat beside them. All three turned as I entered.
Lottie launched herself at me, nearly knocking me backward as she threw her arms around my neck. Her legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, and I caught her, holding her tight as her body shook with sobs.
"I've got you," I murmured into her hair. "I'm here. I'm safe."
"You could have been hurt," she gasped against my neck. "Those men—what if they'd had guns—what if—"
"Shh." I carried her to the bed, sinking down with her still clinging to me like a lifeline. "I'm fine. We're all fine."
Kaleb's hand settled on my shoulder, squeezing. "Mikhail?"
"Handled it," I confirmed. "Police have the men. The waiter talked. Patrice paid him to spike our drinks."
Colby cursed under his breath. "She actually tried to—Jesus fucking Christ."
"What was in them?" Kaleb's voice was deadly calm, the kind of calm that preceded violence.
"Don't know yet. Mikhail secured the evidence before authorities arrived. We'll have it tested."
Lottie pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. "She tried to hurt you. All of you."
"She tried," I agreed, wiping the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. "But she failed. Thanks to you."
Her brow furrowed. "What? I didn't—"
"You grabbed my wrist when I stood," I said. "Made enough noise that the men watching us hesitated. Gave Mikhail the opening he needed."
She shook her head. "I was just scared."
"And your fear saved us." I pressed my forehead to hers. "Never apologize for caring about our safety, kroshka. It's what makes you perfect for us."
Fresh tears welled in her eyes, but Kaleb spoke before they could fall.
"Marshall has already gotten the DA to file new charges," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "Attempted poisoning. Conspiracy. This should be enough to keep her locked up until trial."
"And after?" Lottie whispered.
I met Kaleb's eyes over her head. We both knew the answer.
Patrice had declared war.
And we would do whatever necessary to end it.
"After," I said carefully, "we make sure she can never hurt anyone again."
Lottie nodded against my chest, her tears finally slowing. Colby moved closer, his hand settling on her back as the four of us held each other.
Outside, sirens wailed in the distance. Evidence would be processed. Charges would be filed. The machinery of justice would grind forward.
But here, in this moment, all that mattered was us.
Safe. Together. Unbroken.
And that was everything.