Chapter 27 Laszlo
Laszlo
Ihold Viktor’s gaze over Galina’s head and understand exactly what he is saying.
Not now. Not here. Fix this first.
Baron understands it too, because his expression turns from murderous to strategic in the space of a breath. He turns and shrugs out of his coat as he goes back down the stairs, placing his coat over Leonid’s tray without looking at him.
“Study,” he says. “Now.”
“No,” Galina says at once.
Every male head turns towards her.
She lowers the brandy glass and looks between me, her father, and Baron with a fury I respect far too much for my own peace. “You are not all disappearing into a room while I stand out here and get told to wait.”
Baron glares at her before carrying on with his descent. “No one said you had to wait here.”
I raise an eyebrow at her shocked expression. She adjusts quickly. That’s one of the things I’m starting to admire most about my wife. She gets hit with a shifting rule and adapts before most people have even realised the ground moved.
We head downstairs together. I keep Galina in front of me.
Viktor’s men take up station in the hall.
Baron is already in the study when we enter, standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out into the darkness as if he can personally glare the shooter back into existence.
Or worse. Get him to take a shot at the Voronov pakhan.
Viktor walks in after us and shuts the door. The air changes at once. Three dangerous men in one room, and only one of us is trying very hard not to tear the walls apart with his bare hands.
Galina moves straight to one of the chairs and sits without asking. It’s better than standing in the middle of the room while everyone circles her like she’s the subject rather than a participant. I stay behind her for a second, then move to the side of the desk.
Baron turns, taking control in my office like it’s his. “Start from the beginning.”
“It was Petyr,” I say. “He got inside after Leonid left. He made a noise he knew would draw me towards it. As soon as I was at the bedroom door, the shot was fired. Galina rolled off the other side of the bed as another shot hit the mattress, following her. The shooter had a line of sight from the neighbouring property. Opposite angle to our room. Not rooftop. Probably a first or second floor window. No forced entry anywhere downstairs. Alarm was disarmed from inside the house. Petyr denied nothing worth hearing. I put him down.” Viktor’s face does not change. Baron’s jaw tightens once.
“He also said that this doesn’t end with his death and that she is marked. Which means—”
“Whoever he paid will keep coming until the job is done.”
“Precisely.”
“And you are sure it’s him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Viktor asks. “Why did he take it upon himself to put a hit out on my daughter?”
“Because I broke his arm in front of my men after he put his hands on her,” I say. “And because small men with wounded pride rarely go after the man who humiliated them, if there’s a woman nearby they can use instead.”
Viktor’s gaze cuts to Galina, then back to me. It hardens by a fraction. “He touched her?”
“He threw his arm out to stop me from getting to an unchecked package,” Galina says.
“Roughly,” I growl. “He hurt her.”
“You broke one arm,” Viktor says, voice low. “You should have broken both.”
“I should’ve put a bullet in his head then.”
Viktor huffs and sits down.
“Lesson learned,” I grit out.
“Yes, the hard way,” Baron says. “But you did the right thing. Telling everyone she is now a Voronov wife will give whoever it is pause.”
I glance at Galina’s face. She is bristling that we are talking about her as if she isn’t here, but she knows at this point to keep her mouth shut. Bitching about it will only make men like Baron and Viktor clamp down on her being a woman and not able to control her emotions.
And then I would have to kill them both for hurting her feelings.
I reach out and take her hand, giving it a rough squeeze, which she returns.
“What exactly happens now?” she asks.
I answer before either pakhan can. “Now we move you.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
“That narrows it down beautifully.”
Viktor says, not sharply, but with enough authority to cut straight through the room, “What have you already done?”
“Dmitri and Sasha are pulling footage. Kolya is on the front perimeter. Grisha is staying close until we leave. Petyr’s body is being dealt with.” I pause. “And every Bratva family from here to Newcastle knows Galina now bears the Voronov name.”
Baron nods with approval. “That is your best defence.”
“That’s why I knew we had to tell everyone,” I point out. I look at Viktor. “I’m sorry about Yelena, but your daughter is my priority.”
“As she should be. If she weren’t, I would shoot you first and ask questions never.”
“Dad,” she hisses.
“What?” he growls. “It’s facts. Yelena is being handled.”
“How?” I ask because I know Galina is fretting about the plan going tits up.
“The less said, the better.”
“Fair enough,” I mutter and squeeze Galina’s hand again.
She nods, barely noticeable, but I notice. I notice everything about her. She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I don’t want to leave here.”
“Oh?” I ask before the other men can chime in.
“We leave here, and all the security protocols are new, fresh, a learning curve. How does that make sense? We stay here, your men, and you, know this place like the back of your hands. Much more efficient instead of wasting time learning new routes.”
All three of us stare at her.
Viktor is the first to speak. “She’s right.”
“She is,” I say with pride.
“True Bratva wife,” Baron states with an approving nod as Leonid finally arrives with fresh tea and Beluga Noble. I take the glass Leonid hands me, but don’t drink from it.
My attention stays on Galina.
She sits in the chair, back straight, with one leg crossed over the other, brandy still in her hand, hair loose, eyes bright with anger and adrenaline, and she looks more like a queen under siege than a woman who was nearly murdered in our bed an hour ago.
Moya zhena. My wife.
Mine to protect, and I nearly failed at it on the first fucking day.
Baron takes the vodka from Leonid and waves him away. “Leave the bottle.”
Leonid does, with visible offence at being dismissed from his own service, then slips out and shuts the door.
The second he’s gone, Baron says, “She stays here, then the house changes tonight. Full reset. Codes, positions, patrol routes, entry sequence, all of it.”
“My men know the drill. It’s already in motion,” I say.
Viktor looks at me. “Good. We are settled. I will leave two men. You are down one, so take it and be grateful,” he says before I can object.
I incline my head but don’t say anything.
Baron knocks back his vodka with the ease of a man who has been drinking it for forty years and will take a bottle to his grave. He places the glass down and moves towards the door. “We will leave you. If you need anything—”
“We won’t, but thank you,” I interrupt.
He gives me one of those sharp stares, but then nods once and takes his leave.
“I don’t like leaving you,” Viktor says, also rising.
“You can’t stay here,” Galina says. “This is my home now, and my husband will protect me.”
“Damn straight,” I mutter.
“He’d better,” Viktor grits out, gaze still on his daughter. “Or will chop his balls off.”
“And then you would have no grandkids,” she says lightly.
It hits me harder than anything else tonight.
Galina’s fingers tighten on mine, and let it flow over me as Viktor rises and bends to kiss Galina on the head. “Call me tomorrow.”
“I will,” she says.
I rise when Viktor straightens up.
He gives me one last look over Galina’s head. Not trust. Not approval. Something harder earned than both. Then he turns and walks out.
The door shuts.
The silence that follows is different from the others tonight. Not tactical. Not dangerous. Just what’s left when the older generation takes its threat assessments and murder plans with it and leaves the mess to us.
Galina is still holding my hand.
I look down at our joined fingers, then at her face. “You okay?”
“No,” she says. “But I’m functioning.”
“Good answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” She sets the brandy on my desk and tips her head back to look at me. “Are they really going?”
“Yes.”
“And we’re staying here.”
“Yes.”
She nods.
I crouch in front of her. “You argued your case well.”
“I don’t know who was more surprised, your uncle or me.”
That gets a laugh out of me. I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles once. “Not me.”
“Liar, but I’ll take it,” she says, cupping my face and leaning forward to press her lips to mine.