26. Blair
Blair
E ither Alexei’s face always looks like he stepped in dog shit, or he really doesn’t like me.
He’s sneering from the moment I open the front door, trying to shove his way in like he’s welcome in my home without any greeting or acknowledgment. I move a step further in front of him, blocking his entrance. As intimidating as his glare is, it doesn’t provoke me to move.
“Move, Blair.”
“Hello to you, too,” I answer with a cloying sweetness that would typically make me cringe but feels appropriate for his attitude. “Is there a reason why you’re trying to storm into my house?”
He draws his shoulders back, making him look even broader than he is, but I refuse to back down until I know why he’s here.
Andrei doesn’t make a habit of bringing his work home, and he certainly doesn’t invite anyone over. Though if he was going to, I’m willing to bet he’d at least give me a heads up .
So, Alexei showing up without a word of warning is setting off more than a few alarm bells.
“I need to talk to Andrei. So, you need to move your happy ass and let me in.” His hand slams down on the door next to my head, making me flinch.
“Mention my wife’s ass again, and you’ll lose your ability to speak,” Andrei growls from behind me, his tone lethal. He slips a hand around my waist, gently pulling me away so that I’m no longer blocking the doorway.
Alexei’s eyes cut to him as he stalks inside, much to my annoyance.
He needs to get over himself. I’ve never tried to piss him off, I’ve never tried to bother him, and he needs to find a way to deal with his resentment and find a way to cope with my fucking existence.
Luckily for him, I don’t like having more of the stupid Bratva in my house at any given time than I need to.
One of the few benefits of having everyone who’s important hate my guts is that I never had to learn to deal with unexpected visitors.
And maybe I’m being defensive, but his prickly attitude is grating enough to make me want to lash out. Even though that’s probably stupid.
Maybe more than probably.
Maybe it’s definitely stupid.
I’m safe with Andrei, but I can’t let myself forget that the people he surrounds himself with are still dangerous and can make our lives a living hell if they want to.
“Do you have somewhere we can talk?” Alexei asks, looking at me pointedly, and years of resentment and frustration burn down my spine at the unspoken accusation .
I’ve never said a word to anyone about Bratva business. I mean, hell, the only people I’ve ever spoken to about it are Andrei and Daniil, and that was because I was fucking forced to.
Andrei’s grip tightens as he tenses, and it’s enough to tell me that I need to calm down.
“You two talk,” I bite out with a false smile. “I’ll be… literally anywhere else, I guess.”
Pulling free of Andrei’s grasp, I storm around the corner, trying to talk myself into giving them some privacy.
I try, but the anger at Alexei’s dismissive attitude won’t let me.
Maybe if he hadn’t acted like an asshole and had treated me like any of his other colleagues’ wives, I’d go on my merry way and live in my ignorance.
But he’s a dick that can’t spare an ounce of respect for me, so I have none for him.
I press myself against the wall, far back enough that I’ll have time to retreat if they make it past the entryway, but close enough to still make out their hushed conversation.
“Luca Sotero’s dead,” Alexei bites out. I rack my brain, trying to think if that’s a name I’ve heard before, and come up empty.
“ Blyad ,” Andrei sighs. “He wanted info on him so he’d have a fucking excuse, didn’t he?” There’s a tense beat of silence that makes me shift from foot to foot. “Did Maksim take credit, or is he letting them figure it out on their own?”
I wish I could see his face and try to figure out what he’s thinking. Was this Luca guy important?
“Are you fucking kidding? Of course he took credit.” Alexei sounds furious enough to make me flinch .
That, more than anything, tells me I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on their conversation. I try to slink away as quietly as possible, my frustration warring with my stubbornness.
I want to be able to understand what’s happening, why they both seem upset, but without any context, I know I’ll never be able to understand.
Sure, if I ask Andrei later, he’ll tell me.
He’s not shy about answering my questions.
But what happens if I ask him something that he doesn’t want me to know?
If I were to ask him outright if he killed Pavel, would he tell me? I’m sure he did, but would he confirm it? Or would he clam up and pull away?
He might love me, but is that enough to convince him I’ll keep his secrets?
Maybe it makes me a coward, but I’m not sure I want to find out any time soon. Not when it’s so much easier to keep my head buried in the sand and not risk getting hurt.
I duck into Daniil’s office, pressing my back against the closed door while I look around the room.
There’s a thin layer of dust on the shelves and the top of the desk, curtains closed like he just finished working for the night.
I pull them open, watching the way the dust floats in the rays of sunlight shining through the windows.
It doesn’t add any life to the room. Everything’s still empty and dull.
I haven’t been in here since before Daniil died. It was always his domain, and I never felt welcome inside it. He preferred that I gave it a wide berth when he was gone, and that I only came in when he invited me.
But he isn’t here to get upset anymore .
I haven’t been able to work up the nerve to start cleaning in here, and when Mila suggested she do it, I took a page out of her book and pretended she hadn’t said anything at all.
My fingers carve a path through the dust as I look at the shelves of books.
There are leather-bound hardcovers and fancy notebooks that are filled from cover to cover with his messy notes, jotted down during meetings and hearings.
He used to say that they were a police raid waiting to happen, but he trusted them more than keeping digital notes.
At least if he burned these, they’d be gone for good.
I entertain the thought of pulling one out and reading it, but can’t bring myself to do it.
Giving up, I sink into his chair and run my fingers over a lingering dark blue stain on the desktop, barely visible through the dark stain of the wood. There’s a pile of notes stacked on the corner of the desk, tempting me with the sharp angles of his almost illegible handwriting.
I pull one out at random, tracing a fingertip over the scrawled notes and smeared ink without taking in the actual words.
I want to say I can judge Andrei as his own person and assume he won’t react the same way Daniil would, but it’s hard.
I’ve let myself love him, but trusting him feels like climbing Mount Everest. If I upset him and he takes off, I’ll be right back where I started. Even worse, I’ll be heartbroken on top of being alone.
“Shut up and mind your own business,” I mutter, resigning myself to being an ostrich for the rest of my life.
It’s a shitty strategy, but it’s served me well enough so far .
I don’t know how long I sit there feeling sorry for myself before the door opens with a creak. I look up, startled to find Andrei looking back at me.
“Did you hear what you wanted?” he asks casually.
He smiles, but it doesn’t soften the embarrassment brewing in my gut. I should have known better than to think that he wouldn’t know I was eavesdropping. I shake my head, occupying myself tidying the notes, staring at the ink stain.
Part of me is still surprised that Daniil didn’t throw out this desk. Or any of the other stained furniture. We hadn’t even gotten around to painting over the stains before he died.
Is it even worth trying to cover them anymore?
“I shouldn’t have,” I admit. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It probably will. I’m not going to go out of my way to keep secrets from you unless you want me to.” I look back at him, bracing myself to see anger. He’s leaning against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
He doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t even look annoyed. If anything, he looks concerned.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that.” He shrugs. “If you want to know something, ask, and I’ll tell you. If you don’t want to know anything, that’s fine, too.” He looks around the room, gaze lingering on the open curtain.
We should be getting ready for another date, but he doesn’t seem to be in a rush.
“I know that Daniil kept you in the dark about everything,” he says, and again I feel like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “But I also know that you’re smart. If you want to know what’s going on with my work, then I’ll tell you.”
He paces across the room, spinning the chair so that I have no choice but to look at him.
“I trust you, Blair.” His silver eyes pin me in place, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. “If you want to know anything, you only have to ask.”
I hesitate, but his eyes are sincere. And though it might come back to bite me, I want to trust him, too. I want to trust him so badly.
“Who’s Luca Sotero?” I ask quietly, worried this might still be a trick.
“He was a capo for The Outfit. We did arms deals with him,” he answers easily, one corner of his lips lifting ruefully. “And apparently Maksim had him killed.”
“Why?”
“Probably because he thinks they were behind the hit on Pavel, and he wants revenge.” He shrugs again. “Maksim’s been making moves to expand into their territory for a few months, though, so maybe he was just looking for an excuse to cause trouble.”
Alarm fills me, but Andrei looks as calm as he would if we were discussing the weather.
I take a deep breath.
“But they didn’t kill Pavel. You did.”
He kisses me and nods, pressing his forehead against mine. “ Da, zolotse . I did.” His face doesn’t show any regret or worry. He’s just as matter-of-fact about this as he is anything else .
I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne, and wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“Can we stay home tonight?”
I don’t want to share him with anyone else right now. I just want to be close to the man I love. He nods, lifting me effortlessly into his arms.
“Of course we can.”