Chapter 39
The moment our “neighbor” Svetlana mentioned Nikolai Sokolov, I knew something was wrong.
I didn’t say anything to Targen, obviously.
My husband was many things—fine, dangerous, obsessive, sweet when he wasn’t being a tyrant—but subtle was not usually one of them when it came to my safety.
If I told him that the nice Russian neighbor from Russian Row had casually mentioned seeing me dance with Nikolai at our reception, he would’ve ended my whole little outing before it started.
I would’ve been locked inside Sergei and Joia’s beach estate, surrounded by men with earpieces and rifles.
So, I smiled at her. I played friendly. I let Ms. Svetlana think I hadn’t noticed the exact moment she overplayed her hand.
She had been smooth before that, a beautiful, elegant woman, the type that looked put-together all the damn time.
She had her blonde hair pinned low and wore soft perfume, a pretty sundress, and diamonds small enough to look tasteful but big enough that you knew they cost serious money.
She said she was staying at the Kozlov estate, a few doors down from where we were staying.
She knew Joia by name and claimed she had admired her for years.
Maybe she had. Maybe she hadn’t. Who knew?
She was also too excited about Targen’s birthday party, claiming all of Russian Row was geared up for it.
But that Nikolai comment? That shit was not casual conversation, even though she tried to make it seem like it.
Svetlana had mentioned attending our reception, claimed she'd been one of the many guests drifting through the crowd that night.
She could have been—there had been hundreds of people there by the time Targen rushed me out of there.
The problem wasn't that she saw Nikolai and me dance. The problem was that she brought it up. Of all the details she could have remembered, she chose that dance, when he wasn’t the only other man I danced with.
She didn’t focus on my husband or the beauty of the reception or anyone else there.
She brought up Nikolai Sokolov. That was an issue for three reasons.
One, as my father and husband insisted, there were no such things as coincidences, two, I could tell Targen didn’t care for him, and three, an ugly look had flashed across that pretty face when she mentioned the dance.
And she watched me carefully when she said his name, almost like she was waiting for something, like she wanted me thinking about him.
Then, she was clearly jealous about the dance, but she still suggested coffee?
Nah.
The second she invited Pip and me out, I felt the little click in my mind.
She wanted to get us comfortable, trusting.
I felt a trap being set. Still, it took my sister to drive it home.
I had never been more grateful that she was semi-psychic.
“T,” she had said, soon as we were alone, “she’s mixed up somehow in all the shit around you. We gotta tell Targen—”
“We ain’t gotta tell Targen, Pip,” I interrupted. “We really don’t have anything to tell him. He might just think I feel a way about her feeling a way, or he might go crazy, and lock me down for a year over something that may be nothing.”
She side-eyed me. “You don’t believe it’s nothing.”
“I don’t. But Pip, I worry about him like he worries about me. Being with him makes it easy to forget that I can fucking rescue myself.”
And there it was. The last few years had almost made me forget that I was a Miller girl, a Louisiana country girl.
Theory Grace Miller had been raised with one grandfather who took her hunting with rifles, another who taught her the beauty of using a bow and arrow, a grandmother who taught her how to use a knife, and parents who owned a gun range.
I’d been raised to protect myself, but I’d lost some of that.
Pip and I could surely meet this woman for a damn coffee and find out more, give my husband something solid to move on, or take care of this ourselves.
Suddenly, Pip looked interested. “So, what you saying?”
A plan started to form.
Svetlana suggested a coffee shop but knew better than to go anywhere she was comfortable. No way was I going on her turf. After getting home and asking Ms. Joia for recommendations, I texted and suggested another place instead.
“I’m sorry, but I have to meet my mother-in-law right after. She’ll be in this neighborhood,” I wrote her.
It took a moment, but she sent me a text agreeing. I also told Ms. Joia where we were going, just a sweet little text about meeting Svetlana for coffee before we met to help with party things.
Friday morning, my sister and I left the Sidorov estate with heavy purses.
Targen had finally returned the guns that Mikhail swiped from me, and Pip had her own pretty little piece.
Thank God we flew over on a private plane.
Juvie was waiting downstairs, leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand and suspicion on his face.
“Why y’all take forever?”
Pip looked him up and down. “You always complain this much?”
He pushed off the wall. “I ain’t complaining. Targen asked me to keep eyes on you, and I’m keeping eyes on you.”
Pip clapped her hands. “Good job.”
Juvie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like your tone, young missy.”
“Let’s go!” I said.
He muttered something under his breath, but he followed us out anyway.
Once we pulled out of the garage, another car fell in behind us.
A detail. Good. By the time we reached the café, any morning crowd had slowed down.
Tourists and locals sat around little tables, sipping coffee and snacking on buttery pastries that smelled heavenly.
Sunlight came through the windows and spread across polished floors and pale wood tables.
The café was cute and slightly busy. That was good, too.
Svetlana was already seated when we walked in. I recognized the move—she wanted the advantage. She stood with a smile, looking delighted, like we were old friends and not two women she was probably trying to eventually hand over to somebody dangerous.
“Theory. Epiphany. I am so pleased you came.”
Her accent was light and pretty.
Pip smiled. “We said we would.”
“Yes, but plans change,” Svetlana said.
“Not ours,” I returned.
Her gaze grew cold for half a second before she smiled wider. We sat.
Juvie took a table behind us, slightly to the right. It was close enough to move fast, but far enough to give us a little privacy. He looked bored, but his eyes were never still. The two Sidorov men stopped outside, close to the entrance.
Svetlana noticed all of it, of course.
“So much protection,” she said lightly as a server approached.
I smiled, waved my hand dismissively. “My husband worries.”
“He loves you very much.”
“Very,” Pip agreed, an edge to her voice.
Something like a warning. I glared at her. Svetlana laughed, sounding almost nervous.
A server appeared and took our orders. Svetlana ordered tea.
Pip ordered an iced coffee she had no intention of drinking.
I ordered a latte for the performance, too.
When the drinks arrived, Pip shook hers, making the ice clink against the glass.
I wrapped both hands around my cup and let the heat warm my palms.
Neither of us took a sip. Svetlana noticed that, too. Her eyes moved from Pip’s drink to mine.
“You do not like the coffee?”
I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m letting it cool.”
Pip lifted her glass. “Letting mine sit with the ice—I like it ice cold.”
Svetlana’s mouth curved a little.
“American women are very cautious.”
“Black women. We’ve had centuries to learn we can’t trust everyone,” Pip corrected sweetly.
Svetlana blinked. Pip shook her coffee again.
I almost laughed. For a few minutes, we talked about nothing, just rambled about Port Isle, the shops, and Ms. Joia’s party planning.
We commented on how beautiful the water looked today.
Svetlana was good, I had to give her that.
She asked questions without seeming nosy and complimented without overdoing it.
If she hadn’t mentioned Nikolai yesterday, I might have liked her.
At some point, I checked my phone beneath the table. There was no signal, not one bar. Jammed. Fuck. I lifted my phone slightly and frowned for her benefit.
Svetlana tilted her head. “Problem?”
“No signal.”
“That is strange.”
“Mm-hmm.”
It probably explained why people had been trickling out. Pip’s hand stilled on her straw. Juvie glanced over. I set my phone on the table, face up, just as someone complained loudly about the messed-up Wi-Fi. More people left. Svetlana’s smile remained in place, but something in her eyes changed.
“You are distracted,” she observed.
I smiled. “And you are observant. It’s just… I’m a newlywed. I’m used to talking to my husband non-stop,” I said with a sad sigh.
Pip made a tiny sound between a laugh and a cough.
The front door opened. A tall man with dark hair walked in with the kind of energy like he owned the place.
Svetlana brightened like the sun had entered.
He wore an expensive suit with no tie. He was handsome, but nothing special. And he was not Nikolai.
My disappointment was immediate. Honestly, it felt disrespectful. All this trouble, and Nikolai couldn’t even show up himself? All this damn chaos, road attacks, threats, family drama, and Russian violence, and all I got was an assistant villain?
Unless I was wrong. Could I be wrong? Maybe Svetlana was just someone with a crush on Nikolai, and I had mis-read the situation. I shifted slightly in my chair, irritated. Pip looked at me. She knew what I was thinking, shook her head once.
“There he is,” Svetlana exclaimed.
The man approached our table. I pasted on a pleasant look as he and Svetlana kissed cheeks.
“Ladies, may I introduce Ruslan?” she said.