Chapter 32 - Mikhail
Once I was certain that Georgiy would make a complete recovery and only needed a few stitches and some rest, I hustled Laurel back on the plane to LA. It was as safe at Lev’s as staying in my own house, but Laurel couldn’t let herself relax there, feeling like a burden and an uninvited guest.
“You’re not a guest at all,” I told her. “You’re family. Mat gave me my first job when I was fifteen. He’s like an older brother and an uncle all rolled into one to me. He’d jump in front of a bullet for me, and you.”
Oops, wrong thing to say. She blanched. “I don’t want anyone jumping in front of bullets for me,” she cried. “I don’t want anything to do with bullets.”
It was time to go home where she could feel safe without jumping up trying to make tea or coffee for Jenna or offer to play with Artem when the nanny was off duty.
It was endearing, but a bit heartbreaking to see her bending over backward to make herself seem capable instead of a victim, and infuriating that she refused to believe none of this was her fault.
The last thing that would help would be to blurt out that I was a member of a crime family that a massive amount of people around the world wanted to see any given one of us dead at any time, so I continued to keep my mouth shut.
She was already bouncing back to normal on the flight home, getting frisky and making me keep my promise about the Mile High Club.
“You must think I’m some kind of… what do you call it? A player? I’ve never had sex on a plane, either,” I said when her moans were winding down, and she still writhed on my lap under the blanket I draped over our shoulders.
“You haven’t?” she asked, pleased.
I kissed each of her rosy cheeks. “I do love making you blush,” I said.
We had to scramble to get our clothes in order before we landed, and she was her bright and cheerful self by the time we arrived back at my house later that evening. It had been days since we had even a mild argument. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last one.
I braced myself for one now as I announced the decision I made while we were still in San Francisco.
“What?” she yelped. “Are you crazy?”
“You ask me that a lot,” I said.
“You want to put the grand opening on hold?” she asked, standing up to pace back and forth. We had settled down on the couch in the entertainment room to pick a movie, but no amount of aiming the remote at the screen got her to sit back down.
“It’s happening, Laurel. Now do you want a comedy or—”
“It’s ridiculous,” she insisted, her hands on her hips. “What about the ad campaigns, the celebrities you’ve been chasing, the food critics who already agreed to give us a shot?”
“None of that’s more important than your safety.”
With a gasp, she stopped pacing, her face crumpling up. “No. No way. Not because of me. I won’t let you delay this because of me and my problems.”
“You’re not letting me do anything,” I snapped, my own temper rising to meet hers. “You’re staying put in this house until Rand Eckvald is behind bars.”
Or dead. I kept that option to myself, but it was the one I preferred.
“What?” she asked, her eyes flaring. “Did you just tell me I’m staying in this house? Meaning you think you’re not going to let me out of it?”
First and foremost, I was proud of her for not going to pieces at my very obstinate and controlling stance on the matter at hand. Laurel of a few weeks ago might have shrunk in fear. That would have been more convenient, but I wouldn’t have changed her fiery attitude as she faced me down.
“Yes,” I said mildly. “End of discussion.”
“No, it isn’t. Who do you think you are?”
“Your boss,” I said. There, that got her attention, and her hands fell from her hips to land loosely at her sides. “If you want a job in the restaurant, you’ll return to work when I deem it safe to reopen.”
“And in the meantime, I stay here,” she said, glaring at me through narrowed eyes.
“Yep,” I said. “Now, sit down and help me pick a movie.”
That was a step too far, and she shot me one final dirty look before storming upstairs. I couldn’t tell which door she slammed once she got up there, but I had a feeling she was back in the guest room at least for tonight.
She’d come around, and I’d take her angry if it meant she stayed safe.
I didn’t watch a movie on my own, and when I went upstairs after giving her a reasonable amount of time to cool off, she still wasn’t cool, but locked in the guest room.
I didn’t knock, worn out from the last few hectic days, and fell into bed, only with thoughts of Laurel when we were getting along perfectly on the plane to help me drift off to sleep.
The next day, I left the house early to avoid another argument. After the low blow of threatening her job, I wasn’t sure how she’d react. I met up with my brother for a cup of coffee and to catch up on what had happened in LA the few days we were away.
He already heard everything about the odd attack on the hotel room and offered his opinion. “That doesn’t sound like anything to do with these Collective bastards,” he said. “Breaking bottles and spilling wine? That’s definitely psycho ex territory.”
I didn’t bother sharing that I wasn’t completely convinced the two weren’t intertwined, and after he told me about the fight they had to deal with the other night, there was nothing new to share.
“I’ve got to go tell a bunch of construction workers who I’ve been making jump through hoops for more than a month that they’re on vacation for a while,” I told him on our way out of the coffee shop. “Not to mention two highly strung designers and a chef who might be on the verge of poisoning me.”
“It’s the best decision,” Luk said, loyal to the core. “I’m still shocked that you’re married at all, but it’s the right call to protect your wife.”
He was going to beat the shit out of me when it came out that our relationship was fake, but only if I couldn’t find a way to make Laurel see that it was real as far as I was concerned. Keeping her locked up in the house forever started to seem like a good idea.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I was braced for a bloody battle, but only figuratively.
Instead, I found Todd holding an ice pack to his eye while blood trickled from a gash on his forehead.
Chase was furious, going back and forth between the back door and checking on Todd.
One of the members of the kitchen staff mopped at several cuts and burns on his face and arms while the sous chef cried inconsolably, the ends of her hair singed.
“Oh, thank God,” Chase said. “Todd here refused to call the cops until you arrived.”
“What the fuck is going on?” I looked up, thinking the only explanation for all the injuries could be the chandelier that was recently installed falling on them. But it was still hanging there, and no broken crystals littered the floor.
“Out back,” Chase said, and I followed him to see not only the broken glass I’d been expecting, but scorch marks dotted along the concrete and walls. Tire marks led away to the end of the alley.
“We had an early delivery,” he said. “Todd offered to help the kitchen staff bring it in, but instead of new bowls, they got firebombs chucked at them before the truck peeled out. Tell me you’re going to deal with this. I’m five seconds from calling 911.”
I understood his anger. I felt it too. Kicking through the debris, I found one of the bottles only half broken, the makeshift wick that was stuck into the neck unburnt. The dud bomb reeked of kerosene instead of the white wine the label advertised.
As soon as I saw the familiar logo, I dropped it again, swearing viciously.
Canyon Vines.
That guy really thought he was being cute, and I was fed up. “I’ll take care of it,” I promised, giving Chase a dark, meaningful look. “Better than the cops, don’t worry.”
He nodded once, satisfied, and hurried back inside as if concerned another truck full of makeshift incendiary devices might roll up. It might. There was no telling what lengths Rand would go to. Laurel had been right to be afraid, and I was right to put the grand opening on hold.
I informed everyone they were on paid vacation until further notice, and after the morning they had, nobody said a peep.
The place cleared out in record time, and I locked it up, sending the security footage to CJ before locking everything up and assigning a team to keep it under twenty-four-hour surveillance.
It wasn’t as important as Laurel, but it was still mine, and I was sick of people fucking with what was mine.
I would have loved to stay locked up tight with her, but things were escalating all over town, with the rogue faction seeming to cycle through all my cousins’ businesses one by one.
Not just keeping us on our toes, but on edge, and for the next few nights I was barely at home at all, forced to leave Laurel under the watchful eyes of my newly beefed-up security staff.
She didn’t like being stuck in the house, let alone being stuck in the house alone. In fact, I didn’t think she liked me very much at the moment.
Just one more thing that pissed me off about this situation: I couldn’t share anything with her, but my own feelings weren’t my priority. Neither were Laurel’s. My first and only objective was to keep her safe.