Velella

51. First Dates

FIRST DATES

Ineed to tell her what Misha found on the flash drive.

But I don’t want to. And I’m distracted by the dull throb in my shoulder, inhibiting my attempts to come up with the proper phrasing. So, I watch silently while a radiant Carina samples the borscht, topped with pieces of pummelo.

“Have you been here before?” she asks, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a white napkin.

“Yes.”

Carina nods, her eyes darting around the exclusive restaurant before refocusing on the soup. “With other women?”

“Yes.”

“It’s nice.” She reaches for her glass of wine, balancing the slim stem between two slender fingers before swallowing a small sip.

I eye my empty glass. I refused a driver tonight, wanting us to be truly alone, and am now regretting it. To numb the pain at the very least.

A uniformed waiter stops by, asking if we need anything else. I wave him off, and he scurries away.

I’ve been here before, but not often. It’s harder to hit a moving target, and it’s more challenging to track down someone who doesn’t follow a routine.

The man outside Aleksandr’s favorite club and stalking his home knew exactly where to look to find him, and I had to prove we had the same ability earlier. Nice of Maksim to warn me about an alliance with another gang after I got stabbed in the shoulder.

“You okay?” Carina tilts her head, studying me closely.

I shift in the chair, suppressing the grimace that wants to appear when the movement tugs at fresh stitches. I force a smile. “Fine. How was your day?”

“Thrilling. I worked out, then got ready for dinner.”

This smile comes easier. “You ran?”

“And boxed. Misha held the bag for me.”

My smile dims at the mention of his name. Misha didn’t tell Igor about the contents of the drive, so I know he wouldn’t share the details with Carina. It’s an unwelcome reminder anyway.

I check my watch.

“Am I eating too slowly?”

“We have another stop after this.”

“I didn’t bring my gun.”

“You won’t need it,” I say, wishing that hadn’t been her first thought.

Carina wanted a life free from danger and violence, and I only increased their presence. I could justify it when there were no other options, but now …

I’ll enjoy this night with her. Tomorrow, my problems will still exist.

“Ready?” I stand without waiting for her response, fighting a grimace as a muscle in my shoulder twitches.

Carina pushes her chair back, appearing oblivious to the stares following us as we depart the restaurant.

I take the keys from the valet rather than allowing him to pull up the car, wanting a moment to compose myself.

I leave Carina waiting by the stand, trying to shed my fears like a heavy coat as I stride across the lot.

What’s the worst part of getting exactly what you want?

Losing it.

I spent twelve years ensuring Carina was kept entirely separate from the rest of my life. Now, she’s embedded in its very center, and I have something to lose. It’s terrifying. I can’t protect myself from her leaving, not if she wants to go.

I climb behind the wheel and reverse out of the spot too fast. I feel more frantic than calm, being apart from her. She’s a disease and a cure. An addiction and an antidepressant.

There are three men at the stand when I pull up beside it. One is the uniformed valet, who casts a nervous glance at me as I emerge from the vehicle. The other two don’t acknowledge me, too focused on Carina. One’s repeatedly asking her name, the other staring at her breasts.

She doesn’t react or reply, focused on me.

“Her name is Carina Sokolov,” I state in Russian.

The man who was staring immediately backs up, recognizing the last name. The other hesitates before stepping away as well, slurring an apology.

I spot the gun first.

The weapon overshadows anything about the stranger holding it, although I do register those details, including the tattoo on the side of his neck. I spent all morning looking at it.

Instinct and training prevail over a spurt of panic.

The three men are irrelevant, but Carina is feet away.

If I focus on that, I won’t be able to function.

I fire before the man realizes I’ve spotted him lurking, my earlier words to Carina—“You won’t need it”—taunting me.

My would-be attacker slumps against the side of the building, then falls to the ground.

The drunker of the two men shrieks like he was the one hit, but I couldn’t give a shit about his reaction. His buddy grabs him, pulling him back inside the restaurant.

Retaliation after this morning’s massacre isn’t entirely unexpected. We hit their headquarters but had no way of telling who was missing. This guy was young and sloppily trained, likely a son of one of the men who was part of the plan to attack Aleksandr’s residence.

I instruct a wide-eyed Carina to get in the car, carefully controlling my tone, then hand the pale valet a hefty tip, letting him know someone will be here soon for the body on the sidewalk.

I ripped a stitch. Maybe two. It’s agony, sliding behind the wheel, but I keep my expression neutral as I dial Viktor. Predictably, he’s excited about the summons, saying he’ll be at the restaurant shortly.

I end the call and focus on driving. I should update Igor, too, but it can wait until the morning. I’ll say something I shouldn’t if we speak now.

I can’t help but wonder what could have happened if I’d taken longer to retrieve the car.

We hadn’t cleaned up our mess earlier, as a warning, and news of it has undoubtedly spread across the city.

Someone at the restaurant shared where I was with someone who wanted revenge, and I’m stunned by how exposed that makes me feel.

This sensation was entirely absent when I killed the man outside the club months ago or the man in the basement yesterday.

They were targeting Aleksandr, not me, but that’s not the crucial difference.

Carina was with me. Carina could have gotten hurt—could have been killed.

And if that had happened—if something happened to her—I don’t know what I would do.

I literally don’t. I used to function fine when we were apart.

More than once, I expected I’d never see her again.

If that had happened today? I don’t know what my life would look like. My whole life is her now.

“You didn’t have to kill—”

“I did,” I state harshly, some of my anger overflowing and affecting the one person who doesn’t deserve it.

I expected her to disapprove of my decision to shoot to kill.

Anticipated it before she ever opened her mouth.

Carina has no sense of how deep darkness descends.

What black that blots out all light looks like.

The sins she listed are laughable compared to mine.

I want her to believe she’s seen the worst of humanity—the worst of me.

Enemies are enemies. There is no middle ground.

And there was no way I was risking a nonlethal shot to disarm him, not with her there.

Rather than cowering, she challenges me. “Why?”

“I do not answer to you, Carina.”

Again, she chooses not to back down. “The fuck you don’t. We got married here, remember?” She points in the opposite direction of the church where our wedding took place.

“I remember. I promised to protect you, and that’s what—”

“My mother was murdered by one of my father’s enemies. I only survived because the man who fired at her was a lousy shot. I understand the stakes, how dangerous this world can be. But that man had a family too.”

“Not anymore. I killed them this morning.”

The confession feels like pressing on a bruise.

Painful relief. I don’t want Carina to know all the terrible things I’ve done.

Yet some part of me craves the transparency.

Wants her to know me, sins and all. She’s seen me kill before, and she still chose to marry me.

I’ve witnessed plenty of transactional marriages, and ours isn’t one of them.

We fuck multiple times a day. She kissed me when I returned home earlier, after calling to check on me.

I don’t think she regrets her decision. Not yet at least.

“Why?” she repeats, her voice less accusatory than it was before.

“They were members of a gang, planning an attack on Aleksandr’s home in retribution for being cut out of business dealings.”

“That’s why he, Victoria, and Ilya are staying at Serebryanovo?”

“Yes. There is much more security. No one unauthorized has ever entered the grounds. You’re safe there.”

“I know I am.” Her voice is bland. No intonation.

I turn left, toward Serebryanovo, rather than right, toward the theater.

The night has been ruined, and that happened without me sharing what Misha had found.

If I tell her now, she’ll probably be on the next flight to Italy.

Hopefully, I’ll feel less unsettled once she’s surrounded by more defenses than just me.

The odds of another adversary appearing tonight are low, but there’s always a chance.

Another car cuts me off, so I have to slam on the brakes. I grab at the seat belt, unable to suppress the hiss as it rubs my shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” The apathy in Carina’s voice is absent. So is the former crimination. All I hear is worry.

“I am fine.”

She reaches over, sliding a hand under my suit jacket and up over my heart. My shirt feels sticky, and I realize it isn’t my imagination when Carina withdraws her palm and it’s smeared with crimson.

“Fine, huh?”

“I saw a doctor.” I was getting stitches when she called earlier.

“Pull over.”

“I’m—”

“Pull the fucking car over, Lev.”

I do.

She’s quiet as she opens the glove compartment, pulling out the medical kit stashed there and sorting through supplies. “Take off your jacket.” Carina spritzes some sanitizing spray on her hands, then rubs them together.

“I’ll have the doctor look when we get back.”

“I thought we had another stop?”

I study her. “I thought you might want to skip it. Go back sooner after …” I clear my throat, debating what else to say. “I don’t know if he was acting alone. They might try again tonight.”

“That would be very bad—for them.” She continues without waiting for a response, “I don’t want to skip whatever it is.”

I nod once, my throat too thick to speak. I’ve always enjoyed being seen as superior. It’s human nature to seek success and appreciate admiration. But Carina’s total faith I’ll keep her safe? I don’t know what to do with it. How to absorb or process her certainty in me.

I shake my head once. Before tonight blew up, I was excited about her reaction.

“Take your jacket off,” she tells me again.

I reach for the bandage she’s holding, ignoring the fresh twinge in my shoulder. “I can—”

“This is exactly what you did last time. I’m fine, I can handle it, blah, blah, blah. Remember how that ended?”

I hold her gaze. “Yes. You sucked my cock, and then I fucked you from behind.”

The car’s interior lights are bright enough for me to see her blush.

Carina leans over again, carefully peeling my suit jacket off one shoulder and then starting on the buttons of my black shirt underneath. “Before that.”

“You stole my vodka.”

She shakes her head, but doesn’t respond. She’s focused on peeling my shirt away from the bloody bandage. Once the gauze is off, she wraps it in one of the kit’s waste bags, then pulls out a pack of wipes.

I sit perfectly still as she cleans the blood off my chest, then covers the stitched stab wound with a fresh bandage.

“This was why you were gone for so long?” Carina asks.

“Yes.” I lost a lot of blood and had to be pumped with antibiotics. Don’t mention any of those details.

“So, when I called—”

“It was already over,” I say quickly.

“What did you do the rest of the day, then?”

“You do not want details.”

“Yes, I do.”

I yank my shirt back on, aiming an incredulous look her way. “Five minutes ago, you were mad I shot—”

“That was before I knew …” She exhales. “I know what you do. I just—I’m not used to seeing it. It’s hard for me to reconcile the man who saved me with the man who can do that without hesitating.”

I begin buttoning. “I didn’t save you, Carina.”

“Yes, you did. And you got nothing out of it, which is why … did you go see someone? Is that why you won’t tell me anything else?”

“Someone?” I repeat, wanting to make sure I’m not misunderstanding.

“A … woman.” Her voice is tentative yet resolute.

Despite the continual burn in my shoulder, I nearly smile. She’s jealous. I can’t think of any other reason she’d be asking.

“I am flattered you think I could fuck after being stabbed.”

Carina scoffs, shoving the medical kit back into the glove compartment, then crossing her arms. “You’ve done it before.”

I grin, but smother the smile quickly. This is important. And, I assumed, obvious. “I take vows seriously. I will never touch anyone else.”

“Because we’re married?”

I’m relieved she provided that explanation rather than simply asking the first word. I’m unaccustomed to explaining my feelings. The only person who makes demands of me is Igor, and he’s never concerned with emotions.

“Yes.”

“Lots of people aren’t faithful to their spouses. Like … your parents.”

“I know.”

“What if I wanted to sleep with someone else? Hypothetically?”

The hot rush of fury eradicates any pain in my shoulder. “I would kill him. Literally.”

She scowls. “I’ve slept with other guys in the past twelve years, you know. You never asked, but—”

I still can’t feel anything except anger. “That was before.”

“So, you didn’t care who else I fucked before, but now you own me?”

Of course I cared. I just couldn’t act on it. Now, I can. “You asked what would happen if you let another man touch you; I told you. Hypothetically, it seems very unlikely.”

“What does that mean?”

I start the car. Check the clock. If I speed, which I do normally, we’ll make it to the theater in time.

“It means you always end up back in my bed, Carina.”