Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
That was a whole different ball game. One that had been in my heart since the day I met Natasha. She was sweet. Genuine. She got me in a way no one ever had.
Ignoring the manager, I cleared my throat. “From the start, Mookie Betts wrote FN in the dirt before each at bat.”
Montana pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked. “A salute to his grandfather,” he deadpanned.
“I know,” I said. “You think I didn’t? If I write Natasha’s initials on the mound—”
“You dead.” His laugh came out low, half warning, half did you forget what century you live in? “Didn’t I just mention the superfluous stress I’d endure at your funeral? You trying to get popped on Valentine’s Day? And your family …”
While I passed on sharing my childhood with the media, Montana knew my history. The crime. He’d told me about his family too.
“I’m doing it anyway.” I smirked. “After I ask Vassili for his blessing. Not saying I’ll do it on Valentines …” Yup. That was what I was saying. “He’s the kinda guy—”
“Who breaks your toes, then your legs—”
“That you gotta have a heart-to-heart with.”
Montana’s accent thickened. “Then he removes your heart.” He leaned against the glass counter, shaking his head. Pity and awe in his gaze. “You want another sistah? Say less. I’ll find you a woman don’t come from no Russian Mafia drama.”
I stepped closer to the diamonds, the weight of the choice burning in my chest. “I don’t want another woman.”
My voice dropped, gravel thick in my throat, as I stared past the glitter of rings, straight at the image of Natasha’s face. An image embedded in my mind.
“I want … Natasha Resnova to take my last name.”
The silence after hit harder than any fastball.
And Montana? For once in his life, Big Country failed to clapback.
11
VASSILI
“You’re wrong for that.” As Zariah sauntered into the gym, the sway of her hips tempted me to bench press more than the three hundred pounds on the barbell. “Lachlan came to visit you. Your favorite baseballer. Yet, you scurry away.”
“I don’t scurry.” Wiping the sweat from my face with a towel, I continued repetitions.
“Natasha has kept her relationship from public view to respect you. However, Lachlan arrives on Valentine’s Eve to discuss an important matter. You know what he wants.”
To die a slow and painful death?
“Is your reluctance tied to a bratva marriage with Edik Mikhailov?”
Air exploded from me in another repetition. “All these questions! Should I hire my own attorney?”
Zariah nudged her chin to the bar. I obeyed, silently struggling. Ten years ago, I’d have replaced the weights, adding funts. Unstoppable. Like a bear through a Siberian forest. Today? My muscles conspired against me. And did I want to fight? Nyet. A backrub? Da.
“I bet it killed you inside to pinkie promise not to have her followed. You probably saw a two-inch pinkie when Natasha made you do that trust gesture last week.”
Da. She’d had such tiny hands as she cooed. I sat up, gripped the edge of the bench at my sides, knuckles white. “Shto-to ne tak s moyey devochkoy!”
“Something … is… wrong with my little girl?” Zariah translated in a whisper, questioning her Russian. She’d learned the language when Natasha picked it up as a toddler. Her face fell. “Vassili, I doubt Lach played a role in the change. She’s growing up. Hormones fluctuating.”
“Nyet. She’s been different. Guarded.” I scratched my neck. “After she turned twenty-one.”
Zariah straddled the bench in front of me, our knees touching. “She met Lachlan a little before, remember? The December before, right?”
“Da. Still, consider my words. They got close when he one-upped me by giving her two mil.”
She chuckled. “He didn’t show your cheap behind up, Vassili. And he gave the money to Whispers of Hope, not your baby.”
“Look me in the eye; tell me she didn’t change afterward.”
Zariah scrubbed a hand through her pressed hair. “You don’t need a lawyer.” She bit her lip, her eyes welling with tears of worry. “I asked her if something happened …”
“When?”
A shoulder lifted. “About a month after Natasha’s Whispers of Hope Gala. She was flinching. She seemed—”
“What did Cutie Pie say?”
“Nothing.”
I pulled the cellphone from my basketball shorts. “I’ll call her therapist.”
“That’s a violation—”
“Not if I gather information and do what needs to be done, Zar.”
“What if nobody is at fault? No one for you to …” Zariah’s gaze flitted away from me. This was killing her.
My decision to return to the bratva. I’d never been all in until Simeon needed my help. Of course, that was after he tried to mass bomb an entire town in Italy. I hesitated for a bit, understanding it wasn’t ideal for Zariah, Natasha, and Vassilievich.
Then Simona, my brother’s firstborn, acted differently. Acted like Natasha was after her twenty-first birthday. But Simona had been much younger. A teen. She moved in with us. I’d joined the Resnov Bratva. Told myself I’d monitor my brother. Get him out of the situation he’d put us in!