Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“Yet you tried to break into the Kucherov system?”
I can hear the sardonic doubt in Vasya’s tone, and heat pricks at the edges of my temper, a flare I can’t hide.
“I did it because I had to. My dad might lose his bookstore, and it will kill him. He already lost his family in Russia, lost my mother, and the only thing that’s kept him going is the bookstore. And I know Evgeny owns the building.”
“Not his kids?”
I frown. “Well, that, too. But he isn’t the most dad-like dad out there. He’s eccentric,” I admit. “I mostly raised my siblings. Dad was a professor when he lived in Russia, but they wouldn’t let him teach here, so he opened the bookstore. But he fell apart when Mom died. My brothers and sister were all young, so someone had to keep them fed and get them ready for school in the morning. Honestly? I was just trying to save the bookstore and keep my family housed and fed. I thought if I could—”
I stop, realizing that revealing the extent of my plan isn’t the smartest thing to do.
“You thought you could…” Vasya gestures for me to finish.
“Bribe the head of the Kucherov Bratva into forgiving my father’s late rent,” I admit in a rush. My voice starts out with conviction, but by the end, my statement is more of a question.
An odd sound escapes Vasya’s throat, though I can’t tell quite what it is. A cough? He isn’t actually choking this time, is he? His eyes dance, the blue sparkling, and the cough becomes a wheeze, becomes a chuckle, becomes a full laugh, his head thrown back.
“You thought you could bribe Ev?”
I glare at him, but he continues laughing.
“You call the boss by a nickname. Does that mean you’re related?” I ask, annoyed and trying to find another subject.
“No, just someone who’s been in this life a long time. Sometimes I feel like Evgeny’s trained monkey instead of a vor.”
“A vor?” I repeat the Russian word. “You’re a thief?”
Vasya flashes me a humorless smile. “Vory v zakone.”
I chew over the words and their meanings. Thief in law? A legalized thief? A thief who is in the law? I’m not sure I understand, but then again, I don’t know anything about Bratva culture save for the fact that my father warned me to stay far, far away from them.
I’m wishing I had.
I’m mopping up the remains of my breakfast with the last of my bread when Alona comes to clear the plates wordlessly. She’s finished kneading her dough, which rests in a basket covered by a clean dish towel.
“Spasibo,” I thank her in Russian.
The word catches the woman off guard, and her eyes flick to me for a moment. She’s surprised I speak Russian. She looks even more surprised when I compliment her food in Russian and tell her it’s even better than what my father used to make. Though the older woman only grunts a reply, I swear I see a flicker of satisfaction in her expression.
Got her, I think to myself, self-satisfied.
The feeling vanishes the next instant when a dark, dangerous shadow in the form of Evgeny Kucherov steps into the kitchen.
I squeak and jump off the stool. My heart gives an enormous thump, then starts racing, a sign of fear I hate myself for. Is he here to tell me to get back to my rooms? Tell me he never authorized my freedom, and I’m going to be locked away until he’s done with me?
“Coffee?”
Vasya is behind me, holding out a small espresso cup to Evgeny. I wonder where he got it from.
Evgeny glares at me for another few heartbeats before finally breaking his gaze and reaching for the small cup. It looks minuscule in his hand, and he downs the contents in one sip.
Evgeny is shadows and darkness compared to Vasya’s lightheartedness. But in the bright light of the kitchen, when he isn’t yelling at me or threatening me, I can at least see the gorgeous man I met at the club, even if I’m sure he was a figment of my imagination.
I take pains not to look at the scars on one side of his face, which don’t look quite as monstrous when he’s not being a monster himself. He seems to get angry when I look at them, which I guess I can understand. People must stare at them all the time, probably not in a kind way, either.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Evgeny’s question is less a question and more a warning growl that startles me. I realize I’ve been staring at him.
“I needed breakfast.” I manage to sound less squeaky. “If my blood sugar drops, I can’t work well.”
Vasya steps up next to me. “Give her a break. You’re keeping her here. Let her eat when she wants.”