Page 152 of Dance of Thorns

Holy shit.

That's Russian slang for “sleeping around”.

“Cesare is having an affair?”

“Da!” Oksana giggles like a schoolgirl. “But I mean, you’ve met his wife, yes?” She makes a face. “A frigid cow, that one. No meat on her bones, and?—”

“So he’s having an affair with the Russian housecleaner?”

Oksana hoots out a laugh. “Daria wishes! No, not with her.” She grins as she leans close, lowering her voice dramatically. “With the housekeeper—Melinda.”

I frown. “This is confirmed? Or just a rumor?”

“Oh, confirmed,” Oksana tsks. “Daria’s been working part-time for that family for decades. This housekeeper…Melinda…she’s been sleeping with Mr. Marchetti on and off for years. Daria’sheard thema few times,” she giggles. Then she sighs. “It's sad, though. Daria says Melinda used to have it in her head that she might be the next Mrs. Marchetti. But then your father-in-law met that Felicity woman, and…oop! She stays the housekeeper.”

My pulse picks up.

Oksana shakes her head. “Daria was saying that Melindahatesthe new Mrs. Marchetti. Views her as the woman who took her man.” She rolls her eyes. “Delusional.”

My jaw ticks. “Melinda hastoldDaria all of this?”

Oksana scowls. “Of course not! But the woman has eyes. Melinda isterribleto Felicity. Spits in her tea, rinses her toothbrush in the toilet.” She giggles. “I only laugh because Mrs. Marchetti is so rude to Daria all the time. But I shouldn't.” She shakes her head. “Daria says Melinda isnevmenyáemaya.She’s just as bad to the other daughter Chiara, too.”

I go still. “What?”

“Da, I know,” she sighs.

“Oksana.”

She glances back at me. “Hmm?”

“Daria actually called heryebanútaya? Ornevmenyáemaya.”

The difference is important.

Especially when my fucking wife is over at that house right now.

Yebanútayais like calling someone “psycho”, or “nuts.” It’s casual. I call Neroyebanútyall the time, because we’re friends and fuck around like that.

Nevmenyáemaya, on the other hand, means literally, clinically unwell. And Russians don’t say that lightly. Especially notbabushkaslike Oksana or Daria.

Oksana raises her brow and nods sagely. “Oh,nevmenyáemaya.The woman has a record, you know.”

No.

No, I didnotfucking know.

I yank out my phone and tap on my wife's contact.

“What sort of record?” I growl as I wait for her to pick up.

“Assault,” Oksana says, clucking her tongue. “Daria found something in the trash about it…some mail that Melinda tore up and threw—Bane!”

She turns to smack me with her spoon, since she hates me making a phone call while she and I are talking. But when she sees the look on my face, she freezes.

“What’s going on,zaychik?”

What’s going on is Lark isn’t answering her fucking phone and my mind is going to the absolute worst-case scenario.