Page 34 of Nine Months to Bear

I watch her flirt shamelessly with my second-in-command, who’s half a century her junior. This is precisely why I started making these house calls myself. The last time I sent a young associate to check on her, she invited him to dinner and interrogated him about his “intentions” with her nonexistent granddaughters just to spend a few extra minutes with him.

Taras laughs, the sound tinny through the speaker. “Elena Safonova, you flatter me. Perhaps I’ll bringpiroshkinext week.”

I reclaim my phone. “That’s enough. She doesn’t needpiroshki, and the only magazine you belong in isCorrective Plastic Surgery.”

My grandmother is ready to argue when I hang up on my second.

“You get to have your fun, but I can’t?” She raises an eyebrow.

“There’s nothing fun about any of this, Babushka. I have work to get back to.”

“You mean Olivia?”

I freeze. “How did you?—”

“I didn’t, but looking at you—now, I know.” She pats my cheek, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “When will you learn that you can’t hide anything from me?”

“It’s business,” I growl again. It’s as useless on repetition as it was the first time around.

“A man like you needs someone strong,” she continues in utter disregard of my protesting. “It’s not right for a man to be alone. You need someone?—”

“I don’t need anyone,” I interrupt. “I’m not interested in being with someone. I like being alone.”

She arches a gray brow. “You like being safe. But not all women are dangerous. Most aren’t like your?—”

“Don’t.” My voice drops to a dangerous register that would make most men step back.

My grandmother merely rolls her eyes. “Not all women are vipers like your mother, Stefushka.”

I’m sure that’s what my father thought.

Then he got bit.

My phone pings. Mikayla.Olivia is still waiting.

I can see her tapping her toe in frustration, her jaw set in defiance. She’ll lay into me when I get back, accuse me of being unprofessional.

I’d love to show her exactly how unprofessional I can be.

I blink out of my thoughts and find my grandmother watching me like she knows exactly where my mind went. I quickly kiss her cheek and shuffle past her.

“I’m not willing to take that chance.”

I check the smoke detector one last time and toss the ruined microwave in the trash, despite my grandmother’s protests.

“That’s a good microwave! I’ll just clean out the soot and then?—”

“And then set off a fire that will take down the whole house?” I finish for her. “No thanks. I’ll get you a new one.”

“I can take care of myself! I lived on my own for over fifty years before you were born!”

“And I’d like you to live fifty more.” I kiss her forehead again, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and black tea. “Lock the door behind me.”

She mutters something unflattering in Russian as I stride down the hall, but the words are softened by affection.

“You can’t hold everything in the palm of your hand!” she shouts from the porch as I’m ducking into my car. “Evenyoucan’t hide from love.”

I close the door on her. Only then do I respond, though my voice stays so quiet that I can barely hear myself.