Page 154 of Nine Months to Love

Iakov. Standing in the hallway. Holding a bouquet of white roses.

What the hell is he doing here?

He sees me at the same time. For a long, surreal moment, we just stare at each other. Then he walks toward me, the flowers clutched in one hand.

“Safonov,” he says.

“Zakharov.” We stop a few feet apart. I can feel my guards tensing behind me, ready to move if I give the word. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard about your grandmother. I wanted to pay my respects.”

I glance at the roses. “You expect me to believe you’re here out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Believe what you want.”

“You’ve spent the better part of a decade trying to ruin me. Forgive me if I find your sudden concern for my grandmother a little suspicious.”

Iakov shifts his weight. “I liked Elena. She was always kind to me. I remember her from when I was a kid.”

“And that’s the only reason you’re here. Not to scope out my security. Not to gather intel. Just to drop off some fucking flowers.”

“Just to drop off some flowers,” he confirms.

I cross my arms. “You’re full of shit.”

“Think what you want,” he answers with a shrug. “I’m here for Elena. Not you.”

“If you’re alone, what’s stopping me from killing you right now?” I ask.

Iakov doesn’t look fazed in the least. “I’m not alone,” he says. “I brought Arielle with me.”

I glance past him and spot her standing near the elevators. She’s holding a small gift bag and looking nervous.

“You brought your girlfriend to a hospital where my armed guards are stationed,” I say in dubious disbelief. “That was stupid.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps not.” He shifts the roses to his other hand. “Look, I know you don’t trust me. But I know you still have some honor. Well, so do I. And I swear to you that I am here under only good intentions. Respect, nothing more, nothing less.”

He says he has fond memories of Babushka. I don’t remember that. But then again, there’s a lot from those years I’ve tried to forget.

“Fine,” I say. “Bring her over.”

Iakov waves Arielle forward. She approaches cautiously, her eyes darting between me and the guards.

“Mr. Safonov,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”

“Thank you.”

“I brought some tea. Herbal blends. Iakov said that she liked chamomile, so I thought...” She trails off, holding out the gift bag.

I take it. Inside are several boxes of expensive tea, just like she said. Not a bomb, not a severed finger or a bloodstained threat. Just tea.

“That’s thoughtful,” I say. To my surprise, I actually mean it.

Arielle relaxes a fraction. “Is she doing okay?”

“Better than she was. The doctors are optimistic.”

“That’s good. That’s really good.”