Page 16 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Eleven

ALINA

I can’t sleep.

Even Albert raises his head, blinking at me in confusion, before laying his bleary head back down.

“Yeah, I know. You’re telling me, ‘enough, Mom. We didn’t get to sleep until late, and then, when we did, you tossed and turned like we were at sea.’” I kiss his furry head and get up, yawning.

He huffs out a noise and stretches out. Oh, he’ll follow me downstairs when I go. That’s Albert for you, but if he can grab a few minutes of extra shut-eye, he will. He loves human beds over his soft little doggy beds.

Rather, he loves my bed over his.

I get his desire for more sleep. I want it, too. For me, it’s an elusive dream and has been ever since I was kidnapped a week ago.

A week where I’ve seen Ilya exactly once.

It’s killing me.

I’m aware of how precious time is, of how brief those moments of happiness may be, but to be forced to miss them…

Max comes to mind. Our time was way too short, but all I can think is if someone had forced us apart sooner and robbed me of even more time with him.

I’d never forgive that person.

I’d hate that person.

And Demyan’s doing that to me over Ilya.

I don’t want to hate or never forgive my brother.

But he’s stealing time he has no claim over. And it hurts.

The tension between us grows by the day and makes me constantly sick, constantly fragile, like I’m on the verge of tears.

I’ve been awake since five and probably fell asleep around three. But through the churning inside me, there are pockets of calm.

Because I can’t take any more.

And that’s made me come to a decision.

I get up and get ready quickly, then I head downstairs and make some coffee, a slow and sleepy Albert not that far behind me.

He sits by his empty food bowl and looks mournfully up at me. I fill it with kibble. He’ll get a home-cooked meal from Magda later, who claims she isn’t spoiling the dog, but is feeding him right.

And clearly, from his look at the kibble and his glance around the kitchen before dropping his head to take a bite, Albert loves Magda’s meals.

I sip my coffee.

If Demyan’s on schedule, he’ll be up and in here shortly, ready to start his day.

A high-pitched giggle wafts through the house, which tells me Nadya, aka Poppy, and Sasha are up.

I put the coffee into the espresso machine and make Demyan a fresh cup as a peace offering. I’m determined to clear the air. Lay down my case. Make him see.

Sure enough, a minute after I set his cup down and retake my seat, he walks in.

Demyan hesitates a moment, his gaze sweeping over me as he takes in the cup waiting for him. “What’s this?”

I force a smile. “We’ll call it a peace offering. Sit, Demyan. Please?”

He does, his face set, his body stiff, like he’s expecting an argument. Maybe he’ll get one. I don’t want to argue, though. I want to talk this out, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get it through to him what it is I want and how what he’s doing is affecting me.

“It’s too fucking early to argue,” he says in Russian.

I stick to English. “Or it’s too late. I don’t want an argument either, but I need you to hear me, see me, and, more importantly, understand me and what it is I want and need. You’re happy with Erin, right?”

His eyes narrow. “Right.”

“You’re stubborn, set, and those things almost ruined it. You’re lucky she’s so wonderful, so willing to see both sides. Can you take a leaf from her book?”

Demyan grunts and takes a sip of his coffee. “I don’t need to do that. I see your side, and I reject it. You’re being emotional. You’re vulnerable, and Ilya?—”

“He didn’t come in and take advantage of me. Quite the opposite. He was respectful, tried to say no when I pushed for a yes.”

I don’t add the catalyst of Santo hitting on me into this. He’ll take that as another thing to hold up to show Ilya as incompetent, which he isn’t. At all.

“You’re lonely. Max?—”

“Ilya is so respectful of Max’s memory, of my feelings, and he never, ever overstepped. But the thing is, I like him. I want to be with him. And you need to be okay with me seeing Ilya, or I’ll leave. And if I leave under such circumstances, then I don’t see how we can mend anything.”

For a long moment, Demyan’s silent.

“Even though Melor and Simonov are both still out there and Ilya’s bratva is in shambles? You’d risk that?”

“Are you turning your back on him?” I ask.

A muscle works in his jaw. “He knows where he stands.”

My stomach turns. “Ilya’s helped you, always. He’s taken a bullet for you while trying to save Erin from being taken?—”

“Another failure.”

I glare at him. “She took off on her own. She ignored him and ran. Do you know how I know that? Not Ilya. Ilya’s a staunch defender of you and your wife. He’s loyal. He said he failed. No, I know what happened because Erin told me. The world isn’t black and white. There are nuances.”

“So?”

I take a breath and smooth my hands flat on the kitchen table between us. “So I’m telling you that even if Ilya’s bratva is falling apart and danger lurks in every corner, I want to be with him. My relationship with Ilya means that much to me.”

Demyan winces. “How the fuck am I meant to be okay with all this? You’re my sister. He was my friend.”

“He still is your friend. Whether you choose to take the friendship or not, it’s there. And we both know that. As for being okay with it, you don’t have to be, not yet. It’s a big thing, I know. And I’m not unsympathetic to you or your emotions.

“But Demyan,” I say softly. “At the end of the day, this is my relationship and happiness, not yours. You do what you need to do with your relationship with your best friend, but you have your happiness with Erin. What I do doesn’t impact that, and you arranging a marriage won’t make me happy.

It’ll make me resent you. Although, to be fair, I wouldn’t be here by then. ”

“I know you think you care for him?—”

“Not think,” I say. “I know.”

“But, Angel, I’m meant to protect you, and I can’t if you leave.”

“I’m a grown woman, one who can make her own decisions, and I’m not walking into anything thinking I’m safe or he’s safe.

Because I know the truth. Nothing and no one are safe.

You know I know that. Better than anyone.

I’ll see him, whether you agree or not. It’s going to come down to whether we end up talking or not. ”

Demyan finishes his coffee then stares down into the bottom of the cup.

Finally, he sighs. “You’re right. I can’t control you.”

“Good—”

“You can see him, but I’m in no way supporting this relationship. Let it run its course.”

It’s the best I can hope for right now. And from Demyan, it’s a start. I go to rise, but he stops me.

“And Alina? The bodyguard? He stays. Where you go, he goes.”

“Within reason.”

A muscle tics in his jaw, but he nods. “Within reason.”

“I’ll take it,” I say. “For now.”

“Alina!” Eva says, smiling. “I’m glad you’ve recovered.”

She drops down to welcome Albert, who pokes his nose out from behind me, sniffs the air, and barks, trotting over to Eva for some love.

It takes me a moment for her words to register. Recovered? Did Demyan say something to her?

My car’s outside—not mine, but the one that Gus drives, and it’s never felt so crowded and small before with the bodyguard as another passenger. He got out when I did, but I refused to let him in.

So my brother very well could have told Eva I was sick or kidnapped or?—

It wouldn’t be Demyan. He really wouldn’t care about this place. He knows nothing about it, apart from maybe the fact it’s where I adopted Albert from.

No, it was Ilya who told Eva I was sick, which is easier than telling her the real reason I haven’t been in.

I find a smile. “All better. Ready to report back for volunteer duty. How are you?”

Eva’s smile falls as she slows her strokes against Albert’s fur. Then she rises to find a treat for him.

She feeds it to my dog. “I’ve got some news. Bad news that I’m not sure you want to hear. I don’t think I’m going to need volunteers soon.”

“Why?” My heart thumps hard. “What happened?”

“What happened is like what happens in a lot of upcoming neighborhoods. The landlord sees opportunities for this place. Ones that have to do with high-end stores and not animals.”

I swallow. “You mean higher rent?” I frown. “Well, we can deal with that.”

Desperately, I try to think of the best way to word a sudden idea.

“Ilya’s looking to invest in something, tax write-offs, or similar. And if he takes over the rent and you run it, this is a non-profit that could help him?—”

“Oh, I would if I could,” she says, her voice shaking as she goes around to the other side of the counter to tidy up.

“But even if I was going to offer my landlord twice the amount, or ten times, he wouldn’t take it.

The thing is, it’s not just us. It’s the street.

Can’t have something like this drag the other real estate down.

He’s not renewing the lease. Any of them. ”

She stops tidying and looks at me. “I might have to close down for good, find placements in other shelters for the dogs.”

I press my lips together. I want to buy the whole street, which, even if I had access to all my trust fund now, I’m not na?ve enough to think that would be that.

It’s often not just about having enough money to buy; it’s the person wanting to sell.

I get the feeling this guy wants the long-term money-making option.

For all I know, he’s paying off another crime family.

I want to help. I’m determined to do so. And I’ll find a way. I won’t let Eva sink. I won’t let the dogs down.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m here to help. Ilya’s here to help, too. We’ll work something out, find a way.”

Eva frowns, looking out the window, and she doesn’t seem to be listening.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Alina,” she says, “don’t be alarmed, but there’s a big man outside who seems to be watching you. Like you’re his sole focus.”

“What—” I giggle as I glance to the window.

I’m going to have to teach Mr. Guard there some body-guarding etiquette, like some tips on being subtle.

Of course, knowing Demyan, he probably ordered him to be anything but subtle.

“Oh, him? Don’t worry. He’s just my bodyguard.”

When Eva’s jaw drops, I roll my eyes.

“He’s here thanks to my over-protective brother.”

“Wait,” she whispers, looking even more shocked. “Why do you need a bodyguard?”

Panic flickers in me. Being bratva is something I’m so used to. Being protected, too. I just haven’t really had protection to this degree since I was a kid and something went on between Dad and a rival bratva.

But just because I’ve been soaked in the blood of organized crime since birth, that doesn’t mean I need to involve anyone else. That can be dangerous, and the less Eva knows, the better.

I cross to Albert, where he’s sniffing at the cage of one of his doggy friends, and fuss with his collar, giving myself a few moments to collect myself.

“It’s nothing,” I say. “Just my rich, overbearing brother being my rich, overbearing brother.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll give yourself a headache trying to work him out.” I straighten up and march over to her. “What can I do to help save the shelter? My husband’s rich, as is my brother. They know people. So we could help out. Do something.”

Eva’s shoulders sag. “Even being rich won’t help.

So many people don’t want to rent to a shelter.

Those places don’t respond to rent hikes well, and landlords think of having to deal with the aftermath of ‘dog-soaked’ buildings, as one called it, even though that doesn’t happen.

We’re not hoarders. We look after them. But some don’t care. ”

“Money can talk,” I say.

“It’s not just money. And it’s not just finding someone to rent to us.

It’s finding the right spot. Finding this one was hard.

It’s the perfect mix of accessible and residential, as well as near other businesses that get us foot traffic.

There’s the park nearby. And while we do have vets who come in, taking them to a good vet who helps that’s also close?

We’re talking rare. Put it all together?

We’re now venturing into next to impossible territory. ”

“We’ll think of something.”

“I’ve tried,” she says, “but I have to face reality. This shelter in any future form is very likely done.”